I recently viewed the trailer for the movie Where the Wild Things Are. It connected with my present mood so I'm using it to launch my train of thought. For those of you who don't know, Where the Wild Things Are is a classic children's book by Maurice Sendek. I don't remember the plot of the book so much as the pictures of the shaggy mischievous beasts that live in a young boy's refuge of a forest. The trailer captures a child disappointed by reality and finding a place filled with the possibilities of freedom and hope and adventure and all those good things (all set to the song "Wake Up" by the Arcade Fire, one of my favorites). So why does it resonate with me? I think it has something to do with what I wrote a few posts ago, about living in a time of opportunity and possibility. It also has something to do with my admiration for childlike innocence, for hoping and dreaming and transcending. For wanting to live in a place where you can sing as loud as you want, run as fast as you can, sail to secret places, laugh the entire night through.
I guess I'm thinking about growing up. It's something that unavoidably (and thankfully) has happened to me over the course of the year as a teacher. I love that I can handle the responsibility of being there every day for such a wonderful group of students. Even more I love that the experience hasn't hardened me or made me too much of an adult. The work is intense and constant. Imagine having to give four big presentations every day of the week. That's what I do. The experience isn't all that different from being a high schooler in terms of the homework and having to be on top of things every single day. The big difference is that if you don't bring your A-game as a student, you're the only person that suffers. 90 other people suffer when I don't bring my A-game to school. It's daunting now that I think about it. I'd rather think about possibilities and dreams and hope and where the wild things are.
I want to become responsible, learned, and respected, but I don't want to forsake naivete, silliness, and wide-eyed wonder. They're certainly not mutually exclusive. This Friday I had the opportunity to indulge in the dreamer in me, and it felt like home. Right now I'm going to sing, at the top of my lungs. Then I'm going to run as fast as I can. Then I'm going to sit down and grade tests and write lesson plans for 4 hours. I like growing up.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Coming to a location near you
It's finally set. My spring break starts on April 9, so I'll be flying into Chicago on the evening of April 8. I'll be staying in Chicago for Passover and then flying to Las Vegas on the morning of the 14th. I can't wait to see everyone. I'm ready to go home.
Side note: I'm watching the Bulls-Lakers game on WGN over the internet right now. This makes me very very happy.
Side note: I'm watching the Bulls-Lakers game on WGN over the internet right now. This makes me very very happy.
The Big Game
Our hands converged to the center of the circle. Our bodies rose and fell and swayed in kinetic discord. We lifted our hands and our voices crescendoed into a fierce growl:
"One, two, three. STAFF!"
We stretched our quads one last time and exuded confidence with every look into each others' eyes. This was no ordinary pick-up game played after school in the old gym of the Paul Robeson complex. This was the student-staff basketball game, and we meant business.
There was the cat-like Hara, the unequivocal leader of the team. The lightning-quick Joudrey. The wily Clarke. The Big Dog, Abramson. And the math teacher (me). On the other side of the half-court line stood the boys' basketball team, which had failed to win a single game all season. Just part of their plan to lull us into a false sense of complacency. We were up to their ruse. This would be no walk in the park.
The game was tight from the opening tip. Missed lay-up to missed jump shot, we matched each other at each end of the court. When one of the reserves on the boys' team missed two free throws at the end of the 20 minute period, giving the teachers a dominant 1-point victory, there was little need to celebrate. Our masterful display out there was a celebration of the game of basketball.
"One, two, three. STAFF!"
We stretched our quads one last time and exuded confidence with every look into each others' eyes. This was no ordinary pick-up game played after school in the old gym of the Paul Robeson complex. This was the student-staff basketball game, and we meant business.
There was the cat-like Hara, the unequivocal leader of the team. The lightning-quick Joudrey. The wily Clarke. The Big Dog, Abramson. And the math teacher (me). On the other side of the half-court line stood the boys' basketball team, which had failed to win a single game all season. Just part of their plan to lull us into a false sense of complacency. We were up to their ruse. This would be no walk in the park.
