Ancora Imparo

One book closes - another begins

Fri, 04 Sep 2009 11:13:54 GMT

As I contemplate the next phase in my life, I reflect back on what I’ve done with my time, energy, and passion for the past 2 and a half years.

I suppose the fact that I cried today when one of my students’ parents came in with a little gift for me and in broken but heartfelt English thanked me for teaching and caring about her son says a lot. I am fully appreciative of what teaching has taught me, and I am truly thankful for everything this chapter of my life has represented. I think it has made me a better person, as all experiences – good or bad – should. It has also made me a better, although still far from perfect, teacher.

My friend Janis, who is herself a born teacher, lamented to me one day about the fact that I don’t see teaching children as my calling. It has certainly been rewarding, interesting, at times the best (and worst!) job I’ve ever had… but I still don’t feel any irresistible pull to it, or the sense that I’ve found the thing I want to spend the rest of my life doing.

When I consider leaving teaching and pursuing more knowledge and expertise in the holistic/preventative/alternative healing field, there is certainly a twinge of regret, but no overwhelming feeling of foreboding that I’m walking away from the thing I’m best suited to do.

As much as I want to find a calling and as appreciative as I am of the praise and encouragement of my peers (the effusive extent to which this has been given is more a reflection of the generosity of my peers than my overwhelming excellence as a teacher; creativity and passion make up for a lot of what I lack in effectiveness), I have to trust myself in this regard. I’m marching forward fully confident that I will find a part of myself that responds just as wholeheartedly and fulfills a role just as ideally in my new field as another has done in elementary TEFL teaching.

Perhaps my lack of hesitation derives from the fact that I’ve realized that, just as I don’t have to be in a classroom to learn, I don’t have to hold the title “teacher” to educate.

The world is my classroom in every sense of the word, as I am both student and instructor on many levels simultaneously. There has always been something inherent to my personality that disposes me to mentor and grow other people. I do it in every aspect of my life – personal and professional – so in a way I will never cease to be a teacher. Perhaps it is nothing more than a mothering instinct, but throughout all my life I have nurtured others, empathized with them in their sorrows and celebrated with them in their victories. I have only ever been gratified to see someone I have helped come into their own, often far surpassing my example. Sometimes it is the most gratifying moment of all when someone totally blows me out of the water. I think being truly humbled by someone else’s greatness ranks right up there with falling in love – you don’t want it to happen every day, but when it does, you’re overwhelmed by the beauty and perspective of it.

I was reflecting on this in reference to some of my co-workers, both peers and managers, who have been changed – I think for the better – by the things we’ve encountered together. None of us have all the answers, but there are times when experience lends one of us the kind of insight that can light the way down someone else’s path.

I can say without false modesty (simply because the opposite is amply true) that my experience has lit a number of roads in my time in Korea, and I’m happy to see that people around me are discovering new things and seeing old things in a new way because of my light. Or, perhaps more appropriately, the light I reflect, which has in turn been reflected onto me from mentors, teachers, parents, friends, and even the rare stranger from some unknowable, unblinking source.

It has been profoundly gratifying to me to see – in the past few weeks – one of my visions for our school and for Korean education as a whole be taken up enthusiastically and breathed into life by the people around me. I feel like I’m leaving Polaris on an upward swing, and strangely it is a great reward to me to know that I can put this dream that I’ve nurtured, loved, and shaped into the hands of people who can fully appreciate its worth and fully realize its potential without me. This is worth more than staying here and realizing it myself.

I’ve always liked the quote, “A teacher is one who makes him/herself progressively unnecessary.” I feel content leaving Polaris knowing that I have succeeded in planting the seeds, but not making myself invaluable. It would be the greatest reward to look back at this school from wherever my life takes me and see that I helped put a system into place that channels the talents, passion, and vision of some very good and capable people and serves a meaningful, mutual purpose. I don’t want all people I encounter to love me, but I do want them to love like I can. And have. And will. Always.

You're only as weird as...

Wed, 26 Aug 2009 02:07:42 GMT

I am not a run-of-the-mill person.

Whether this is good or bad is purely a matter of perspective; I try to make it good by behaving in a generally rational, considerate, and honest manner, but people can take it as they choose.

There have been times in my life when my friends and acquaintances have told me that, essentially, my life is a kind of spectator sport in that it is amusing (probably in the way watching spectacular disasters or circus shows can be) to observe in its varying degrees of oddity.

I was reflecting (pun intended) in the elevator this morning after catching sight of myself (clad in a long black dress accented with shades of pastel, a green knit shoulder sweater, and hippie jewelry with my absurdly long hair loose down my back) in the mirror that I can totally understand why some people think I'm just WEIRD. I certainly don't look normal, and that's just the beginning.

I am weird, and kind of unabashedly myself. I have no insecurities about who or what I am. The great thing about getting older is that you really don't stress much at all about what people think of you.

But this line of thought led me to the realization that I probably seem infinitely more weird to more people because I always find myself in circumstances that don't normally attract people like me. For instance, I'm the hippie chick butting heads with corporate businesspeople. I'm the girl in calculus class using her scientific calculator to type sonnets. I'm the person who has a deep-seated fidelity to home, but who wanders all over the world like a gypsy. I belong in academia - I find myself neck-deep in capitalism. I'd probably enjoy living on a commune in northern California or a biodynamic winery in Tuscany - I have an apartment in the second-biggest city in the world. I am a hopeless romantic - I never date. I love music - I'm not deeply involved in the music scene. The contradictions go on and on.

I can't say with any certainty why exactly this happens. It's something I need to ponder a bit more. But it does seem to be a pattern, which begs some consideration.

Maybe I like being the odd one out.

And maybe the time has come to blend in a bit more, with a likeminded crowd.

Credit where it's due

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 12:53:08 GMT

I am a big believer in taking the time to praise people when they go over and beyond my expectations or respond to my occasional overreactions with poise and patience. Too many times people skate by on minimum effort or stoop to being petty or responding in kind to an involuntary blip on the emotional radar.

I am the kind of customer who demands to see the manager and gushes praise when a clerk has been particularly friendly or gave me the right level (not too pushy, not too standoffish) of service. I write thank you notes religiously, even when my mom isn't looking.

I think these small gestures of appreciation go a long way to ensuring that there's a little more of the good stuff (patience, forgiveness, tolerance, humor, gratitute) in what is often a pretty thankless world.

Sometimes, however, I'm just a little weird.

Case in point. The situation is this: I have McAfee virus protection on my computer. Somehow I managed to activate the "automatic renewal" function on said virus protection without being aware of it. On a day-to-day basis I tend to totally ignore all notifications that pop up on my computer and only become concerned with them if/when the computer stops working. (I have never been good at maintenance behavior in practice, though in theory I think it makes perfect sense. I hope that by switching careers into a preventative/holistic medicine field, I can be better about practice in my life as a whole. We shall see.) So, in short, I check my online banking and see - an unannounced 75 buck charge from McAfee. Naturally I am annoyed, since I have no recollection of approving this charge, and $70+ is not a pittance. I fire off an email to McAfee customer service asking them to remove the charge and cancel my automatic renewal function, dropping an annoyed reference to the general slowness of the program and the myriad popups like evil Hydra heads.

Time passes.

In a few days, I get a very measured, very thorough, very professional response confirming that the charge has been removed. The customer service representative gives me information on returning to McAfee with a discount, blah, blah, blah - all around it kind of makes me feel guilty for mouthing off (keying off?) and whining.

So I reply with this:

Thanks for your quick reply and response.

I realize a large part of this situation is due to my fairly unforgivable inattentiveness to various alerts and notifications. It's amazing how resentful people become when another entity tries to make them do what's best for them, simply because it wasn't 100% voluntary (often due to neglect on the part of the individual rather than design on the part of the entity). Legislators probably throw up their hands every day and wonder why they even bother due to this very same dilemma.

Despite the fact that we staunchy defend our right to be autonomously irresponsible (emphasis on the autonomously), the least we can do is keep good humor about it.

At least that's what I think.

So I appreciate the quick service and professional, thorough response. It reflects well on your company.

Why I felt obliged to include some vague philosophying on human nature and the predicament of lawmakers... I cannot say. I'm sure this customer service rep could really care less and he/she was just doing his/her job.

But maybe he/she can get a good chuckle out of it, which sometimes, REALLY, is all that matters. Maybe that "what the hell?!" laugh will better equip him/her to deal with the next person - who really IS an ass about something inconsequential - with the same aplomb.

For lack of a better place...

Wed, 20 May 2009 13:33:06 GMT

My school's head office is sending someone to interview me for our "featured teacher" spot in the monthly newsletter and they sent me the questions in advance. I just spent a good hour typing up my answers, so here they are in what is likely their completly irrelevant glory to anyone who isn't a teacher, posted here mostly for my own perusal when I am "old and grey and nodding by the fire," questioning whether I did anything worthwhile with my life. Jury still out.

Name, country or region you were born, and teaching experience

My name is Lauren Walton. I was born in America. I earned my TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) certificate in Corinth, Greece through ViaLingua. I taught for 5 months in Rizhao, China and I have been teaching in Korea for about 2 years.

Special teaching techniques or know-how you can offer fellow teachers regarding teaching at POLY

Learn the systems. POLY has a lot of great resources that other schools lack. Use the library, the computer lab, ePoly, and especially the network of other experienced teachers whose advice and expertise can spare you the necessity of reinventing the wheel. Always approach everything you do with the question, “How can I make this a more effective learning experience?” Always keep a learning agenda. Even mundane tasks like taking attendance can be transformed into a skill-building experience. In my class, I quiz the students on spelling, math, vocabulary, etc. during attendance-checking time: “I say your name, you say __________” Accept no routine that you haven’t investigated for learning potential. Improve wherever possible.

Your educational/teaching philosophy

The most valuable resource I’ve found as a teacher has been Rafe Esquith’s books about teaching economically disadvantaged 5th graders in Los Angeles. His books are called There Are No Shortcuts and Teach Like Your Hair’s On Fire. I’ve adapted his approach a great deal for an ESL classroom, but the fundamentals remain the same: 1) character is important and 2) there are no shortcuts! This applies equally to the teacher. You must embody the values you’re trying to teach. If you want your students to be nice and respectful, always demonstrate what kindness and respect are. If you want them to work hard, you’d better work hard, too. If you want them to be excited about learning, show them that you’re excited, too. Keep your promises, be someone they can trust and count on, and always hold each student to his/her (individual) highest standard.

