Blog #22 Draft Reflective Writing

• I thought this class was going to teach me more about teaching my kids how to write non-fiction - SURPRISE!
• I used to really enjoy writing when I wasn't teaching, but my job takes away my personal reading and writing time.  I have been inspired to get back into it.
• I have been immensely challenged by this course.
• I believed I knew what creative non fiction was until now.
• I have been beating myself up by thinking my writing isn't good enough, which sometimes it isn't.
• I write better when I am not tied to a schedule or deadline, because I don't have time to wait to get inspired; it hust happens.
• I have learned quite a bit about myself as a writer.
• I have learned things that I CAN use with my students in class.
• I have a lot inside to write about and have shared it in my writings, therefore incresing my comfort level.
• It is sometimes difficult for me to distinguish between the "I" and the "EYE".

Blog #21 - Markets available for my work

I am very excited to try my hand at getting published, which is something I thought about doing after I retire from teaching in about ten years.  I have secretly started what I hope will turn into two books - one, a fictional romance, and the other, a non fiction story based on starting over in a new career at middle age.  Having the opportunity to complete this part of our course work has encouraged me to think about starting sooner, and makes me anxious to recieve my first acceptance or rejection letter from a publisher.

The source I have chosen is called "The Teacher's Voice", and I will be submitting the essay I wrote about my favorite subject - my career as a teacher, and the authentic, but candid experiences I have to share with my students from "the hood'.  I could not be in a more rewarding place, and am thankful for this second chnce in my life to be able to do what I always wanted.

The majority of the writings at this sight are poems, but there are a few essays.  Either way, the topics are all generally the same - the positve joys of working with kids and making a difference.  There are some politically, pointed writings as well, since the recent attacks being made on the teaching profession and their unions, however, I hope to not go there with my writing.  It really is the genuine experience writing that will shoot those opinions down, without even trying.

We'll see what happens.

Blog #20 - Completed Essay 4

Middle School Morph

          The movie “To Sir With Love” debuted in 1967.  If there was ever an inspiring story to lead you to become a teacher or not, this was it.  Sidney Poitier portrayed an out of work engineer, who took a teaching job, just until he gained employment in his area of study.  The setting was in an urban, low socio-economic area of London.  When he found it just about impossible to do his job, he reached out in the only way he could think of, by disposing of his textbooks and starting to teach his students from scratch, with lessons on daily life and values.  In the end, it was worth his while.  At the end of the school year, he had made major breakthroughs with the children, and the Engineering job he was waiting on came through, so he wrote his resignation letter to the school.  While he had both a challenging and successful year as a teacher, he believed he was ready to move on.  Right before he was going to leave his classroom and submit his resignation to the administration of the high school, a few students came wildly flying into his classroom to let him know that they were going to be in his “bloody” class next year.  He tore up the letter.  He realized this was where he belonged, and that while it was difficult, these children in this place needed someone like him.

          This neighborhood school and its students can be found pretty much anywhere in the world, where children live under some less than acceptable conditions.  In the urban areas of New Jersey, every year, the kids come plowing into the classroom, anxious to start their new school year of learning – but alas, that is just the dream of a teacher!  They come for many different reasons, least of which is their education.  They come for the social life, for time to hang out with their friends.  They come in hopes of potential personal relationships, to become a part of a couple or a family.  They come to get away from their home life, this for a variety of scary and emotional reasons. The teachers, who have chosen to be here with them, don’t quite realize the baggage the students carry with them right away, but you can be sure it’s there.  They begin to strategize on getting the kids into a viable routine, and the students fight them every step of the way, because routine is not something they are accustomed to.  The teachers later find out that their classes and follow-up on these kids may be the sole bit of consistency that a good number of them have in their lives.  The days, weeks and months drag on, but they never give up.  They continue to teach them from books and life’s experiences, in spite of themselves.  Real teachers have the genuine insight to see in their students, what they can’t yet see in themselves.