The game was tight from the opening tip. Missed lay-up to missed jump shot, we matched each other at each end of the court. When one of the reserves on the boys' team missed two free throws at the end of the 20 minute period, giving the teachers a dominant 1-point victory, there was little need to celebrate. Our masterful display out there was a celebration of the game of basketball.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Some Highlights
I started this blog with the intention of chronicling my experiences as a first year teacher. I realized early on that I wouldn't be very good at it. I can definitely tell you the general vibe of what it's like to be a teacher (overwhelming, time-consuming, wonderful). I'm still not quite familiar enough with the Bronx to write about it very well, but even if I was, I still think I would write in generalities. I have very few stories to tell about teaching. Every day seeps into the next one. I very quickly let go of what happens during the day, and I come in fresh the next morning. I'm sure I could come up with some better stories if I truly racked my brain, but I bet the would be at least partially fictional.
This is the best I can do for now. Here are some transcripts of actual exchanges that occurred in class between my students and me:
Me: Today we're starting a unit on parallel lines. This lesson's going old school--all the way back to Ancient Greece. There was a man who created geometry as we know it. We learn geometry the way we do today because of this person-
Student in the front row: Hitler?
Me: {Speechless}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me: And so Ben Stiller's character looks at the scale model of the school they want to build for him, and his face scrunches up, and he gets really angry, and he shoves the model to the floor. He points at it and shouts, "What is this, a school for ants?! How are they going to be able to learn anything if they can't even fit in the building?" And that explains the idea of similarity between shapes--how two things can have the same proportions but totally different sizes. Obviously, Zoolander didn't understand this concept.
Entire Class: Blank stares.
This is the best I can do for now. Here are some transcripts of actual exchanges that occurred in class between my students and me:
Me: Today we're starting a unit on parallel lines. This lesson's going old school--all the way back to Ancient Greece. There was a man who created geometry as we know it. We learn geometry the way we do today because of this person-
Student in the front row: Hitler?
Me: {Speechless}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me: And so Ben Stiller's character looks at the scale model of the school they want to build for him, and his face scrunches up, and he gets really angry, and he shoves the model to the floor. He points at it and shouts, "What is this, a school for ants?! How are they going to be able to learn anything if they can't even fit in the building?" And that explains the idea of similarity between shapes--how two things can have the same proportions but totally different sizes. Obviously, Zoolander didn't understand this concept.
Entire Class: Blank stares.
The fruits of my labor
I was compelled. I needed to bake today. I've been meaning to bake for a long time, but I've only managed to get about 3 or 4 hours of sleep per night the last week or so. Whenever I have enough time to bake I choose to collapse into bed instead. This morning began by kneading out two discs of pate brisee (pie crusts). Then came the creme brulee french toast. Then came the strawberry rhubarb filling. Tonight will be the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Work never tasted so good.
Here are the fruits of my labor:
And, yes, it's as good as it looks.
Here are the fruits of my labor:
And, yes, it's as good as it looks.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A thud in the distance
I had a surreal night. Well, a surreal moment in an otherwise New Yorkish night. I was on my way to the subway after finishing my grad class, my mind blurred by lingering arithmetic and equations. It had been raining off and on all day, and there was a damp nocturnal stillness to Harlem. I was waiting to cross Broadway, letting the small stream of cars pass by, and as I took my first few steps into the intersection I heard a screech from a block away. I turned my head to look and I saw a black SUV jerk hard to the left. Then I heard a distant thump that sounded like a big rubber garbage can getting knocked over. Then I saw another car behind the SUV. Then I saw the SUV begin to rotate in an odd way. Then the SUV was upside down. It landed on its hood. The only noises were the initial thump and a hard thud a moment later. The whole scene was lit by gloomy street lamps filtering light through the moist air. It felt as if the accident occurred in a vacuum, in a dream.
I snapped out of my reverie realizing that I was in the middle of the street and could easily meet a similar fate as the SUV. I walked to the median of the road and called 911. I've never called 911 before. Everything was so quiet, so still. Yet there was an enormous vehicle lying on its hood. It was upright and then it was not. It just floated to the left and twirled through the air with surprising gracefulness for an object so big. It's strange to see something with that kind of mass waft through the air.