Another less obvious lesson that I’ve gleaned from these books is that our students can astound us with what they’re capable of when they’ve been adequately prepared. What we as teachers perceive as lack of interest or ability is often just confusion arising from being ill-prepared to benefit fully from a lesson. We have to think backwards and conceptualize our lessons in terms of stepping stones to larger ideas, guide our kids over those stepping stones carefully and thoroughly, then stand back and let them make the final leap. Case in point: during the U.S. election last year, I walked a GT2C2 class through a mini-lesson on the U.S. electoral process, presidential history, current events, and problems facing the nation. We devoted the entire day to this Social Studies supplementary lesson and took 2 full classes to learn adequate vocabulary and background, then we watched Obama’s Democratic nomination acceptance speech. At the beginning of the speech, I paused every few minutes to ask CCQs (Concept Check Questions), but after I’d done this several times the kids raised their hands and requested that I, “Just let it play and ask questions after!” – so eager were they to hear the full speech uninterrupted. My second graders raptly listened to the full 18+ minutes of the speech in English, and clapped with joy at the end. It was something that – before we attempted it – I never would have thought them capable of doing. Prepare your students carefully, but don’t underestimate them!

What do you enjoy the most while teaching at POLY? What was the most memorable moment?

That’s a difficult question! I have learned a great deal about myself and about the human developmental and learning process by teaching. That’s the best part of teaching – you never stop learning! I’ve enjoyed a great many things, most of all the opportunity to get to know my students and allow them to amaze me. Some memorable moments are: 1) when one of my GT1 students quizzed me on phosphorescent living things and then demanded to know how to spell bioluminescence (talk about a jaw-dropper!), 2) teaching at GT1 Prep class from the ground up and watching them go from knowing only their ABCs to being able to read fluently through a reading textbook, and 3) reading through an Oxford Bookworms text with a study club that had never ventured past picture books in the library, 4) coaching an intensive class through an original production of an adapted Treasure Island, and 5) my GT2C2 class exchanging penpal letters with my mom and dad in America – at one point my mom sent two of my students things they’d requested without even a letter for me! It was great to see both sides loving the experience so much that my participation was secondary.

What is your personal long term goal/plan?

As regards teaching, I’d eventually like to earn a PhD and be a college professor, preferably in English Literature.

What advice would you give to teachers at POLY who have little teaching experience?

First and foremost (and I’m sure it’s been said a hundred times) – classroom management! A class that is out of control is a room full of children who will not learn at their full potential. The hardest thing for me has been to remember that my students (especially the older, highly articulate ones) are just kids. They don’t have a fully developed sense of morality, and they don’t do things just because they’re the right things to do. Generally their behavior depends on the rewards they get or the punishment they risk. Teaching is essentially an assertiveness course – you have to be the boss! The key to good classroom management is developing a sense of trust with the students. They have to know what to expect of you, and they have to see you behaving consistently and fairly. If you can control your students and earn their trust and respect, you’re 2/3 of the way to being a fantastic teacher.

What advice would you give to the students at POLY?

It’s easy to say, “Work hard,” but students in Korea hear that a LOT. The advice I’d offer to our students is not something that they can fully understand just by reading the words. The best way to go about following my advice is to find someone who embodies the idea (a teacher, a fellow student, an older sibling, a parent) and emulate. My advice is this: love the process of learning. Learning is a kind of magic that allows you to put the pieces of life together into a cohesive picture. It allows you to peel away the layers of the onion. It ties together things that seem random and unconnected, and gives life richness and meaning. A lifetime student – someone who sees the learning potential of every experience and who opens his/her heart and mind to the classroom of the world – is a happy, fulfilled person. It is very easy, especially in Korea, which is a very competitive place, to focus on the results of learning (test scores, leveling up, the prestige of Magnet or the gratification of winning the speaking contest) – and those things are certainly great and absolutely worth being proud of! But achieving those things is not the ultimate goal of going to school. The ultimate goal is to equip yourself with the things that will allow you to live happily and productively. I’ve found that the students who are most successful are those who both work hard and truly love the process of learning. I don’t mean, of course, that those students always enjoy studying – sometimes it’s just drudgery and that’s all there is to it! But the love carries them through the more difficult times, and makes them proud of what they’ve done even if they don’t win every time, as long as they’ve done their best. It gives them the courage and energy to try again. And again. And again. And again….

What do you think of Korea? How do you spend your free time?

I love Korea! It’s a great place, full of history, culture, and interesting things to see and do. In my free time, I tour palaces and museums and other “touristy” places, bike ride along the Han River, go out to eat and dance with my friends and fellow teachers, read, write (including a travel blog), travel in Asia (I’ve been to Malaysia and Vietnam and plan to visit Thailand this summer), and try to teach myself guitar, piano, and (very) basic Korean!

Have you traveled around in Korea before? How do you like Korean food?

I had never visited Korea before I came to teach for POLY, but I’ve traveled quite a bit in Korea since I moved here in 2007. My favorite places have been the islands off of Incheon and Seoraksan National Park, but I haven’t been to Jeju yet!

I LOVE Korean food! It helps that I’ve always liked spicy food, so the more red pepper paste, the better! I will definitely be shopping at the Korean grocery story in any city that I move to in the future.

How often do you keep in touch with your family?

On the phone – rarely. I hate the phone and so does my family! But we email and write letters on a regular basis.

This crazy life

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 23:36:28 GMT

I've been pretty sedate lately, as life goes - mostly spending my time in hibernation with my dog, waiting for winter to pass. But this past Saturday was one for the record books, and I feel I should document it for the sake of my own recollection when the day arrives that these types of shenanigans no longer happen at all.

I spent the better part of Saturday on a project of considerable scope and peculiarity; then my friend Shannon arrived, laughed with me about the nature of said project, and dragged me to the local Seoul middle school where we played basketball (read: she played basketball and I threw/chased the ball around) for a bit, surrounded by middle schoolers doing the same. We returned to her apartment, picked up a volleyball, and took that down the a nearby park to abuse our forearms with until sunset threatened, whereupon we sat at the local convenience store's obliging plastic tables/chairs and sipped beer. After a costume change at our respective abodes, we hit the town again - off to Hongdae, one of Seoul's party districts. Almost immediately out of the cab, we saw that the Rock Tigers, a Korean rockabilly band I'd seen (and loved) once before and Shannon had seen many times, was playing at Ta. We somehow avoided at $15 cover and caught the end of their set before going over to Ska I (absolutely dead) to plan the rest of the night. We got sucked into the Itaewon vacuum and made our way to The Loft, where many of our crew were already deep into the night. We hung with them for a bit before heading up the hill to seek out the truth of a Led Zeppelin cover band. (True. But far more entertaining were the absolutely sloshed greybeards/military men in the audience. There was this one shiny-pated munchkin of a man who kept dancing around in circles like that scary animated baby, one finger in the air. His partner - with a full head of 70s hair - looked like Allison Janney (quintessential motherly actress) stuck babysitting her accidentally high grandfather.) When the band stopped for a rest, we made our way down to the country music bar where the pushy proprietress procured jello shots for us (and herself) and before long we had been picked up by two guys who were absolutely the picture of southern gentlemen. They moved deftly around the dance floor with Shannon and patiently taught me to two-step. That's right - I learned how to two-step in a country bar in Seoul, South Korea. *Pause for consideration of the weirdness of this fact.* Apparently they were successful enough to convince a Korean man of very small stature that he, too, could dance with me - however in rather cruel irony he didn't really know how to lead, and since I don't know how to follow, it was not pretty. Several times. (This guy was nothing if not persistent.) After thanking our southern gentlement and having our hands duly kissed, we made our way up The Hill (i.e. the gay district of Itaewon) to meet up with our fabulous friend Gordon and his fabulous friend... and their fabulously over-the-top-random-acquaintence-from-Sweden, who embodied everything you can possibly imagine when I say, "over-the-top-random-acquaintence-from-Sweden." At one point he goes, "Let's go to the baahhhh, biiiitches! Drinks on me! Follow zee fat Sveeeeedish vallet!!" It was ... amazing. For the rest of the night we talked, we danced, we fended off smelly straight men skulking in the gay bar looking to pick up girls getting comfortably sloshed with their gay guy friends (yeah, shady), and rolled home at around 4:30 AM.

Phew.

Life in Seoul rolls on.

Sixteen (plus nine)

Wed, 11 Feb 2009 14:20:43 GMT

It’s taken me a while to compile this list. I was trying to reveal things that people don’t already readily notice about my personality or which they might not ever know if I didn’t tell them. Not entirely sure I succeeded, but here ‘tis:

1. I am a sucker for beauty. Of course my definition of beauty differs somewhat from that of others, but if something or someone falls within my understanding of beauty, you can be assured that I will love it – in some way or another – unabashedly and try to make it – in some way or another - mine. I.must.have. beauty.in.my.life. This gets me into trouble in a number of different respects: the need for a beautiful home hurts my pocketbook, my admiration for physical beauty entangles my heartstrings in people whose inner beauty doesn’t always match their outer, I can be easily and utterly enraptured by beautiful words or music, I am perhaps disproportionately unhappy in unlovely places or when I don’t feel *cringe* pretty. Much of what I do and the manner in which I do it reflects at least in part a constant striving for beauty. Call it superficial, ridiculous, unrealistic… it is what it is.

2. Thanks to an adolescent obsession, I could probably still sing the entire libretto of Phantom of the Opera. All of the parts. Simultaneously. (And yes, badly.)

3. My parents horde in their basement at least 12 VHS tapes full of episodes of the “soap opera” I made with my friends and sisters throughout the majority of my youth in Texas entitled Beautiful Women and Their Problems (BWATP). I cannot begin to describe to you the enormity of horror and hilarity contained on those tapes. Hopefully I will never achieve a high enough degree fame for you to have to see for yourself when the tapes are pirated and put on YouTube.

4. I don’t talk to my best friend from kindergarten through tenth grade, from whom I was basically inseparable for 10 years of my life, any more. I don’t really know why. The only friend I keep in regular touch with from my corps of best friends in elementary/middle/junior high/high school is the one I took the longest to warm up to. She is now my oldest (and among my dearest) friend(s).