          “Let’s start with an ice breaker!”, the results of which are meant for the children to get acquainted, but are truly to give the teacher a pathway to their individual needs.  Teachers, then assess their academic needs, because they need to understand the learning styles of the kids, and instruct them accordingly.  You see, they are not just teachers in these neighborhoods.  They are parentis in absentia, social workers, psychologists, nutritionists, and on and on.  There is no end to the special needs of most urban students.  Teachers have to learn to communicate not only in their native languages, which are widely diverse, but must also become a quick study of “street” language and the “urban dictionary”.  They come from many countries, and are labeled as “bi-lingual”.  But their languages are attained in this order:  Native language, which they speak at home, English, as they learn it in the street, texting short hand, and finally the real English, or whatever of that is left anymore, what with e-mail and cell phones.  Of course, the miracle that these teachers are expected to perform, is to take them from here, to writing a five paragraph, logical and coherent, persuasive argument.  The students must use proper English, so that the state will continue to fund the school and supply teachers with the tools they need to open the following year.

          Teachers can’t do this job unless they love this job, along with the stress and frustration, but even more, they must love the children.  In addition to their diverse backgrounds, their hormones are raging, so the assignments they are given are obviously not very high on the priority list of these early teenagers.  Middle school students don’t believe that their teachers expect them to actually study, nor can they be convinced that teachers’ aspirations for their success, is truly for their own good.  But they are in middle school.

          At age eleven or twelve, children are promoted into the grades called middle school.  They have completed their elementary education, but are not yet ready for high school, so they cautiously move into this transitional middle, with the weariness of that of a middle child in a family.  As sixth graders, they meekly arrive onto the scene, where they become holders of this square piece of metal, called a locker.  While it is surely a status symbol, it is not something they can actually use, for there must certainly be a gremlin hiding inside which prevents the secret combination from opening the door.  Therefore, these children remain the tested weaklings of the middle school.  By the end of this year, however, if they have survived, and have been able to open the locker for at least one month, the power that begins to grow in their body and minds is overwhelming.  They are now fighting the takeover by the battling hormones, which leaves them with little left to focus with in their studies…..but their teachers still do not give up.  From September through December, they still feel like sixth graders, but once their winter holiday is completed, they return to the classroom with a focus and vigor, not to see what can be learned from their books, but what they can learn about how much they can get away with.  It is surely their turn to test their teachers beginning in January until the end of the school year.  They are now also very strong, as they will soon become the upper classmen in this kindergarten through eighth grade facility.  As a seventh grade teacher, January through June can be death-defying.  These facts teachers are divulging, are the results of both keen observation and highly developed teaching philosophy on the adolescent brain.

          Finally in September, the frightening seventh graders return as the leaders of the school.  They are powerful and their teachers continue to push on, for now they must prepare them for a more significant transition to high school. There, every choice they make will have more critical consequences, so no matter how much they fight against it, teachers must persist.  The eighth grade teachers know a secret about these new students this year, which the students themselves are not yet aware of; for they have seen many classes come and go.  It is for this hope and light at the end of the tunnel that they hang on.  They know the light is not an oncoming train, but an ebbing tide of hormones and power that is approaching.  For when an eighth grader returns from winter break, their teachers begin to see an awakening.  If you have ever seen the blooming process of peonies, a flower whose outside must be eaten off by insects before it can fully bloom, this is what a latter year eighth grader resembles.  This tough exterior of their personality begins to dissipate, as they realize their time here is growing short.  The comfort and safety net that was built for them is about to change, and they suddenly feel the need to hold on for dear life to what they have been pushing away for the last eighteen months.  They say words like “help” and “thank you”.  It is when the teachers of these middle students finally see this scion, which they know they have done the right things.  It is now, in this metamorphous, that they are certain it was all worthwhile.