A mass of people ran to the scene of the accident but I didn't feel compelled to witness the aftermath. I hope no one was seriously injured. I stayed where I was a block away for awhile, talking with some of the classmates who had either been ahead of or behind me.
In the words of Alec Baldwin: "Well, that happened."
My night returned to the realm of normalcy in the subway car when a man randomly grabbed my attention and asked me to tie his shoe for him. He was rather portly and by the looks of him might have only barely had the mental, let alone physical, capacity to perform the task, so naturally I obliged. He made sure that I was comfortable with what I had just done. I assured him I was and we went on with our ride.
That was my night.
I snapped out of my reverie realizing that I was in the middle of the street and could easily meet a similar fate as the SUV. I walked to the median of the road and called 911. I've never called 911 before. Everything was so quiet, so still. Yet there was an enormous vehicle lying on its hood. It was upright and then it was not. It just floated to the left and twirled through the air with surprising gracefulness for an object so big. It's strange to see something with that kind of mass waft through the air.
A mass of people ran to the scene of the accident but I didn't feel compelled to witness the aftermath. I hope no one was seriously injured. I stayed where I was a block away for awhile, talking with some of the classmates who had either been ahead of or behind me.
In the words of Alec Baldwin: "Well, that happened."
My night returned to the realm of normalcy in the subway car when a man randomly grabbed my attention and asked me to tie his shoe for him. He was rather portly and by the looks of him might have only barely had the mental, let alone physical, capacity to perform the task, so naturally I obliged. He made sure that I was comfortable with what I had just done. I assured him I was and we went on with our ride.
That was my night.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Is it spring already?
I'm like the grizzly bear awaking from a lengthy hibernation. The temperature dipped above 55 degrees yesterday and suddenly I feel like writing again. I've got the Rolling Stones' "Exile on Main St." here to push me forward.
That isn't to say I haven't felt like writing at all over the past few months, but I wasn't inspired enough to put words on paper. Part of it was time. I've finally added a social life to my career. It leaves very little time to put down my thoughts the way I want to, and believe me writing these blog posts take me quite a while. I like to think that I'm writing my story in real-time, as though I approach my life like an author writing a narrative. I like to think that writing my real life eclipses writing a facsimile over the internet. I'm not sure how true that is--not sure how much creative control I take over what I do from day to day. I'm torn between the desire to chronicle the day-to-day happenings of my life, which tend to blend with each other into an indistinct mass that's difficult for me to comprehend, and the desire to chronicle the thoughts and impulses that thread through my every day, which tend to be difficult for everyone else to comprehend. It doesn't matter. The key is to write. And that is what I will do.
Spring has come to New York City this weekend, and it's a wonderful time to be a New Yorker. I ran through Central Park after class yesterday, and it reminded me of when I visited the city to do my interview for the Teaching Fellows last April. (Quick tangent: It's almost been one year since I moved to New York. Can you believe that?) The cool part about running through New York is that you see everyone, everything. And it's all mixed together. Tall people chatting with short people, red-heads, brown-heads, pink-heads, and green-heads lounging on the lawn, an Asian girl kissing a black boy, an Asian man kissing a black man. There's vendors and musicians and dancers and readers and runners and writers and watchers and laughers and smilers and scowlers and hunchers and strutters and families and friends and ... everyone. It's like a dream. It opens your mind to the possibilities that exist out there--all the different lifestyles you can choose to live, all the people you can let into your life, all the things you can choose to value. There I was, running through all of it.
Running is such a fitting activity for me because it has tremendous metaphorical value to my philosophy. I love the idea of flowing through a wide open world and experiencing everything one stride at a time. I want to see as much as I can. The melancholy element is that despite being surrounded by so many people, running is a somewhat solitary endeavor. No matter how many people I meet, places I see, I always feel a little alone.
That's pretty much where I am right now. I've made extraordinary connections to my students, to other teachers, to people in and around the city, but I'm still searching for something elusive that makes me feel at home, part of something more than myself.
