There are so many more important things I could be doing right now, but I'm going to take a moment to go back to the 4th-grade version of myself and indulge in an old whim. You see, as a precocious youngster I faithfully read the sports section of my local newspaper, the Daily Herald, every day. Sometimes I would become so excited after another thrilling Michael Jordan performance or so distraught after some loss--that was surely due to poor officiating--that I would write a sports column and send it into the paper. Sometimes they were re-tellings of pivotal points in games, other times they were well-thought-out pleas for why guys like Ron Harper and Scottie Pippen deserved more credit. None of my articles were ever published, but who could blame them for not realizing they had a 10-year-old Mitch Albom on their hands?
Anyways, I gave up the entirety of my afternoon to watching game 4 of the 1st round series between the Bulls and Celtics. By the end I was rooting for the Bulls more because I didn't want this series to end than because of my borderline-obsessive love of the team. For those of you who haven't been paying attention, the Celtics were leading the best-of-seven series 2 games to 1. The Bulls pulled out a thriller in Boston in game 1, then lost an equally compelling down-to-the wire match in game 2. Game 3 brought the series back to Chicago, but the Bulls laid an egg and were never in contention. Thus the pivotal game 4 that would determine the direction of the rest of the series. A Celtics win would virtually lock it up for them; a Bulls win would mean that it was all even.
The first two games were enough evidence to realize that this series is something special. The Celtics are the defending champs, but they're playing without the guy who is really the identity of the team. The Bulls are a somewhat discombobulated group that has a lethal amount of great scorers that are just now learning how to play together. The Celtics are led by veterans who have seen everything. The Bulls are lead by a rookie phenom and a coach who before this season had never coached at any level in his life. The result has been nothing short of phenomenal. Watching the Celtics refuse to cave despite their injuries and despite having played 180+ games the past two seasons is inspiring. Watching the Bulls come together before our eyes and fight through the growing pains of not having been here before is special because this only happens once in the evolution of a team.
But the best part is watching the two point guards duke it out like heavyweight champions. The Celtics' Rajon Rondo and the Bulls' Derrick Rose are so fast that no one can stay in front of them. They're strong and tough and in total control of their teams, despite being the youngest players. Rose tied Kareem Abdul-Jabbar for the most points ever for a rookie in his first playoff game, and Rondo has notched a triple double (one of the most difficult things to do in basketball) in THREE out of the four games.
Which made today's game so special. The Bulls were hanging on for dear life and somehow managed to have the lead at the end of the game. The Celtics missed a shot that would have tied it, and one of the young Bulls players made the mistake of not passing the ball to a better free throw shooter before getting fouled. He naturally missed one of the two free throws, which allowed the Celtics to tie it up on a wide open three pointer from Ray Allen, one of the deadliest shooters in the history of the league. (He was open because Derrick Rose completely blew his assignment defensively.) Youthful mistakes seemed to have cost the Bulls a game that they really didn't deserve to win in the first place, as they came out flat in the ensuing overtime and were quickly down by five.
Or so it seemed. A bizarre turn of events let the Bulls back in the game, and they now found themselves down by three with 10 seconds left. Enter Ben Gordon, the bite-sized dynamo who promptly hit a fade-away three pointer over the outstretched arm of a taller defender to send it into a second overtime. The Bulls almost blew another golden opportunity here, but John Salmons blocked a last second three point attempt that would have tied the game once again. The buzzer sounded, and the Bulls had prevailed.
Just like in the first two games, no team could seem to manage a lead larger than four or five points. The game kept going back and forth so every possession felt like the balance of the game rested on its shoulders. Both teams have dynamic scorers that do impossible things on a regular basis, which makes the actual viewing of the game that much more enthralling. And both teams never give up. Ever. They put their hearts out on the floor and give everything they can. The game wasn't perfect. Mistakes were made on both sides. But if you like basketball, it's impossible not to love watching two teams that match up so perfectly with each other. It makes it more special for me that my beloved Bulls are one of those teams. Here's to at least two more games in a series that I don't want to end any time soon. For a few hours today I was in fourth grade again, and that feeling is why we watch the games in the first place.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Ruminations upon my return to New York
Note: I started writing this post 4 days ago, and I'm finishing it now. I don't think the first part is any less true now than it was then.
