Children at Work

T. Cal

celebrating his

4th B-day

at

Make Me Take Me

Today I will bring my son to work with me.

I do not know how it will go or what he will do, but he is of age to try.

When I announced he was going, he was quite excited. And although he could not really remember what it is I do, when I mentioned the word "school" he seemed excited. I told him he had to dress nice and that he has to help me teach, and he seemed okay with that.

But, after giving him some time to think about it, the next time it was mentioned he said that he was scared.

He is always scared of the unknown.

His first day of gymnastics he kept saying he didn't want to go until we walked into the building and he saw all the other kids his age.

His first day of swimming he didn't want to go and he made me hold his hand until he got to the edge of the pool with his instructor and then he let go and entered the water with her (did he think they were going somewhere else?).

His first day of soccer, he didn't want to work with the instructor for the first 15 minutes of the lesson.

He is not hard nosed about it, but he needs that transition time. He needs the time to realize how he got there, where he belongs and what he is supposed to do now.

Change is tough. It is how we face it that matters.

I feel so blessed to have a job I can bring my child to.

I feel blessed that it is a good job and that it is one that I am not likely to lose anytime soon. I am blessed that even though I don't want to be the one working, that at least one of us has a job to provide.

I like that I can bring my son to work. It is like where the real world and the pretend/imaginary world of "academia" meet. It will be interesting to see what it is like.

I can hear the students' brains now, "So she really doesn't sleep at the school? Wow."

Poets Who Know It

courtesy of mayhempoets.com

(on sale for purchase)

As an English teacher, it is really our jobs to teach the kids a lot of stuff, but one thing that comes up a lot is teaching kids the power of language. It is tough to do when you are in a box of a classroom and have to stick to pages of curriculum that no one in their right mind ever really reads, but really, it is a big part of our job.

The beginning of last week, I was happy to find out that I had an assembly Friday morning. It is always nice to hear someone else talk besides yourself when you are a teacher, so I was looking forward to getting out of the classroom with the kids.

When I reviewed the assembly on Monday morning I read the title of the performers: "Mayhem Poets" and my insides bounced like one year old Hari to Boom Boom Pow. There was a possibility I might know one of the performers. That's right. I know people.

I quickly googled the poets and smack on the front of their web site, there was Scott.

I didn't know Scott well, but I knew that he went to Rutgers with me and that I went to see him perform in 12 Angry Men one Friday night in Scott Hall. I also distinctly remember bumping into him at Blockbuster about a year after we graduated and asking him "what he was up to" and he humbly shared that he and a few friends were starting a group that would perform poetry at schools.

Those memories made me write an email to the "contact info" on their web site about how I was looking forward to seeing their performance and then proceed to facebook to friend him (he accepted!).

I am such a dork.

When Friday morning came, I was like one of those screaming girls pushing down the barrier between themselves and the Beatles.

Inside.

Outside I was walking slowly to the auditorium, bringing papers to grade, talking to fellow colleagues and just mentioning that I knew the guy in the blue skull cap on stage. Yes, the white guy.

"Oh really?" they would say as I beamed.

I was anxious. I was hoping they would be as good as I imagined they would be. Hoping that I should beam.

At the start of the performance Kyle ("Skep") told the audience to be who they are and if they want to cry, cry and if they feel they want to laugh, laugh. I listened, and thought - "Awww, that's nice that he is letting these kids feel empowered and give sincere reactions. That's such a good way to start."

I laughed. I cried. And certainly, I beamed.

The honest talent that emanated from the stage was as refreshing as eating newly harvested cucumbers on a 90 degree day. They prepared, they revised, they worked hard, and they totally knew their audience.

Everyone left understanding the power of language and they did it by telling their story and sharing what they have inside of them.

Not one teacher passed another on Friday without saying, "How great was that assembly today?"

These guys have something that people attending the Oscars tonight wish they had.

I wish I had it.

Thanks Scott. Thanks Kyle. Thanks Mason.

Friday was a great day and I hope you guys can get to as many schools as possible because more people need to hear what you have to share.

Post Edit: You need to watch this media spot to get a better sense of it maybe.

The Closet of My Discontent

 

Grey picture, eh? 

The Closet of My Discontent

 Just before midnight,

I stand in front of my closet 

and dress for work;

pragmatism at its best (or worst).      

For in five and a half hours' time,

eyes grow untrustworthy and

 husbands deserve to snooze;

wake them not with noise and light.

Ten months a year,

I perform this ritual begrudgingly,

note how it lacks the light of summer ceremony,

(when instead of pulling on charcoal wool for the long commute,

I slip into yellow cotton and walk my husband to the train)

and blame the Feminists.

I've grown tired of this winter wardrobe, 

of dark days and matching clothes.

I'm ready for FiveFingers and running shorts,

sunburns and tangerine dreams.

Only 16 weeks to go.