The Nine Post-Its on My Dashboard
A free verse poem of thoughts and fragments the pursued and the pursuing many worlds problem intertextuality database ilya prigogine- order out of chaos consider the lobster quantum tunneling foucault- this is not a pipe chief seattle clipse feat. pharell- mr. me too soundtracks to books “theme for english b”- langston hughes greek myth of cassandra “indifference to evil is...
The Silence of Shared Walls
Playing music is the first thing that’s sacrificed. My mental priority list looks something like this: Prepare lesson plans. Make handouts, quizzes, and tests. Grade. Respond to emails. Do grad school homework. Read. Write. Play music. And so there it hovers, at the very bottom, something that was so essential to my identity for so many years, Something that gave me direction and fulfillment...
Sometimes, teaching public school feels like sitting on an iceberg that’s sinking slowly, inch by inch. I’m still above water. So are my kiddos. But I’m starting to worry that it’s not sustainable. Rght now, there are a lot of things pulling us lower into the icy water: Overcrowding. Class sizes so large I can’t even bring my students to the computer lab. Test scores....
Fifteen Questions...Fifteen Answers
Can I go to the bathroom? …You have three minutes. I’m timing you. go. I would start sprinting. Can I go get a drink of water? …Yes, absolutely, go get hydrated. Can i go to the nurse? …What’s wrong with you? …Suck it up. Here’s a Band-Aid. Are you collecting this for a grade? …Maybe. Why? Will you stop trying if I’m not? How many points is...
Why I Love Teaching High School
Today after exams, I was walking back to my classroom to do some grading, and I cut down the hallway where the football players were doing conditioning. As i walked by, they all starting clapping. for no apparent reason.
I cock my head to the side and tap out absentminded rhythms against my knee with the eraser of my mechanical pencil. Diagrams are spread around me like artifacts, and I bite my lip, simultaneously enthralled and frustrated. When patterns begin to emerge, I flip my pencil around my thumb and scratch names in each box: Dylan. Shayan. Ellen. Michele. Making seating charts becomes an inordinately long...
I am bombarded yet I stand I have been standing all my life in the direct path...– Adrienne Rich: “Planetarium”