I often find it difficult to de-clutter my mind sufficiently to write a coherent post. I have something like five different posts swirling through my head right now, and I'm trying to write whatever comes naturally out of my fingertips. Sometimes writing about the difficulties of writing is a good way to get myself started.
I returned to teaching yesterday after 2-plus weeks of vacation. I left myself virtually no time to prepare my lessons, but my experience differed immensely from my return after winter break. I barely slept that Sunday in early January, wracking myself with irrational anxieties about my fitness as a teacher. This time around it was smooth sailing. I slept peacefully, entered the oddly distant-yet-familiar school with confidence. My lessons were crisp and cool as the April air, and my enthusiasm for seeing my students again carried me through the day. I realized that I've got a decent handle on this whole teaching thing, and I genuinely love working with these kids every day. I missed them. I didn't necessarily miss the work and the planning and the exhaustion, but I missed them.
This provided some much-needed relief. It's comforting to know, to feel it in your bones, that you like what you do day in and day out. Feeling purposeful is a tremendous state in which to be, one that I've come to value after years of feeling something less. But it's not enough. For awhile it was; it had to be. I dedicated the entirety of my focus and energy into becoming a decent teacher, into learning the ropes and paying my dues. I didn't have time or energy for much else. I spent the last ten days surrounded by family and friends who are as good as family to me, and I couldn't help but notice the vacancy when I came back to New York.
It was my third trip back to Chicago, and for the first time I didn't experience my typical excitement and yearning for home. I was almost sad to be leaving this city that had taken me in with such open arms. Then I went to Chicago and it all felt so natural, everything slipping back into place as if I hadn't ever left. Then I went to Las Vegas and saw the family that I hadn't seen in so long, and I remembered why I missed them so much in the first place. And then it was over and I was back in New York City wishing I had even one person I could care for as much as I care about those I left behind. Like I've said in previous posts, giving of myself to all these students is an experience wholly unique and thrilling and gratifying, but it occupies a different realm from what I experienced during my travels over break. There exists a space, a vacancy, and I long to bridge the distance.
A few moments stand out for me from the past couple weeks:
(1) Leaving Chicago. I was surprised by my realization of how much I was going to miss that drizzling, freezing city (it had been in the 30s for the past couple of days before I left). It hit me rather suddenly. I had a very early flight to Vegas, so I was leaving my house at 5:30 in the morning. It felt secretive because no one was awake besides my cat Lola. The dark expanse of the living room between us, I waved goodbye to her as she darted her eyes between me and the bright lights of the car outside. For some reason, the scene made me really sad. Maybe leaving the cat behind reminded me of leaving something so comforting and domestic as the family home. Maybe I realized that if I was getting that choked up about a cat, it was going to be rough sailing not seeing everyone for awhile. I'm not sure. But I felt extremely attached to the feeling of being back in Skokie, and it hurt a little to let go.
(2) My birthday. My birthday was last Thursday, and I spent it in Las Vegas. While Vegas can be an ideal place to spend a birthday, I've realized over the years that the people make the birthday far more memorable than the place or the circumstances. So it was sort of strange to be in Las Vegas where I had lots of family, but family I hadn't seen in 3 or 4 years. I was worried that I would get in one of my overly contemplative moods and start to feel lonely and out of touch. My cousin Mike took me out to a bar just outside the strip, and we spent the evening shooting the bull (not riding it, although we could have at this place). His lovely girlfriend was there along with his band mate Kane and their friend Robert. I barely knew most of the people there, but I felt welcomed and ended up having a great time. Then I met up with Cherie, the art teacher whom I adore from school in the Bronx, and her extraordinary girlfriend Sam, and we lived it up on the Strip. Cherie and I enjoyed birthday shots of Patron before going on a tear and winning big bucks at the blackjack tables. Being with her also reminded me how good I have it back in New York. Going back for a moment to the beginning of the evening, I love getting to know people, and there was something, I don't know, extraordinary about hanging out with my older cousin Mike after all these years and recognizing that as much as we've changed it still feels like family. Family is an incredible thing, and I get blown away by how they're so good at it in Vegas. It's a gift. They know how to make family feel like family.