Blog 19 - Pre-draft Essay 4 draft

The Movie "To Sir with Love" debuted in 197*.  If there was ever an inspiring story to become a teacher or not, this was it.  Sidney Portier portrayed a new teacher in an urban, low socio-economic area of London.  When he found it just about impossible to do his job, he reached out in the only way he could think of to his students.  And in the end, it was worth his while.  Ultimately, he decided to resign and not go through a similar experience again.  Some of his new students came wildly flying into his room, before submitting his resignation, and he tore up the letter.  He realized this was where he belonged, and that while it was difficult, these children in this place needed someone like him.

Every  year, they come plowing into the room, anxious to start their new school year of learning - NOT!  They come for the social life and hanging out with their friends.  The teachers never realize the baggage they carry with them right away, but you can be sure it's there.  The teachers begin to strategize on getting the kids into a viable routine, and the students fight them every step of the way.  The days, weeks and months drag on, but they never give up.  They continue to teach them from books and life's experiences in spite of themselves.  Teachers have the genuine insight to see in their students, what they can't yet see in themselves. 

"Let's start with an ice breaker!", the results of which are meant for the children to get acquainted, but are truly to give the teacher a pathway to their needs.  Teachers then assess their academic needs, because they truly need to understand the learning styles of the kids and teach them as individuals.  You see, they are not just teachers here.  They are parentis in absentia, social workers, psychologists, nutritionists, and on and on.  There is no end to the special needs of the urban student.  Teachers have to learn to communicate not only in their native languages, which are widely diverse, but must also become a quick study of "street" language and the "urban dictionary".  They come from many countries, and are labeled as "bi-lingual".  But their languages are attained in this order:  Native Language, which they speak at home, English from the street (scary), texting short-hand, and finally the English.  Of course, the miracle you are to perform is to take them from here to writing a five paragraph persuasive argument.  You are supposed to get them to use "proper" English, so that the state will fund your school to open the following year.

You can't do this job unless you love it and you love them.  In addition to their diverse background, their hormones are raging, so what you give them for homework is way down on the priority list.  Besides, they actually don't believe that you actually expect them to study, and you want this for them and for their own good.

BLOG #17 Draft For Essay 3

An Art of the Senses

They all had a collection of aprons and beat- up, old pots and pans, but there was no question,  this was where everyone wanted to be, where the action was!  How many family members can you squeeze into your apartment kitchen – the more, the better.  The Guarinos’ and the Mauros’ craved the coming of every Sunday dinner, when aggressively awakened by searing garlic and meat, seasoned with the intruding fragrance of fresh basil, and yet the coffee had not finished perking yet.  We assumed everyone’s kitchens were just like ours, where creativity partnered with nutrition and tradition.  Being raised on a comfort called “food” inspired love of family and pride in heritage.  Not until many years later would the subject come up of what negative effects it could have, but then maybe we just weren’t listening.  We were too busy cooking and eating!

“Are we going to Aunt Josie’s today for dinner?”  If you think Sunday dinners were special, the holidays brought life to a halt with the hours of cooking and preparation which went into days and sometimes weeks. We prayed for invitations to one of our eleven aunts’ houses or just looked forward to family coming over to share food and a good time.  Our apartment was so small that sometimes we had to pick up the beds so everyone would have room to sit.  The kids made a vertical pattern up and down the staircase which was a fun challenge, but through everything, it was all about the food and being together.  I looked around and knew, even at that young age, that was what I wanted my house to be like some day, and it would.

Cooking was often looked upon as an item on the list of chores of a housewife in the 1950’s and 60’s.  It wasn’t until later in life and society that it had been finally looked on as what it truly is – an art.  There were a few pioneers in the television cooking industry, like Julia Child, the French Chef and the Galloping Gourmet.  Today there are multiple networks featuring the art of cooking, for it is, in my humble opinion, an art of all the senses.  After all, you can look at a painting, listen to music, touch a sculpture and smell fresh gardening, but you can do all those things, as well as taste, when your cooking becomes an art form. 