5. I’m an over-sharer. I think it has to do with the unfortunate delusion that my feelings, impressions, vision, interpretations, etc. are somehow unique or significant enough to share almost indiscriminately. I think it is a pretty ubiquitous mindset among artists of all kinds, except unlike most artists I haven’t found a medium through which to reliably express these things with the kind of skill that transforms them from individual concerns into representations of shared humanity (AKA art). So instead I often end up gushing utterly inappropriately in the realm of interpersonal relations: drowning friends, family and strangers alike with deluges of frightening candid words whenever I feel strongly about… well, just about anything. Sometimes there are mix CDs involved. As Shannon so aptly put it once, “I am a volcano of insanity! Look what you do to me! I’m going to spew crazy all over you!”

6. I find porn absolutely laughable but even mildly racy books totally turn me on.

7. I own two wedding dresses and have never been married. I think watching Legend too many times in my youth cultivated in me a near-indestructible fixation on “white flowy dresses.” I love them. Pretty much any opportunity I have to wear a costume, something centered around a white flowy dress and the opportunity to frolic around in it (preferably barefoot, on horseback, or whilst making flower crowns in the woods – for real) immediately springs to mind. My inner princess is a little closer to the surface than most people’s.

8. My feet are almost identical to my father’s, aside from being slightly smaller and less hairy, of course. And yes, contrary to my near-obsession with all things beautiful, I love my feet. All size 9, archless, spade-shaped, bordering-on-hideous bit of them.

9. I once held an elaborate ant funeral with my sister and some of my closest friends. We draped a sapling with garish Mardi Gras beads, wore black, buried the ant in a matchbox, and recited random verses from the Bible over it (since none of us attended church or actually knew what the parts of the Bible were). This stands in stark contrast to the fact that one of our My Little Pony toys throughout much of my youth was named Apple Jack Ant Squasher – for obvious reasons.

10. I went to Vatican City with the principle objective of knowing what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel (musty and like sweaty people) because of the scene by the river in Good Will Hunting. Similarly, I went to Dover so I could read Dover Beach into the wind on the white cliffs, made my boyfriend at the time drive all over the Irish countryside in search of a ruin named Tintern Abbey (not even the poem’s namesake, which is in Wales) where I read Wordsworth’s words off my Blackberry to an audience of sheep, went to Venice because I was obsessed with the movie Dangerous Beauty, got my TEFL certificate in Greece in hopes of learning modern Greek which would lead to learning ancient Greek which would lead to being able to read untranslated Homer. I would love to spend a vacation walking all over the Middle East in the footsteps of Alexander the Great because of a book called The Persian Boy. In short, I do things for odd quasi-literary reasons (perhaps not obvious) and am a huge dork (very obvious).

11. Absolutely every experience in my life awakens some sort of connection to a song lyric, poem, or movie quote. I can say with neither pride nor modesty that I am an encyclopedia of quotations.

12. My college professor once tried to dissuade me from being a teacher because she said I was a perfectionist and would drive my kids insane by never accepting less than what I would have produced in their place.

13. The only injury I’ve ever had which necessitated a visit to the hospital occurred in the (literal) nosebleed section of the University of Texas football stadium when I was in fifth grade; I took a nosedive on the steps and busted open the bridge of my nose on the concrete. No, that is not the reason my nose is so odd-looking.

14. I can't stand being bad at things and avoid things that don't come naturally to me. (Skiing and anything involving putting things other than shoes on my feet, principally.) This list used to be TOPPED by math. However, since leaving high school I have discovered that I have a totally dorky love for math. I had way too much fun in statistics, I would make out with Excel if it had a face, and I get an absurd kick out of doing basic algebra and calculus. (I still hate geometry and balancing chemical equations.) That said, I still do almost all mental math on base-10. By the simplest example possible, that means in order to complete the following problem (7+5=?) I do this in my head: How far is 7 from 10? Okay, 3. Now, take 3 away from 5 and you get... 2. Add 3 to 7 to get 10, and then add the remaining 2 from the 5 and you get ... 12. This is why I'm still bad at math.

15. I graduated from the Page Parkes School of Modeling in Houston, Texas. I have a portfolio and everything. I find this fact hideously embarrassing… to the point where I can barely disclose it now. But since we’re being honest…

16. I have believed myself totally in love with a man eight separate times. I can’t say for certain that I have ever actually been in love.

And now, in keeping with the trend of "25s" being much more popular than "16s" I shall add nine more.

17. I. love. salsa. My dad makes an absolutely wicked batch of fresh salsa and I've become rabidly addicted to it. To the point where I could eat nothing but chips, salsa, and guacamole for the rest of my life and be perfectly content.

18. I had a seriously wild phase of my life. People who knew me in college (and for several years after, such as the better part of my time in DC) can attest to this. I don't mean wild like taking all manner of drugs, getting tattoos, or breaking the law - just kind of crazy. Crazy in the fun sense like staying-out-all-night-only-to-hop-the-metro-back-to-work-wearing-last-night's-party-clothes-change-in-the-office-5-minutes-before-my-boss-arrives-and-work-the-whole-day-hung-over-then-drive-four-states-in-one-day-party-hopping-the-next-night, crazy in the overworked sense like work-a-part-time-job-while-taking-six-classes-and-running-six-organizations, and crazy in the flat-out crazy sense which entailed alternately (and sometimes simultaneously) Ice 101, nudity, cameras, strangers, mud, guitars, sheets, trash cans, and various sundries -- no more need be said. Given that I'm relatively put together now, you might never guess.

19. I'd like to learn to speak Italian, Spanish, French (more fluently than my shower discussions; I'm an expert linguist in the shower), Latin, ancient Greek, Russian, and Mandarin. I'd like to learn to play the guitar, violin (well, fiddle, more accurately), piano, mandolin, and harp. I'd like to travel to every country in the world. I'd like to write more than one book, get a doctorate in some subject (probably an obscure literary discipline), have a really exciting job that would require ridiculous amounts of cultural, historical, language, martial arts and weaponry skills/knowledge which I do not possess (like being a spy), own a business, and have a family. That being said, I'd really impress myself if I could go to the gym 6 days this week.

20. I am an insufferable combination of chronic overachiever and procrastinator. It began as a kid when I would write fully illustrated books instead of essays, create replica rainforests out of multiple refrigerator boxes and 10 years' worth of National Geographic magazines, multiple-story gingerbread houses for "how-to" projects, and write plays involving multiple home-made sets -- all within spitting distance of the due date. I've seen consecutive sunrises over the tops of computers while typing term papers. I suspect this has something to do with the fact that...

21. My mother is a ridiculous overachiever, too. She used to throw the most fantastic birthday parties for us as kids. I had an Oscar-themed party where she bought a huge roll of red paper to cover our front sidewalk, cut 5-foot Oscar figures out of the ubiquitous refrigerator boxes, spray-painted them gold, and spotlighted them in the front yard, made my costume, and masterminded an entire night of Oscar-themed games, party favors, and food. And that was just ONE year. There was the 50s murder mystery, the masquerade ball, the toga party, the carosel party, the haunted house Halloween party, the zombie party.... the list goes on and on. Oh, and there was that 10-foot-or-so handmade paper doll wonderland that hung in our playroom. Oh yeah, and the holiday trees. For EVERY holiday. And the fact that she created an art history appreciation program for my elementary school called Moments with the Masters.... Needless to say, my childhood ROCKED.

22. The most relevant lesson I've learned as an adult is, "It's not who you are inside; it's what you do that defines you." Yes, it's from Batman Begins. It's one of those things that you don't properly hear until you need to.

23. I really want a big family. I've always felt like my immediate family was a little isolated from the rest of my family. At one point both my maternal grandmother and my crazy great aunt lived in our house and I've always had an affectionate (if not close or particularly loving) relationship with my dad's side of the family, but none of my extended family has ever felt *essential* to my life. I compensate for this by making my friends family, but I'm still a little jealous of people whose grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. were/are instrumental.

24. Although I can't seem to motivate myself to write an actual book, I'm really glad that I blog and that gmail saves all sent messages. Some of my favorite writing has been off-the-cuff in professions of love, arguments, or just day-to-day humor. A small part of me hopes that - should I be hit by a bus tomorrow - someone would posthumously edit all of my random writing into something lasting. I'm sure everyone who has ever enjoyed writing but has not motivated themselves to write a book has felt the exact same way at one point or another.

25. Most people travel in order to "find themselves," but I traveled for precisely the opposite reason. I know myself pretty well, and despite the fact that I've grown and learned and made some incidental discoveries along the way, I didn't undertake this adventure in order to get in touch with my deep inner self. I went in search of a way to "lose" myself -- not in an escapist sense, but more to find something external to me which I could devote my passion and energy to wholeheartedly. I went in search of something - or someone - to love in a way that makes "me" blissfully, unbegrudgingly secondary to something far greater. Although I've loved a great many things/people with a great deal of love, I still don't feel that I've found my one true love, if such a thing even exists. I'm more than a little afraid to do so, given the degree to which I've invested myself in things that I've loved temporarily or partially. My greatest fear, however, is not that I'll never find the love of my life, but that I'll somehow lose perspective on my manifold blessings and become impatient waiting for it or jaded when I don't, because the desire to find it doesn't arise from a feeling of lacking anything, but rather a desire to experience everything to its fullest extent. When I was on vacation with my mom in Ireland and Scotland, we were the crazies who got off the bus at every stop, ran full tilt through abbeys in the 10 minutes we had to sightsee, flew out of the bus and waded thigh-deep in the ocean because just looking at it simply wouldn't suffice, and read up on the cultural/historical sigificance of everything then tried to outdo each other with knowledge or literary allusion. This is just one small demonstration of how I want nothing in my life to go unexperienced/unappreciated.

For everything there is a season...

Fri, 06 Feb 2009 09:52:51 GMT

Despite the trying times, I’ve had some really great classes this semester and as the end of it approaches, I figured I’d take some time to document some of the things that kept me going and had had me in stitches.

I took on a GT1 Prep class – kids who came into my class with very little English; just the basic words and a minimum of phonics knowledge. I’ve taught them almost all they know, and to hear them rattling off new vocabulary, picking out parts of speech, and reading fluently through our textbook just absolutely warms the heart. (Especially considering that I wanted to collectively strangle them at the beginning of the class.) I’ve taught many classes, but this one is the first one that I’ve guided from the ground up, so they’ll always have a special place in my heart: Alice, Kevin, Hannah, Brian, James (who is now writing GT2 book reports and correcting everyone’s grammar and pronunciation), David, Jaime (who came I knowing the least and has made incredible strides... and he’s just really adorable), Alex (a little man in voice and appearance), Grace, Chris, and Eric.