And along those lines, (3) a big family dinner on my second day in town. The stars aligned, and a bunch of people ended up being in the same place at once. We all had dinner on Wednesday evening, and I left feeling unabashedly good. I saw family that I hadn't seen in probably 10 or 15 years. A little background info: growing up, the now-Vegas family that I spent the most time with were Aunt Pat and Nana Betty, Uncle Mike and Aunt Kim, and my cousins Mike, Kath, and Allison. Sort of on the periphery for me were my Aunt Lil and her family and my Uncle John (who everyone calls Butch). I saw both Uncle John and Aunt Lil at this dinner. It was, quite simply, wonderful to see Aunt Lil. The wonder of the internet has unexpectedly made us closer than we ever were when we both lived in Illinois as the blogosphere allows us to follow each other's lives, which happen to be going in sort of parallel directions. We've both embarked on life-changing adventures in the past year--hers on the open roads across the country, mine in the vast avenues of New York City and its Department of Education. You can read her blog at . Anyways, it was cool to finally see her in person and meet Jim, her partner in crime. Equally exciting in a way that I find difficult to put into words was seeing Lil's daughter Amy, her husband Matt, and her daughter Kayleigh. I can't remember the last time I saw Amy, and if I ever met Kayleigh it was when she weighed about 15 pounds. (Although I remembered how to spell her name.) It was great because Amy is super smart and sweet, and 6th-grade Kayleigh is obviously following in her footsteps, and the three of them seem so happy together. I felt happy just to be related to them. Plus, it was keenly nostalgic to see this friendly, articulate, intelligent (straight-A's), Beatles-loving kid in the middle of a family gathering because the last time I saw everyone that's pretty much where I was at in life. I wish nothing but the best for them; it was a brief dinner, but I'm already a huge fan.
So it's with these experiences that I came back to New York with something of a heavy heart (if only because it was filled to the brim with so many good moments). Wait, sorry, one other thing before I move on: I am amazed by my Nana Betty. At 89, she's still the life of the party and has an infectious energy about her. Thank you, Nana Betty and Aunt Pat, for everything while I was staying with you.
Okay, back to coming back to New York. It was a little strange being back. By now, the week's flown by and it was great and I finally saw my teaching fellow friends from over the summer, and I just ate the greatest taco I've ever tasted, and I'm having a great time. But, as you can see by the length of this post, I'm still thinking about everyone back home and in Vegas. It's that strange duality of living in New York. I'm here to explore who I am, but I also know that I am most me when I'm with those I've left behind.
But I'll leave that thought for another post.
Until next time.
I often find it difficult to de-clutter my mind sufficiently to write a coherent post. I have something like five different posts swirling through my head right now, and I'm trying to write whatever comes naturally out of my fingertips. Sometimes writing about the difficulties of writing is a good way to get myself started.
I returned to teaching yesterday after 2-plus weeks of vacation. I left myself virtually no time to prepare my lessons, but my experience differed immensely from my return after winter break. I barely slept that Sunday in early January, wracking myself with irrational anxieties about my fitness as a teacher. This time around it was smooth sailing. I slept peacefully, entered the oddly distant-yet-familiar school with confidence. My lessons were crisp and cool as the April air, and my enthusiasm for seeing my students again carried me through the day. I realized that I've got a decent handle on this whole teaching thing, and I genuinely love working with these kids every day. I missed them. I didn't necessarily miss the work and the planning and the exhaustion, but I missed them.
This provided some much-needed relief. It's comforting to know, to feel it in your bones, that you like what you do day in and day out. Feeling purposeful is a tremendous state in which to be, one that I've come to value after years of feeling something less. But it's not enough. For awhile it was; it had to be. I dedicated the entirety of my focus and energy into becoming a decent teacher, into learning the ropes and paying my dues. I didn't have time or energy for much else. I spent the last ten days surrounded by family and friends who are as good as family to me, and I couldn't help but notice the vacancy when I came back to New York.