In sophomore year of high school, Mom had to go back to work to help pay tuition for my brother and I.  Aunt Mary, Mom’s oldest sister who lived on the first floor of our house had passed away, so the responsibility of taking care of Uncle Ignazio fell on us.  “You are going to have to make sure dinner is on the table no later than five o’clock every day”,  Mom mentioned, as she prepared for her new retail position.  She wasn’t qualified for much else and would be working a few nights a week.  I will leave you a note and let you know where everything is for each night’s dinner.  While I had learned a lot by observing, I really had no actual training by Mom, but just been around it my whole life, so I’d give it a go.

The key was at first was to keep things simple – meat, potato and vegetable, sometimes a salad.  The fans of my cooking were of great variety – Dad who could never be objective about anything I did, Uncle Ignazio, who would pretty much devour anything you put in front  of him, my younger brother, who somehow developed the theory that he eats to live and not lives to eat (did we really grow up in the same house?!), and an occasional army of ants who would march in rhythm up the plastic tablecloth to the electric frying pan perched on the kitchen table, frying up some pork chops and sauerkraut, their personal favorite. 

After a few days, I began to really enjoy this experience, as it proved to entice all of my sensory limits.  Expansion on this new skill was the answer, which started with an educational visit to the grocery store and some farm stands.   A lot of what Mom had gotten me to make came out of boxes, frozen and unfrozen, and a few cans.  Watching a cooking show or two on public broadcasting television presented what REAL cooking looked like, so I followed the people in the food store who were buying real food and fresh dairy, vegetables and protein.  Walking back into the house, I felt as though I had struck gold.  The ambiance in our small kitchen turned to delights of the palette.  There was nothing better than this new experimentation that touched the enjoyable sensory soft spots of my entire family.  Mom laughed cynically when I told her what I had been doing, and more so when she came home from work.  “You don’t need to worry about cooking anymore, Rosie.  Our girl here, has a real knack for it.”  Mom took this okay and joined in the merriment.  From this day on, the household had a new head chef.  I experimented, created and modified most of the recipes I had grown up on, but made sure not to try and fix anything that was not broken.  Change, just for the sake of change, can have horrible results.

I noticed that I sang when I cooked.  When I felt sad, I cooked.  When I felt nervous, I cooked.  I cooked when I was happy, anxious, depressed, and it always helped me to relax.  I had found something that was better than a therapist, and the fact that I was so successful with it made me very excited.  Cooking makes you feel alive because it does spark all your senses.  The crack of separating fresh vegetables, the scent of spices and grilling, the rainbow colors of fresh ingredients, the feel of a successful quiche or soufflé, and finally the taste of a project well done.  A level beyond what my Mom and aunts had done had come upon me, and I waited like a child on Christmas Eve night to be able to present my family with a holiday spread. 

My home had been the place people hoped to be invited to and what I had dreamed about as a child.  My thin and healthy younger brother, who does not believe in overeating, usually has to loosen his pants before dessert hits the table.  Friends call and tell me that they are fasting before the big day, and check what is on the menu.  The food that we serve in our house is a definitive welcome to those we care about.  My husband, of course, is the one upon which they created the saying, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”, and provides me with a great, willing and able assistant to clean up after me.  He is also the caretaker of our grandiose garden and supplies boatloads of fresh veggies from May through October.  This can be overwhelming and proved to burn out our stove this past season.  Excess bagfuls go out to the neighbors.  Supposedly, real cooks make large messes, and I seem to fit that profile.

Since cooking has become a hobby and an enjoyable past time, other opportunities to learn to cook and eat healthier have led down other paths.  I chair the Alliance for a healthier generation in my school and annoy my students with how eating healthier will increase their performance in school.  They do not believe me.  I think sometimes that when I retire from teaching, I would like to open a restaurant, but I will probably be too tired.  A neighborhood, short order luncheonette would be really cool, and I could entice my customers with a special of the day.  

So one day when you are bored and have nothing in particular to do, go to the store, go home and envelop your house with something multi-sensory to warm your palette.  You will guarantee yourself a creative experience.