Hannah, Grace, Kevin, and Eric doing sock puppet Readers' Theatre

Adam and David with their sock puppets.

My success with GT1 Prep helps a little to get me through my newest class, at GTi Prep that knows even less, although they certainly don’t lack in individuality, personality, and energy. I'm back at the wanting-to-strangle-them phase most days, but it's only a matter of time before I’m writing fondly of their progress, especially because they’ll be in my class for the next semester.

My GT2 class has been the beating heart of this term – they’re by far the most advanced and articulate, so we are better able to relate to one another. This is also the class that has kept up an ongoing correspondence with my parents and for whom I put together the classroom community game I stole from Rafe Esquith. We’ve watched Obama speeches, thrown ice cream parties, had market days, and undertaken discussions of morality and God: Alex, Sally, Angelina, Marsha, Will, Lisa, Julie, and for a time Chris, Jessica, and Jack, before Henry, Genie, Brian, Kevin, and John replaced them after Level Test.

Enjoying the maple candy my mom and dad sent.

So two little vignettes that illustrate more perfectly than I could say the tenor of my semester with these students:

In a prep class I was attempting to explain to the kids the meaning of the word “bounce” and was searching around the classroom for something that would demonstrate the concept. Despite their attempts to offer me everything from pencils to their winter hats, I came up empty. In frustration I finally said, “Only balls bounce, and I don’t have any balls.” Whereupon I paused, considered this statement for a moment, and burst into laughter. Whereupon all of the kids looked at me like I was crazy.

In GT2, the students were discussing what kind of party they’d like to “buy” with the fake classroom money they’d earned from their jobs and from extra projects. They had three options: a pizza party, an ice cream party, and high tea, which they say quickly and with a strong emphasis on the “t”. Overhearing their discussion, I thought they had said they wanted to do a “Hite” party. Hite, it just so happens, is a Korean brand of beer. I interceded and said, “There’s no way I’m throwing you a Hite party. You’re ten.” They’ve never let me forget it, and every time I get a little silly in class they accuse me of being drunk. We all find this hilarious.

Ah, kids.

"While we try to teach kids about life, they teach us what life is all about."

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 12:59:24 GMT

After having once read Rafe Esquith's There Are No Shortcuts prior to giving much thought to teaching, much less to being a teacher, I have rediscovered his books (including the newest Teach Like You're Hair's On Fire) in Seoul, South Korea -- and I am enraptured.

His insight is so much more relevant (and it was already incredibly relevant) when I have a place, a lab, as it were, to experiment with his tactics and give them my own spin.

Here's my shameless plug: ALL TEACHERS, PARENTS, and PEOPLE WHO ARE AT A LOSS AS TO HOW TO HELP DEVELOP PEOPLE WHO ARE HARD-WORKING, CONSIDERATE, MORAL, AND BALANCED -- YOU MUST READ RAFE ESQUITH!!

With his books fortifying my resolve and spinning my creative wheels, my relationships with my students have all improved a hundredfold - I'm reaching them in ways I never though possible and having a fantastic time doing it.

The kids pick up on my energy and run with it - once I let go of ideas of what they are or are not capable of, they surprise me every day with what they can do.

Take today for instance. Having read up on the necessity of preparing kids properly for learning experiences, I put together a preliminary lesson (granted, still more rushed than it should have been, but better than in the past where I kind of threw the kids into experiences and expected them to plumb their full depths - as IF) about the election, the electoral process, voting, America's history, the 2008 campaign, and relevant vocabulary. We talked about the key players, about the issues leading up to this historic election, and about the result. Then we watched Obama's acceptance speech. The full 18+ minutes of it. In English.

And what I got as a result of not assuming they couldn't do it and preparing them properly for getting the most that they could out of it was a room full of second graders who speak English as a second language listening in rapt attention, following along on the printout I'd made of the text of the speech, circling words they didn't know and wanted to discuss, and telling me to "Stop pausing to ask questions! We just want to watch the whole thing without stopping! We can talk after!"

They clapped with joy at the end.

My.God.it.was.beautiful.

Thanks, Rafe, and Lois Watson, who first led me to your door.

Three cheers for hope!

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 15:07:55 GMT

Am I overjoyed that Obama won the U.S. election? Obviously.

Did I jump up and down like a kid on her birthday when Obama's victory was confirmed? Shamelessly.

Did I glow with pride and hope when I reported the results of the election and answered the questions of my Korean second graders about America and our President-elect? Absolutely.

Is this overwhelming joy to do with the victory of one man over another? With my "team" winning? No.

Is it because I relish the idea of Bush gracefully exiting from a position I think he failed utterly to do justice to? No. ...well, not entirely.

Is it to with the fact that I personally identify with and like Barack Obama? I do, but that has no real bearing on anything.

Is it based on an absolute certainty that Barack Obama is going to "save" America? No.

Is it based on the hope that he will? In short, yes.

But my hope is not an unsubstantiated hope. It is not tenuous hope. It is not even an idealistic hope. It is the best kind of hope: the kind grounded in Barack Obama's ability to reassure my doubts with concrete plans that stand up to my intellectual scrutiny, maintain his resolve even in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and deliver results, not just assurances.

The most compelling reason that I think Barack Obama can WILL his beautiful dreams into reality is because I've seen him do it.

In a campaign fraught with accusations of lack of experience (some of which are valid), how can I say this? Well, there are two fronts on which I've seen Barack Obama deliver. The first, and arguably the most important, is on a very intimate scale: character.

I have confidence in Obama's ability to bring his own extraordinary character to bear in leading our nation toward a better future. When it comes to character, he does more than just talk the talk. I have great faith in people who do their best never to betray their convictions with their actions. It is an incredibly difficult thing to live with the courage of your convictions, because it requires thinking constantly about the best way to transfer principle into practice. There is no circumstance where a decision is inconsequential, where what you do is not a reflection of who you are and what you believe. Barack Obama has impressed me from the start as someone who recognizes the importance of matching word to deed. How do I think Barack does this? Well, I'll tell you.

Honor and Integrity
Barack Obama took the high ground in this election. He did not stoop to crude or nasty personal attacks on his opponents; yes, he vehemently defended himself from those kinds of attacks, but he never repaid in kind. Obama did not discredit himself, McCain, Palin, or the American people by being petty. He kept a steady eye on his goal - the betterment of America and the maintenance of his own honor - without wavering, realizing that you may win an election with smear tactics, but you lose your integrity in the process. Barack Obama wanted America to have a leader with integrity badly enough to risk losing the election rather than compromise his honor. He also had the grace to recognize a worthy adversary and treat his opponents with due respect and deference. In his acceptance speech he said, "Senator McCain fought long and hard in this campaign. And he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader." Nothing about the way Obama behaved during the election makes that statement ring hollow. Bravo.

Modesty and the Obviation of Self
Obama doesn't give himself undue credit. In fact, after thanking his nearest and dearest in his acceptance speech, he said to the American people, "But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. This is your victory. And I know you didn't do this just to win an election. And I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead." The first part is stock acceptance speech fodder... but it is the second part wherein lies the rub. He gives credit where credit is due but also reminds us that the problems we elected him to solve are not HIS problems alone, and it is in fact impossible for him to solve them without the support of the nation. We are a part of the solution, and our confidence in him is a reflection of our willingness to be as accountable for ourselves as we demand he be for his actions as President. This is oratory at its best: making the conscientiousness of the American people a foregone conclusion. If we have managed to deceive ourselves into thinking that we have found a savior, Obama gently and respectfully reminds us that we are our own saviors. He has positioned himself, not as a source of light, but as its conduit. I give tremendous credit to people who can transform their weaknesses (in this case, being just one man) into strengths (empowering the whole of America individually) by gathering others who make up for their lacks around them. A real leader leads in a way that obviates self.

Realistic Idealism
Obama doesn't allow his hopeful idealism to overshadow the need for a concrete plan. He doesn't use his remarkable ability to inspire feelings as a substitute for a thougthful strategy based on logical conclusions and fortified with accountability (which means input from dissenting parties, full disclosure, self-checking/readjustment tools, and periodic adjustment for optimal performance). It is easy to recognize the wrongness of using feelings to distract people from the relevant issues when that feeling is fear... as Bush's administration did. It is harder to see how reciprocally harmful it is to disguise lack of proper preparation with warm fuzzy feelings... that is until the fluffy cloud vanishes beneath us and we plumet to the earth without the proverbial parachute. Obama tries to keep our feet on the ground while we reach for the stars, and packs the parachute just in case. Obama does his homework.

Furthermore, he stated in his acceptance speech, "I will listen to you, especially when we disagree." I cannot understate the importance of the practicality reflected in this statement. Only opinion that has never been tested by logic balks at the idea of facing dissent. Opinion that has been carefully constructed, resolve that his been tested time and again, and tactics that have been proven effective have no fear of opposition. In fact, an intelligent statesman is always seeking opportunities to test his resolve, opinions, and tactics, because what does not stand up to challenge deserves only to be torn down and rebuilt with stronger stuff. During the debates, when McCain's proposed policies crumbled in the face of logical assault, he reverted too often to "I love America! See my war record?" statements, hoping that his - very real - heroism as a soldier would distract Americans from the holes in his stragegy. I watched as Obama reacted to McCain's patriotic posturing with calm, factual, practical replies that confirmed that his policies are the result of a thorough process of evaluating the best possible, if imperfect ("There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president."), solution to a problem. Love is feeling, yes, but it is equally action, and a soldier's love of his country, while sacrosant, is not the same as a President's love of his country. A President's love cannot be the kind that is unquestioningly patriotic; it must be the love of a Commander-in-Chief, the kind that will not lead its (metaphorical AND literal) soldiers into unjustified conflict ill-prepared, the kind that never forgets the sacred faith between a general and his forces to do everything in his power to preserve their lives, the kind that respects individuals' willingness to sacrifice themselves for something greater by never, ever treating them like they're expendable. And that means building idealism with honesty and realism, not smoke and mirrors.

Unbegrudging, Undetered Resolve
The wholeness of Obama's vision for a better America leaves no room for slackening of resolve or bitterness toward those who disagree. He called out to the people whose confidence he hasn't yet earned (even the words he chooses, "earn" not "get" or "give" but EARN, laden as it is with empathy for the dissenting, apathetic, or doubtful people, too), "And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your president, too." He expresses gratitude to his supporters and respect for McCain's; he will work, unbegrudingly, for everyone.