It was my third trip back to Chicago, and for the first time I didn't experience my typical excitement and yearning for home. I was almost sad to be leaving this city that had taken me in with such open arms. Then I went to Chicago and it all felt so natural, everything slipping back into place as if I hadn't ever left. Then I went to Las Vegas and saw the family that I hadn't seen in so long, and I remembered why I missed them so much in the first place. And then it was over and I was back in New York City wishing I had even one person I could care for as much as I care about those I left behind. Like I've said in previous posts, giving of myself to all these students is an experience wholly unique and thrilling and gratifying, but it occupies a different realm from what I experienced during my travels over break. There exists a space, a vacancy, and I long to bridge the distance.
A few moments stand out for me from the past couple weeks:
(1) Leaving Chicago. I was surprised by my realization of how much I was going to miss that drizzling, freezing city (it had been in the 30s for the past couple of days before I left). It hit me rather suddenly. I had a very early flight to Vegas, so I was leaving my house at 5:30 in the morning. It felt secretive because no one was awake besides my cat Lola. The dark expanse of the living room between us, I waved goodbye to her as she darted her eyes between me and the bright lights of the car outside. For some reason, the scene made me really sad. Maybe leaving the cat behind reminded me of leaving something so comforting and domestic as the family home. Maybe I realized that if I was getting that choked up about a cat, it was going to be rough sailing not seeing everyone for awhile. I'm not sure. But I felt extremely attached to the feeling of being back in Skokie, and it hurt a little to let go.
(2) My birthday. My birthday was last Thursday, and I spent it in Las Vegas. While Vegas can be an ideal place to spend a birthday, I've realized over the years that the people make the birthday far more memorable than the place or the circumstances. So it was sort of strange to be in Las Vegas where I had lots of family, but family I hadn't seen in 3 or 4 years. I was worried that I would get in one of my overly contemplative moods and start to feel lonely and out of touch. My cousin Mike took me out to a bar just outside the strip, and we spent the evening shooting the bull (not riding it, although we could have at this place). His lovely girlfriend was there along with his band mate Kane and their friend Robert. I barely knew most of the people there, but I felt welcomed and ended up having a great time. Then I met up with Cherie, the art teacher whom I adore from school in the Bronx, and her extraordinary girlfriend Sam, and we lived it up on the Strip. Cherie and I enjoyed birthday shots of Patron before going on a tear and winning big bucks at the blackjack tables. Being with her also reminded me how good I have it back in New York. Going back for a moment to the beginning of the evening, I love getting to know people, and there was something, I don't know, extraordinary about hanging out with my older cousin Mike after all these years and recognizing that as much as we've changed it still feels like family. Family is an incredible thing, and I get blown away by how they're so good at it in Vegas. It's a gift. They know how to make family feel like family.
And along those lines, (3) a big family dinner on my second day in town. The stars aligned, and a bunch of people ended up being in the same place at once. We all had dinner on Wednesday evening, and I left feeling unabashedly good. I saw family that I hadn't seen in probably 10 or 15 years. A little background info: growing up, the now-Vegas family that I spent the most time with were Aunt Pat and Nana Betty, Uncle Mike and Aunt Kim, and my cousins Mike, Kath, and Allison. Sort of on the periphery for me were my Aunt Lil and her family and my Uncle John (who everyone calls Butch). I saw both Uncle John and Aunt Lil at this dinner. It was, quite simply, wonderful to see Aunt Lil. The wonder of the internet has unexpectedly made us closer than we ever were when we both lived in Illinois as the blogosphere allows us to follow each other's lives, which happen to be going in sort of parallel directions. We've both embarked on life-changing adventures in the past year--hers on the open roads across the country, mine in the vast avenues of New York City and its Department of Education. You can read her blog at . Anyways, it was cool to finally see her in person and meet Jim, her partner in crime. Equally exciting in a way that I find difficult to put into words was seeing Lil's daughter Amy, her husband Matt, and her daughter Kayleigh. I can't remember the last time I saw Amy, and if I ever met Kayleigh it was when she weighed about 15 pounds. (Although I remembered how to spell her name.) It was great because Amy is super smart and sweet, and 6th-grade Kayleigh is obviously following in her footsteps, and the three of them seem so happy together. I felt happy just to be related to them. Plus, it was keenly nostalgic to see this friendly, articulate, intelligent (straight-A's), Beatles-loving kid in the middle of a family gathering because the last time I saw everyone that's pretty much where I was at in life. I wish nothing but the best for them; it was a brief dinner, but I'm already a huge fan.