It's strange considering the current economic conditions, but I feel like more possibilities are open than ever before in my lifetime. We're in a recession and social structures contract, but that allows ideas to grow larger in their place. We can recreate what we want our world to look like now that some of the bigger powers are starting to fall apart. Any time there's such fluctuation and uncertainty, windows of possibility open up everywhere.
All this makes me feel like I have to do something. I need to try something that will help me find my place in this evolving society. Writing is something that I've always thought could lead me to new and exciting places, so it's time that I really get down to it. Please keep bugging me about blog entries so I don't lose focus or momentum. I'm not sure what else to do. Teaching is extraordinary, and I'm so glad that I'm focusing much of my time towards it, but it (will?) afford me additional time to do something else. What will it be? I've been blessed to be born with an active brain and a desire to do good. I want to make sure that I use everything I've been given. I want to live my life like I'm writing a really awesome story every single day.
Spring is almost here. What should I do? How about you?
That isn't to say I haven't felt like writing at all over the past few months, but I wasn't inspired enough to put words on paper. Part of it was time. I've finally added a social life to my career. It leaves very little time to put down my thoughts the way I want to, and believe me writing these blog posts take me quite a while. I like to think that I'm writing my story in real-time, as though I approach my life like an author writing a narrative. I like to think that writing my real life eclipses writing a facsimile over the internet. I'm not sure how true that is--not sure how much creative control I take over what I do from day to day. I'm torn between the desire to chronicle the day-to-day happenings of my life, which tend to blend with each other into an indistinct mass that's difficult for me to comprehend, and the desire to chronicle the thoughts and impulses that thread through my every day, which tend to be difficult for everyone else to comprehend. It doesn't matter. The key is to write. And that is what I will do.
Spring has come to New York City this weekend, and it's a wonderful time to be a New Yorker. I ran through Central Park after class yesterday, and it reminded me of when I visited the city to do my interview for the Teaching Fellows last April. (Quick tangent: It's almost been one year since I moved to New York. Can you believe that?) The cool part about running through New York is that you see everyone, everything. And it's all mixed together. Tall people chatting with short people, red-heads, brown-heads, pink-heads, and green-heads lounging on the lawn, an Asian girl kissing a black boy, an Asian man kissing a black man. There's vendors and musicians and dancers and readers and runners and writers and watchers and laughers and smilers and scowlers and hunchers and strutters and families and friends and ... everyone. It's like a dream. It opens your mind to the possibilities that exist out there--all the different lifestyles you can choose to live, all the people you can let into your life, all the things you can choose to value. There I was, running through all of it.
Running is such a fitting activity for me because it has tremendous metaphorical value to my philosophy. I love the idea of flowing through a wide open world and experiencing everything one stride at a time. I want to see as much as I can. The melancholy element is that despite being surrounded by so many people, running is a somewhat solitary endeavor. No matter how many people I meet, places I see, I always feel a little alone.
That's pretty much where I am right now. I've made extraordinary connections to my students, to other teachers, to people in and around the city, but I'm still searching for something elusive that makes me feel at home, part of something more than myself.
It's strange considering the current economic conditions, but I feel like more possibilities are open than ever before in my lifetime. We're in a recession and social structures contract, but that allows ideas to grow larger in their place. We can recreate what we want our world to look like now that some of the bigger powers are starting to fall apart. Any time there's such fluctuation and uncertainty, windows of possibility open up everywhere.
All this makes me feel like I have to do something. I need to try something that will help me find my place in this evolving society. Writing is something that I've always thought could lead me to new and exciting places, so it's time that I really get down to it. Please keep bugging me about blog entries so I don't lose focus or momentum. I'm not sure what else to do. Teaching is extraordinary, and I'm so glad that I'm focusing much of my time towards it, but it (will?) afford me additional time to do something else. What will it be? I've been blessed to be born with an active brain and a desire to do good. I want to make sure that I use everything I've been given. I want to live my life like I'm writing a really awesome story every single day.
Spring is almost here. What should I do? How about you?
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