The decorum of Obama's personal comportment, his fidelity to his family (the way he sought out, loved, courted, and ultimately partnered with his equally extraordinary wife during his campaign - ACTING his respect for her rather than merely saying it and expecting her to take it on faith... and many men I know should take a page out of his book) gives me every confidence that this is the caliber of person who can translate ideas into reality on an intimate level.

Can he accomplish the same sort of feat with America?

Yes. I have witnessed him galvanize enough support in this nation to transform himself from an underdog to a victor. I have seen him pacify, unify, empower and inspire millions. He did it with the election, and I think that gives us every confidence in his ability to continue doing it.

So why am I happy?

I'm happy because the result of this election represents to me the victory of hope over fear, trust over suspicion, courage over cynicism, honesty over misdirection, accountability over blamelessness, excellence over mediocrity, and proactiveness over reactiveness. It represents the resurgence of the American spirit, the decline of apathy, a confirmation in the ability of the American people to (largely, not totally) unify behind ideas that trascend an individual, a race, a name... and take positive action.

I am happy because we have a leader whose remarkable personal accomplishments, character, integrity, modesty, idealism, practicality, selflessness, and sense of duty truly SERVE the nation. He represents the best in us, and his greatness will make us all better.

My mother

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 14:31:31 GMT

Growing up and coming into a fuller awareness of the world, the people in it, and the influences checking and balancing (or knocking off kilter) both has brought me to a greater understanding of something:

The absolute beauty of my mother.

My mother, who sends me five Halloween cards just because she loves to spread the joy of what she loves around. My mother, who came from a broken and staggering househould and crafted - through sheer force of will and refusal to accept failure - a loving, whole, and nurturing one... albeit an imperfect one. My mother, who fought her own demons and still does, knowing that it is the fight - not the victory - that makes her stronger. My mother, who made mistakes in my full awareness, and recovered from them gracefully, demonstrating to me that it is not perfection but ability to learn that matters. My mother, whose craftsmanship is in everything is a reflection of the depths of her love. My mother, who calls my friends by pet names and accepts them as family. My mother who fiercely defends her children from all assaults, including those led by ourselves. My mother, who weilds a wicked bullshit knife. My mother, who speaks her opinion unflinchingly and eloquently. My mother, who loves to learn, to read, to grow. My mother, who finds joy in simple things. My mother, who demonstrated every day of my life the value of hard work. My mother, who drilled, "No weaseling!" and "That would be unethical!" into my brain until I discovered for myself the rightness of them. My mother, who taught me that if a person has taken the time, made the effort, or spent the money on doing anything for you, he/she deserves a written thank you note. My mother, who life gives me a new reason to appreciate... every day. My mother, who is so very beautiful and brave and inspiring, and who I was blessed with - by no virtue of my own.

It is good to remind myself sometimes that I want very much to be nothing more than my mother's gift to the world. That living by the standard she has lived and being the example she is, I am doing a very noble thing indeed.

... and, my father. But that is an entry for another day.

Since when is generosity a problem?

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 17:17:04 GMT

I have a problem with being overgenerous to people who haven't earned my generosity. I operate all too frequently under the misconception that treating someone like she/he deserves the best will make him/her live up to the potential of his/her best self.

This seldom happens.

It also rather cheapens the value of my gifts in the eyes of the receiver, who begins to think that he/she can perpetuate mediocrity or inconsiderate behavior and still be rewarded the same as for excellence and sensitivity - especially around/toward me. Not at all the message I want to send.

Now, usually this situation arises when someone has impressed me in some way or another - either by smoke and mirrors or one sincere - albeit isolated - admirable aspect, and simultaneously disregards me. The logical thing to do in this situation is to shrug and go, "Hm. Idiot." And walk away. But not me. Oh no. I go trotting after this person, spewing forth an endless stream of, "Look how nice I am! See? I'm so smart! Turn around! I can be pretty, too! Watch me impress your friends! Wait! Look! Over here!" like a little lost puppy dog. Often, and admittedly - disgustingly - I keep trotting along, even if the person kicks me to the curb.

Now before this metaphor gets out of hand and I liken myself too closely to a dog, let me just say this - anyone who can treat a well-meaning person with disdain is the kind of person who kicks dogs. People who kick dogs are scum, and I shouldn't want to have anything to do with them.

Continuing to operate this way is an injustice to everyone -- to me, who loves so much to give, to the person for whom I'm indirectly providing incentives not to change for the better, and to the people who richly deserve every gift I can give and who often don't get their share of my attention and effort because I'm expending it uselessly on people who *don't* deserve or appreciate it.

I need to discipline myself better, especially as regards the most precious part of me, which should be the hardest won - my love.

Election 2008

Mon, 06 Oct 2008 14:29:29 GMT

If you've read any of my journal entries or know me at all, you probably realize that I'm voting for Obama/Biden. I've gotten much more involved in the political process this election than I've allowed myself to be in a long time. (The risk of closely following the actions of the current administration being that I would have to learn to live with fierce feelings of rage, disgust, horror, and mortification - or any combination thereof - on a daily basis. No thanks.)

I have read The Audacity of Hope, followed the debates, and even watched the Daily Show/Saturday Night Live spoofs (which are questionably as valid a news source as the majority of American networks). I've begun to feel hopeful about the future of America. I've realized that the strange, mushy feeling in my heart at the sight of an American flag is the long-absent emotion of pride. I no longer cringe when I have to teach American Social Studies to my South Korean students; the most common word in these lectures is no longer "sorry." (The ability of Obama to speak eloquently and inspiringly about the kind of REAL values on which America was founded - freedom, equality, opportunity, excellence, etc. - so that our collective spirit can again surge with devotion and hope is one of the many things I admire about him.)

One of my friends who has always impressed me with her thoughtful opinions (as JFK said, "So many people enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.") sent me a link to the following article, which does a pretty good job of saying what I haven't managed to articulate about why I am so uncomfortable about Sarah Palin's candidacy.

It's such a shame that an important milestone in women's neverending quest to prove themselves capable of meaningfully participating in traditionally male arenas (and yes, I deliberately phrased that so as not to say "women's quest to prove themselves equal" or even "equally capable"... because I think the great benefit of having two sexes is that we have complementary and not identical strengths) has to be besmirched by what can only be called a shameful political ploy.

I'm not saying that I don't think Sarah Palin has some merit as a political figure - she does - but I AM saying that she's not fit to be Vice President. At least not yet. It's as insulting to women to say that we can't or shouldn't compete on the national level as it is to nominate an underqualified candidate just because she's a woman. My respect for Hillary Clinton - who has held her own in the political world for a long time, despite personal scandal, public mistakes/misjudgements, fierce scrutiny, and the thickheaded American tendency to vote for candidates merely on account of charisma/approachability - is renewed.

The List

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 16:22:58 GMT

Inspired by Sarah Darah and what is clearly my blatant need to get laid (sorry, Mom & Dad - avert your eyes), I present to you the Top Ten List of Celebrities I Would Be Happily Be Caught With Any Time in the Midst of Embarassing Hanky Panky by the Paparazzi...

Possibly at the tippy top of my list for the rather embarassing reason of having played the most endearing character, Malcom Reynolds (aka Cap't. Tightpants):

Nathan Fillion.

And for dripping testosterone despite the fact that he absolutely butchered the Phantom of the Opera:

Gerry Butler. Ahhhhh to know you will live on forever in cinematic history with those ripped abs. Immortality.

Possibly the longest-running member of the elite top ten who made me swoon when I was technically too young to swoon... and that's a little disturbing... in Patriot Games:

Sean Bean. He can be in my fellowship any day. ... ah-ha, ah-ha. *punches self*

Having been won over from a kind of indifference bordering on active dislike by The Tudors and August Rush, I proudly add:

Jonathan Rhys Meyers to the list.

Not just on account of the Batman fame (yes, I was one of the creepy few totally mesmerized by American Psycho):

Christian Bale.

The next man has recently skyrocketed to the top of the near-top of the list, for despite a somewhat baby-faced look that is not usually my type, he rocks the socks (or pants... be that as it may...) off dancing. I could watch him dance forever, I'm pretty sure:

Usher. Excuse me a moment.

...

...

Okay, and we're back with a burning ring of fire:

Oh yes. Joaquin Phoenix.

Possibly the strangest addition but who holds his place quite firmly on account of the absolute adoration I have for Ari Gold:

Jeremy Piven.

He whose following picture I chose to assert that I was one of the people who noticed him long before Wanted (which I think we can all agree sucked), The Last King of Scotland (which I think we can all agree absolutely ruled), and Atonement (which I think most of us are pretty ambivalent about except as regards the totally hot library scene):

James McAvoy.

And what list could possibly be complete without:

Johnny Depp.

And that's a wrap. Now I challenge the rest of you! Spill it! Who's on your list?

Yaaaaay angsty love poetry!

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 10:45:49 GMT

A Spilled Jug
My mind has long since given up its devotion
and my heart has bled out a thousand times.
What part of me remains to love you?
Is it my eyes, which see you when you are not there:-
my ears which register the squeak of your retreating tred;
the echoes of your laugh?
Or is it yet my skin which tingles in defiant yearning?
I am emptied, like a spilled jug
on whose clay is written your name, again and again.
I cannot rub you out.
No arms reach out to right me;
and yet, as surely as I love you,
I will be filled again.

Inadequecy
On what words can I rest the enormity of my feeling?
Surely mere words cannot bear its weight
As I myself crawl beneath it, laden like a slave?
In what cadence can I capture my yearning,
That does not render it trite and commonplace
A nursery song for infant Eloquence?
Upon what verse lay my suffering that it might pass a restful night
Free from fretful tossing and turning,
That ever calls its existence to my knowledge?
I know no construct of man equal to the task.

It's a matter of investment...

Wed, 09 Jul 2008 14:19:36 GMT

I am 27 years old, making my steady way toward 28.

I don't feel old; on the contrary, most days I feel childishly young: an anachronism in my own chronology.

I seldom make the mistake of letting the commonly accepted view of what's normal interfere with how I live my life, but I can't help coming into a certain awareness periodically of how my choices have made my current priorities profoundly different from the vast majority of people in my age bracket and with my background.

Here they are: making mortgage payments, raising children, moving up some progressive career ladder, working toward an additional degree, carving the notches of committed years onto some proverbial relationship stick... any number of otherwise cumulative endeavors. Here I am: kind of floating through a highly whimsical, spontaneous, in some ways profoundly selfish existence.

Now, many people frown upon comparing anything about themselves to eternals (even though everyone does it), but I think that's a load of bollux. I don't buy into the school of thought where you allow those comparisons to pressure or guilt you into changing something about your life that makes you happy, but I do think they are useful in that they represent alternatives to what you've chosen that - if you are aware and considerate of them - force you to question if your justifications are still valid and if there is anything that would potentially make you happier than the status quo. I believe that being receptive to alternatives is an obligation you have to yourself. I take a similar approach to opinions of any kind; I am constantly searching for opposing positions off which to bounce my arguments. Disagreement is only strength training for a position: if the position is logical and valid, it will be inviolable, but if it is flawed and insufficient, it is fit only to be toppled and rebuilt with stronger stuff. It is only people who have never bothered to think through their opinions logically who fear contradiction, just as it is only people who have not paused to consider the reasons for their choices (their very reasons for living as they do! the thought is unthinkable, yet the reality quite common) who are beholden to societal norms.

So in thinking about the vast chasms between my life and the lives of others, I do not feel a need to objectively measure failure or success (which would be a fool’s errand, anyway, considering that ‘failure’ and ‘success’ are such subjective terms), but instead feel an evaluative urge that draws me inward, considering.

Having experienced a time in my life when the pressure to provide for myself without being a burden or drain on others was of paramount importance, the benefit (and sometimes necessity) of sacrificing gratification for practicality has not escaped me. Also having been trained from an early age to find enrichment and joy in empathy, I feel a sincere yearning for and delight in relationships that arise from the basic, instinctual interdependence of people. So I periodically ask myself – can I continue to justify this lifestyle which in many ways makes me profoundly happy and which in others profoundly lonely? This lifestyle which keeps me far away from people to whom I owe a tremendous debt, in whose love I first found a reason to love myself? This lifestyle which contributes little or nothing tangible toward the maintenance of my eventual decline?

In some ways I am being very faithful to the things I believe in: finding happiness and thereby spreading it, exposing myself perpetually to challenge and stimuli and thereby never becoming complacent, making a place in my life for others and thereby making what is mine communal… et cetera. Yet there are other things: my sense of obligation to my family, my desire to expend my considerable energy *passionately* on something or something entirely external to myself… which I feel my nomadic lifestyle stymies or even prevents entirely.

So, all external pressure from family, society, or friends aside, I sometimes wonder how exactly I can continue to justify living the way I do – if my choices are in alignment with my deepest convictions, which I am faithful out of love.

And my conclusion is – it’s a matter of investment.

My friends, acquaintances, old coworkers, the masses… are investing. Some are investing in a relationship, others in a piece of property, financial security, or the promise of professional success inherent in higher education. I am making an investment of another kind, and it is not without risk.

I am investing in the idea that my accumulation of all of these adventures will yield a person capable of creating a body of work that is representative not only of individual experience, but of the *human* experience. My justification for making some of my convictions secondary is that I am investing in a voice that will speak for her generation and perhaps for generations to come. I can continue to do what I’m doing only so long as I believe that I’ll have a venue for my sharing and an audience to appreciate it.

So to those who read and enjoy – thank you.

And to those who have connections in the publishing world – shamelessly promote me, 'cause I'm not ready to come home just yet!

An open letter to those loved and lost

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 15:21:02 GMT

One beautiful thing about living and traveling abroad is that it forces me to come into a fuller understanding of who I am and what I'm capable of. Sometimes I surprise and delight myself... other times I disappoint myself something awful. But the necessity of picking myself up and moving on because I am my most immediate resource certainly teaches me a few things.

On my better days, I feel truly empowered - I am, as William Ernest Henley wrote, "the master of my fate... the captain of my soul."

I have recently discovered a song that empowered me in the one area of my life with which I've always struggled -- intimacy. For altogether too long my romantic life has been a chronicle of unrequited loves; as my friend Ali put it: "I'm sorry to hear that you're still experiencing problems falling for men so far beneath your worth they can only fail to see your worth." Usually after these one-sided relationships fall flat, I beat myself up thinking of what could have been, what I could have had. It never really occured to me to think of the reverse: what he could have had.

In that context, one line from the aforementioned song rings true: "What you didn't see in me/reflects what you will never be." Now I'm not saying that the men I've fallen for lack merit unto themselves; I'd like to think that I'm discerning enough not to fall for complete wash-ups... but they did fail utterly to see the potential that I represented in their lives.

And to give myself some credit - I have a great deal of potential. That said, however, I will admit that much of my fault in this situation has been that I, too, have failed to see my own potential, to realize it, and to make it impossible not to acknowledge.

The part of the song that got me thinking along these lines goes like this:

"Back rubs, good love, my stuff:
That's what you missed out on.
My touch... so much we could have had
You miss
My kiss
My lips
The love I had for you
My song
So long
Baby, don't it make you sad?"

So this is an open letter to all of the men who wrote me off before reading deeper, and an affirmation to myself that, in fact, I can offer and stand to gain a great deal from closing my eyes and walking boldly into intimacy.

Boys, this is what you missed out on:
1. Surprise candlelit dinners – soft music, your favorite dishes beautifully presented, good wine, and my undivided attention.
2. All of my amateur massage practice.
3. Great all-night conversations about anything and everything.
4. My unrivaled skill at romancing your family. Being welcomed into and loved wholeheartedly by my absolutely fabulous family.
5. My diplomacy and ability to ungrudgingly compromise.
6. My inner strength that sees me through tribulations - physical, mental, emotional - without constant complaint and with the objective of learning something worthwhile from them.
7. My candid, spontaneous, passionate, and tender expressions of love.
8. Songs softly sung.
9. Reading aloud. It's one of my favorite things to do, and I do it only with the right material, and with such conviction that even if you think you'd hate it, you'd love it anyway.
10. Cheering on your favorite team with you. Loving to love the things that you love... though not all of them as much as you do. Some things must be exclusively yours and others exclusively mine.
11. Being a nurturing, loving, supportive, encouraging, deliberate, and thoughtful mother, should that ever figure into the equation.
12. Admiring you. I admire people like Da Vinci painted, Michaelangelo sculpted, and Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke.
13. Being my best for you.
14. Being uninhibited and energetic. And excited.
15. Laughing with you. Making you laugh.
16. Reinventing myself and my interests constantly so I never bore me and I never bore you.
17. Challenging you.
18. Loving to make myself beautiful for you.
19. Being ambitious, driven, focused, and hard-working because it makes me proud to make you proud. Earning your respect.
20. Being grounded and sure of myself.
21. Making sure you never forget how lucky you are to have me.
22. The dedication of the deepest, most sincere, most adoring heart. Absolute fidelity. Devotion.
23. Absolute trust. The kind that jumps in headfirst and never looks back.
24. Communication. Or at least my best attempt at it.
25. Nicknames. I got that skill from my mom.
26. Always keeping the best of you in trust, so that when you don’t live up to your potential, I can forgive you and hope that next time will be better. Never losing that hope.
27. Bad poems. And some decent ones, too.
28. Inside jokes.
29. Discovering, and that feeling of being distinctly alive that discovering entails.

And lastly...

30. A central part in my exciting, engaged, interesting, unique and full life.

Bummer, boys. Sorry for you. ;)

Procrastination

Tue, 27 May 2008 14:48:09 GMT

Sometimes I feel like the best muse for my somewhat frustrated creativity (I observed today that I am altogether too artsy not to be an artist, in some form or another. I am a steaming pile of frustrated creativity that finds its expression in absurdly complex baked goods, private dancing parties, misplaced gifts for people, and ridiculous classroom crafts.) is having something to do which I would really, really prefer not to do.

Here I am, having failed to post to LiveJournal in an exceedingly long period of time, finally putting some thoughts into words because I should be writing report cards for my kids.

See, when I was working an office job, there was always some unpleasant thing or another that I could avoid doing by posting to a blog or writing sonnets or conceptualizing my next culinary experiment... but lately? I haven't had a lot of unpleasant stuff to procrastinate.

I'm not sure whether I should be happy or sad about this. Because on one hand, it means that as a whole my life is more enjoyable. But on the other hand... I really do miss the stuff I'd create in moments of profound procrastination. I mean, it may seem like a tremendous waste of time, since these things that I create very rarely see the light of day, much less get exposure in a wider or more public circle... but at the same time they are more lasting than some of the things I could be doing in the moment, especially when one has as terrible a memory as I do.

I suppose I just keep hoping for a postmortem introspective on my life pieced together by a much better editor than myself. Hahaha.

Maybe not.

Anyway, sometimes living in the moment can be less than fun: case in point, my recent Saturday night, which played out like this:

10ish - Heard a fabulous rockabilly band in Seoul called the Rock Tigers. In my frenzy of dancing my wallet was stolen out of my purse on an ajoining table, along with all my credit cards, my immigration card, my Virginia driver's license, and about $100. Awesome.
11ish - Discovered wallet was missing and chased around Hongdae looking for it, to no avail.
12ish - Got fed up with various people issues and trying to pretend like I was still in the mood to party after said wallet was stolen. Beat it out of Hongdae and walked home.
12:30ish - Was accosted by pushy (and short) man who was determined to 1) hold my hand, or 2) get my phone number for about 10 blocks, until I told him in no uncertain terms to piss off.
1ish - Got slightly lost along the Han River. Sat down on a concrete dock near the water to rest and enjoy the beautiful Seoul night. Put hand in a pile of dog poo. Niiiiiice.
2ish - Still walking home. Really have to pee now. Smell like dog poo. Have admittedly cried a little in shameless self-pity and look like a drag queen on account of smeared eye makeup.
3ish - I stagger back to home sweet home, practically asleep on my feet.

Possibly the worst night ever.

Nevertheless it should be documented merely for sheer absurdity. Karma must have really had it out for me. Of course it could ALWAYS have been worse... ;)

I am a part of all that I have met...

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 04:59:13 GMT

There are some people who are absolutely impenetrable - they go through life highly uninfluenced by what happens to them, around them, and because of them. Sometimes I am jealous of these people.

But then I realize how ridiculous that is, because living like that begs the question: What the hell is the point??

It is interesting, though, to realize the myriad ways that people are naught but a compendium of experiences and reactions. To think that who we are at every moment is a result of all the cumulative events - big or small - leading up to that moment... and we'll very possibly be someone else in the next moment. Weird.

Anyway, it does give me a new perspective on how exactly people become bitter, cynical, jaded, overcautious, oversensitive -- instead of approaching life's setbacks with the attitude, as Lester Burnham did in American Beauty, "It's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world."

Some people really do manage to hold a grudge - against others, against karma, against fate, against what-have-you - either consciously or unconsciously, that changes them, sometimes irrevocably.

I wonder sometimes about myself - looking back on some of the things that have happened in my largely incredibly blessed and fortunate life - and wonder how those things have changed me. I'd like to have a conversation with myself 30 years in the future or at a very young age. I wonder if I'd know myself at all.

The Circle Game

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 14:51:05 GMT

Am in one of my rare (and typically short-lived) existential crisis periods. I was reflecting in a journal that I recently lost in a Quiznos Sub in Itaewon and therefore cannot transcribe here... yes, oddly enough I still occasionally find myself jotting down thoughts on actual paper, not the online equivalent... where was I?

Oh yes, I was musing about what inspires me to travel. I think this came about because of Eat, Pray, Love which is all about Elizabeth Gilbert's quest to "find herself" (that fruitcake phrase which to me means nothing more than finding balance and honesty) in India, Indonesia and Italy (not in that order). Full of humor and poignency, the book is a great read or - as it was for me - listen.

But I got to thinking - most people I've met do as Elizabeth Gilbert did; they flee a constricted life of being tied to obligations, addictions, circumstances, or careers in search of a means to live selfishly enough to peer inside themselves and get to know who they really are. They're looking to give that little seed of self, which had for so long played second string to any number of other things, enough light, sun, and space to sprout and grow.

I'm pretty sure that my motivations were exactly the opposite. Well, I suppose not exactly, because eliciting the joy of discovery, experiencing genuine appreciation, even enduring hardship for the sake of building strength are pretty self-contained, self-serving motivations and I'm not going to pretend that those things didn't factor into my decision because they certainly did. But my most deep-seated, secret motivation?

It is certainly not to find myself. I think I know myself pretty well, if not inside and out, thank you very much. I spent much of my youth being ridiculously introspective. Relatively recently I discovered the joy of collaboration. So what did I want to find when I packed a year's worth of clothes into a suitcase and flew to Greece? I was looking for a way to be part of something bigger than me. I wanted to lose myself. And it's not because I don't like myself. You can't have spent as much time with yourself as I have and not like yourself.

It's just that my greatest joy in life is to love - to love friends, to love causes, to love experiences... just to love.

I set off into the world in search of something I could love wholeheartedly, and which would love me back. Naturally this desire often takes the shape of a person - a Prince Charming, as it were. But that's not exclusively what I want or need; I wouldn't be dissatisfied at all to find a family of friends, a job, or a place that I love completely and which welcomes me as naturally as breathing.

And don't get me wrong - I've loved a great number of things, people, etc. in my life; still do and always will - but I still don't feel like I've found my one great love, or at least a circumstance where all my smaller loves coincide and make one big love that is requited with a love of equal magnitude.

I used to think that maybe my ideal of love was just impossible, that I would be perpetually dissatisfied because I don't really know what love is and it could hit me in the head with a baseball bat and I wouldn't recognize it. But that's malarky. I'm not looking for storybook love, nor perfection, nor unceasing happiness. I think I've been in love enough times with someone's laugh - obnoxious or not - someone's words - cultivated or not - someone's potential - realized or not - someone's quirks - disguised or flaunted - someone's form - Grecian or couch potato - to dismiss the idea that I've got Love on a pedestal. My love does not conform to any standard; it is, in fact, at times downright humiliating. My heart can be monumentally idiotic, going ga-ga for something that is, objectively, absurd.

I know love. And I know that as much as I'd like to - I can't command it. I can't command my heart to love where it doesn't, or stop loving when it should. I can't command other hearts to love mine, nor stop loving. So I blunder onward, just hoping to be in the right place at the right time.

In the words of Amy Bareilles, "I do what I can wherever I end up to keep giving my good love and spreading it around... But now and again I lose sight of the good life; I get stuck in the low light - then Love comes in. How far do I have to go to get to you? Many the miles. Many the miles. Send me the miles and I'll be happy to follow you, Love."

Maybe that is ridiculous. Truly, sometimes I get royally pissed off at the whims of love; it really does wreck the most tremendous havoc on my peace of mind. I feel like I've been loving pretty exclusively one-sidedly for much of my life. I either love things that are incapable of loving back (poetry, music, sunsets - ever tried to make out with a sunset? yeah... here I begin to think that I should cultivate my creative side a bit more and see if I can't start loving the process of making poetry, art, or music so the creation or the sharing process can make it more reciprocal) or people who choose not to. I can't resent these people, because I've been on the other side - my fickle heart has steadfastly refused to fall in love with people who certainly deserve it. And as much as it sucks sometimes, I'm an absolute Love junkie; there's nothing I wouldn't do for it - nowhere I wouldn't go, nothing of mine that I wouldn't gladly sacrifice, including my dignity. Is there an group maybe I can join? "Hello, my name is Lauren and I have a problem." I've tried a million times to quit cold-turkey, but it's possibly worse than crack.

In any case, maybe it would help if I stopped listening to so many love songs. Like the one that has been playing and replaying itself constantly in my head and on my iPod since I first heard it; it doesn't seem particularly relevant at the time if you read it as a message to one particular person... but when you read it as a plea to Love, well it expresses much of what I'm trying to say here.

Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long
No matter what I say or do
I still feel you here
Till the moment I'm gone
You hold without touching
You keep me without chains
I never wanted anything so much
As to drown in you[r], Love,
And to not feel your rain
Set me free
Leave me be
I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity
Here I am
And I stand so tall
Just the way I'm supposed to be
But you're onto me
And all over me
You loved me 'cause I'm fragile
But I thought that I was strong
But you touch me for a little while
And all my fragile strength is gone
I live here on my knees
As I try to make you see
That you're everything I think I need
Here on the ground
But you're neither friend nor foe
Though I can't seem to let you go
The one thing that I still know
Is that you're keeping me down...

~ Gravity, Sara Bareilles ~

Second star to the right

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 13:06:11 GMT

Is Polaris the second star to the right? Because I'm pretty sure I ended up in Neverland.

My coworkers (who are now all male) got together last night and decided to beat each other up, with the help of some scotch. They came limping in today with all kinds of battle scars.

We should definitely dress up as Wendy and the Lost Boys for Halloween. I guess that makes Thompson Peter Pan?? And maybe Dennis can be Captain Hook. Hahahahaha.

Spent an hour between 2 AM and 3 AM talking my friend Ryan through home care for a broken arm, which he acquired after hitting a powerline and flying off a bike in rural China. So if anybody ever breaks their arm, I know what to do after the emergency room sends you home because there's no orthopedic specialist on call, down to the proper dose of your non-steroidal anti-inflammatory medication. God bless the internet and knowledge gleaned from Grey's Anatomy viewings.

I think it's about time for bed.

One thing I can say for boys -- they keep life interesting.

The consequence of knowing good poetry

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 18:14:08 GMT

Is that you realize when your own kinda sucks.

And yet that doesn't stop you from writing and AND posting it on the internet.

Oh well.

Here's the lastest, entitled Homer's Epitaph because it's vaguely allusive to The Illiad since I seemingly cannot write a poem that is not vaguely allusive to The Illiad or The Wasteland - not, as it may seem, because I have a crush on Homer (though the fact that he is dead works very much in his favor, juding from my track record) - and because it just sounds cool in that annoyingly pretentious literary way. (Not so pretentious if you take into consideration my momentary confusion of the words "epithet" and "epitaph.")

The campfires all burn low; the shadows long
Stretch out beside the laden, slumb'ring tents.
I listen to the mournful, whistling song
Of wind and dreaming breath; my heart repents
Its need to love you. Yet it carries on.
I've not the ardor for a ten-year siege
To breach the walls I've only glimpsed beyond
Indeed I'd be a blind and tyrant liege
To lead my Dignity to such a rout.
Nor have I guile to dupe your piety
With wily tricks designed to lure you out
I shall not stoop to impropriety.
Instead, a pilgrim from these war-torn shores,
I stand before your stalwart doors tonight
A weary supplicant who you implores
For both our sakes just to give up the fight.
And even though I know that it is wrong
I sometimes wish that you were not so strong.

In other news, is anyone else plagued by this perpetual delusion that when you get yourself all worked up about some kind of emotion that the sheer power of it will somehow flow out of your body and shake the earth, make mountains crumble, or at least affect one person in such a way that he or she will look at you a little differently the next day?

Clearly the latter is the most likely, though when you think about it no less absurd and narcissistic than the former two.

Sigh. See, Mom? My LiveJournal doesn't make me ludicriously introspective and self-centric! I'm like that naturally and the LJ is my outlet in which to make fun of myself! In conclusion, it is healthy. I rest my case.

End of an Er...a

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 14:18:07 GMT

Last Friday was my last class day with Eric; Thompson has now taken the baton. I have a bunch of new kids, many of whom are fantastic ... but none of whom have yet proven themselves as unique as Eric. So, in tribute to my first few months of POLY and the kid who had me in hysterics half the time, I give you the last installment of Ericisms:

[After classmate Jack was gone for quite some time in the bathroom] "I think Jack is drowned on the toilet." [Later, upon Jack's eventual return, interrupting class loudly] "Why were you so late? I thought you were drowned on the toilet."

[Utterly randomly, after dutifully raising his hand] "Last week I found a whiskey bottle in my kitchen."
Try to explain to a class full of first graders exactly what whiskey is after that. Suffice to say it involved miming drunkenness, which sadly most of them recognized straightaway.

[After coming in wet and bedraggled, having missed his bus and walked to class in the snow] "Just this morning I had a nosebleed and now I have a papercut!" [Whereupon I mentioned the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day which obviously he had already read.]

[On our last day, while working on a mammoth Social Studies review worksheet, trying to answer the question, "Who makes laws?" which his teammates were conflicted about]
"No!" [emphatically, interrupting various shouts of "teachers!" or "mayors!" or "presidents!"] "Presidents are leaders. LEADERS make rules!" [exasperated sigh]

[Still working on said Social Studies review, contradicting his classmates who wanted to skip a difficult question.] "Don't skip it! Use your brain!"

[Again, to his teammates, about the Social Studies review] "Keep up with me!"

[To me, or no one in particular, regarding, again, the Social Studies review] "Why am I the main person in this group?"

And... my favorite Ericism of all time (Drumroll please):

[While working on the mammoth Social Studies review, after having announced loudly the answer to a question, which the neighboring team of girls overheard]
Angelina: We do that! [meaning of course, "We did that already."]
Eric: (indignantly) So??
[muttering under his breath]
Shrews.

I overheard this and had to ask him to repeat himself. I couldn't believe that a nine year old first grader whose native tongue is Korean could pick up and use so easily a Shakespearean quasi-epithet for girls in manner of a jaded, middle-aged man. When I was certain that he had actually said what I thought he said, it was all I could do not to run out of the classroom in hysterics.

On the last day, I announced that the kids would have a new teacher on Monday and Eric said, perfectly enunciated with perfect grammar, "I'll miss you."

I'll miss you, too, kid. You have NO idea how much. And so will all my LJ readership. ;)

"We are the ones we've been waiting for."

Sat, 23 Feb 2008 04:05:54 GMT

I love Barack Obama. Not just because he is a true orator, not just because he has learned in the school of hard knocks, not just because he's quirky, not just because I love the title "The Audacity of Hope," but because when I watch the videos of his speeches, I can see the people behind him nodding, and cheering, and yay, even crying. The power to move people is tremendous. As Emily Dickinson said:

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."

Hooray for hope. Hooray for someone who sings its praises with a real chance of leading us toward it.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 14:48:01 GMT

Just as there are students whose brilliance I cannot even hope to attribute to my teaching skill and instead I simply enjoy knowing, there are other students who are - to put it lightly - a challenge.

One student in particular I knew would be of the latter variety after one class. He's got a mouth full of metal (and not from braces; from neglected teeth and an unchecked fondness for gum) and an unkind word for everyone and everything. He picks fights, he answers questions about his future with "I want to be a killer" or "I will go to jail," he flips the bird, slips curse words into class dialogue, often refuses to participate in class activies, and - above all - absolutely revels in his negativity.

He sounds like a nightmare, right?

He's actually one of my favorites, and not because I like dealing with his relentless anger at the world. And certainly not because he likes me. Many days, in fact, he hates me and makes no secret of it.

I like him because he is not a bad kid. He's a kid who is teetering on the brink of becoming a bad kid, but his potential peeks through the clouds like shafts of sunlight, and I know that the clouds are the smokescreen he has created to protect himself. From what, I don't know exactly, but it is clear that his home life is less than nurturing. All of the parental influence, support, love and encouragement that is evident in everything Eric says and does is completely absent from Mike's environment. This angry, hateful demeanor he has developed is his only way of handling the lack of these things... and he is still young enough and impressionable enough to occasionally indulge those natural childish cravings for affection and approval. He reacts to my positive reinforcement and praise like a starving person to food, and it not a small bit heartbreaking to watch.

Mike is part of a class of the most talkative girls I've yet encountered, for whom no subject is taboo and about which I often discuss concepts like fairness and honesty and duty. These discussions are often precipitated by conflicts that they bring into the classroom, and on one occasion we were discussing (indirectly) the idea of free will. I was telling them (for about the 100th time) that if another student says or does something bad to them, they should walk away and/or tell a teacher rather than retaliate, because the person who hurt them did a bad thing, but it would still be a bad thing for them to be hurtful in return. (This fairly simplistic morality applies pretty much without exception to gradeschool conflicts.) I was explaining that every person can make a choice about what they do, and if many people choose to do good things, the school will be mostly happy, but if many people choose to do bad things, we will be unhappy (again, simplified, but it works in our little microcosm). Mike, in typical Mike fashion, raises his little hand to contribute what I was certain would be a snide comment, but when I call on him instead he says with perfect, mournful earnesty in broken English - "Me. Ten years. Age. In ten years, no happy."

I was speechless. I almost cried. The poor damn kid. All I could do was tell him, "Well, I hope this is a happy place for you, Mike."

I wonder sometimes if I am making things more difficult for him, by showing him the way things could be; it confuses him sometimes, and at other times it makes him angrier and more aware of the gulf between most people's reality and his. I wonder if the droplets of good I am able to rain on him are falling into a vast ocean of their opposite; that happiness/fairness/affection/encouragement is the drizzle and negativity is the deluge. But then I think of the old parable of the young boy throwing starfish back into the ocean who declares, when confronted by a cynical adult who tells him he can never make a difference considering the vast number of beached starfish, "Well, I made a difference to that one." In this instance the starfish are not people, but injections of positivity. Does every little bit help? I try to operate as if that's true with Mike, because the childish sweetness I see in fleeting moments is worth preserving and nurturing.

What are theses glimmers of goodness, you might ask? Well they are well disguised, but I'll try to give you some examples. Mike has a driving need to ask "why" about everything, and not in that rhetorical, annoying way of young children. He truly wants to understand why I do things the way I do, either because I'm different from the other authority figures in his life or because no one has ever bothered to answer him when he asks, and I do. Today I was checking his MyWord book (the students have to write a new vocabulary word and its meaning in it every day), which I had made for him because he lost his previous one. I noticed a loose staple on it and remarked about how it was dangerous as I was fixing it. He asked me why I cared if the staple cut him. He seriously asked me why I cared if he got hurt. When I told him that I care because I like him, because he is my student and I want him to be safe and happy and nothing he can do or say will make me stop wanting those things for him, he got a little teary-eyed and wouldn't look at me.

This is a tactic I use a lot with Mike - when he does or says something in full expectation of anger or punishment, I stop, tell him that I feel sad and disappointed when he behaves this way, warn him that if he continues to choose to do this there will be a consequence, and remind him that I like him and I want him to choose to do the right thing. This reaction usually baffles him so completely that he subsides or occasionally, galvanized, steps up his participation, volunteering to answer questions and read.

The challenge that Mike presents forces me to be creative about my discipline. Yelling, telling him I'm angry, and using traditional methods of punishment have a profoundly alienating effect on Mike, thereby compounding the behavior I'm trying to stop. When Mike says or does something negative, rather than punishing him by sending him to be intimidated by the Senior Teacher or the Director, I sit with him during break and make him write nice sentences about everyone in the class. Mike faithfully maintains the pretense of hating this and does not hesitate to tell me that his sentences are not sincere. I tell him that it doesn't matter if he is sincere; he needs to learn that doing a bad thing has consequences and in my class that consequence is that he must practice thinking nice things. Amazingly, this is far more effective in curbing his negative behavior than any number of disapproving looks, trips to Mr. Thompson's office, or breaks spent in corners. In fact, it sometimes encourages his inner sweetheart to surface. Today he delivered a list that included me for the first time: "Ms. Walton is very, very good." And this after he struggled in his limited vocabulary to make it very clear to me that when he had made a punching gesture earlier in class, it was directed at a fellow student and not to me as it had appeared. (Enter the necessity to explain to him that I'm glad he wasn't making punching motions at me, but it's still wrong to make punching motions at anyone...)

What else makes me think this kid isn't just destined for jail? Mike listens so attentively when we discuss ideas like fairness, struggling to understand as if he has never seen such a thing in practice or dared to imagine that he could deserve it. He has, upon realizing that I am not doing to react with anger to his outbursts, contritely come to me after class and apologized for doing whatever it was that he did to disrupt the class.

I know there's about a 0.01% chance that he'll ever trust me enough to depend on me the way he clearly can't depend on anyone in his life, but sometimes all I want to do is just give the poor kid a hug. Just look him in the eye and tell him he's worth something, he's worth loving, and no failures will destroy that and no successes will guarantee it -- and have him really understand. Sometimes I wish hugs could cure everything:

"I will not play tug o' war. I'd rather play hug o' war. Where everyone hugs instead of tugs, where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug, where everyone kisses, and everyone grins, and everyone cuddles, and everyone wins."
~ Shel Silverstein

But since that's clearly not going to happen in anywhere except my fantasy hippie land, I'll just keep on keepin' on and hope it helps, if even just a little.

For the sake of posterity

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 13:24:13 GMT

Our semester is quickly coming to an end, so my time with my favorite grammatically gifted narcissist Eric is also dwindling since I probably won't have him in my class next semester. In fact, if there is any justice in the world, he'll go straight to Magnet (which is the advanced school) given that he's practically fluent.

But - o! - my days will be much sadder without him. Or at least less full of total absurdity, and let's face it: absurdity does us all good.

So, in what will probably be one of my last entries of Ericisms, I give you the most recent jewels:

[Upon learning the symbol for infinity]
Eric: I have a riddle to ask you! What's infinity plus infinity?
Us: We don't know, Eric. What is it?
At this point he walks up to the board and draws this:

I stare at it for a moment in puzzlement until I realize - it's a sideways sixteen. And given that the symbol for infinity looks like a sideways eight, it's only appropriate to make a sideways math problem:

The ease with which he synthesizes new ideas into his existing knowledge base and then manages to take them one step further toward riddles and joking is just amazing. He is, after all, the "emperor of math."

[Randomly, after authoritatively telling me that fish are "made of water" and therefore aren't crushed to death by the pressure in the depths of the ocean]
Eric: Do you know that some living things can make light?
Me: Yes, I think certain living things in caves can glow. And some fish at the bottom of the ocean, like the lantern fish.
Eric: That's right. Will you look up the lantern fish on Google? And how do you spell bioluminescence?
What 9 year old knows words like "bioluminescence??"

[After discussing the idea of having superpowers and being asked to write down a superpower that he would like to have]
Eric: I don't want any powers because I want to be a normal boy, working hard.
Me: Well you can write that down if you'd like, Eric. But I can think of a power that maybe you would like to have. It's called omniscience. It means "knowing everything."
[After regarding me with a quizzical expression]
Eric: I already have that power.

[Continuing the discussion of superpowers and whether they are real or not real, God having insinuated Him/Her/Itself in somehow] "There is one power that God can give us and that is working hard and being good."
Awwww...

[Still on the subject of superpowers, stubbornly holding on to realism and the ultimate, and in his opinion inevitable, destructive potential of extraordinary abilities] "There is a bad thing with being able to fly. You can collide with a jet - BAM!"

However, when Eric is not preaching about the evils of desiring to be more than what you are rather than making the most of what you can control, he can be quite a joker. Last week I had gone running and managed to cultivate an absolutely hellish blister which was so painful it was easier to walk around school with only one shoe. Which I did. Which naturally the kids asked about. Somehow during break Eric managed to sneak into the teacher's office without anyone seeing him, steal my shoe, and slip back into class. When the bell rang and I came back in, the other kids were tittering behind their hands, whereupon I had to ask, "What's so funny?" And there was Eric, sitting alone in the back of the class with my shoe on.

It was so damn cute I couldn't even pretend to be mad.