So it's with these experiences that I came back to New York with something of a heavy heart (if only because it was filled to the brim with so many good moments). Wait, sorry, one other thing before I move on: I am amazed by my Nana Betty. At 89, she's still the life of the party and has an infectious energy about her. Thank you, Nana Betty and Aunt Pat, for everything while I was staying with you.
Okay, back to coming back to New York. It was a little strange being back. By now, the week's flown by and it was great and I finally saw my teaching fellow friends from over the summer, and I just ate the greatest taco I've ever tasted, and I'm having a great time. But, as you can see by the length of this post, I'm still thinking about everyone back home and in Vegas. It's that strange duality of living in New York. I'm here to explore who I am, but I also know that I am most me when I'm with those I've left behind.
But I'll leave that thought for another post.
Until next time.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Breakfast Club
I'm heading out to Laguardia in about 10 minutes, but I have an irrepressible urge to write about my last few days. I'm going to do my best to capture as much as I can. Let's start with what I found most interesting. A series of bizarre events led to me taking the role of this man for the entirety of yesterday:
Let me explain. I served as a chaperon on the 10th grade trip to Philadelphia. We take the students around to different colleges in the area for 3 days. It was a blast because the 10th graders happen to be an exceptional group of kids. We were scheduled to play mini-golf Monday night, but torrential downpours changed our plans. The staff decided to hang out in a college dining hall for about 2 and a half hours instead. There's only so much soft serve ice cream a 15-year-old can eat before he or she starts to look for mischief.
"Mischief" came in the form of a legitimate sex education seminar across the hall in the student union. Apparently some students went to the seminar under the misguided notion that they had permission (not from me - when one student asked me about it, I responded, "Where? In some guy's dorm room? Uh-uh. No way.") These were some of our best students. When one of the teachers stormed into the seminar and dragged them out, a couple of them protested their innocence a little too heatedly and earned the privilege of spending the rest of the trip in something of a lock down with a faculty supervisor. That faculty supervisor? You guessed it. Yours truly. I immediately started humming "Don't You Forget About Me" when they told me I would be spending Tuesday in the college library with the two students held in contempt. I found the entire scenario to be incredibly amusing, especially considering I have a lot more in common with this guy than Principal Warren:
I have to fly home to Chicago right now, but I'll fill you in on the thrilling conclusion to the story as soon as I can.
Let me explain. I served as a chaperon on the 10th grade trip to Philadelphia. We take the students around to different colleges in the area for 3 days. It was a blast because the 10th graders happen to be an exceptional group of kids. We were scheduled to play mini-golf Monday night, but torrential downpours changed our plans. The staff decided to hang out in a college dining hall for about 2 and a half hours instead. There's only so much soft serve ice cream a 15-year-old can eat before he or she starts to look for mischief.
"Mischief" came in the form of a legitimate sex education seminar across the hall in the student union. Apparently some students went to the seminar under the misguided notion that they had permission (not from me - when one student asked me about it, I responded, "Where? In some guy's dorm room? Uh-uh. No way.") These were some of our best students. When one of the teachers stormed into the seminar and dragged them out, a couple of them protested their innocence a little too heatedly and earned the privilege of spending the rest of the trip in something of a lock down with a faculty supervisor. That faculty supervisor? You guessed it. Yours truly. I immediately started humming "Don't You Forget About Me" when they told me I would be spending Tuesday in the college library with the two students held in contempt. I found the entire scenario to be incredibly amusing, especially considering I have a lot more in common with this guy than Principal Warren:
I have to fly home to Chicago right now, but I'll fill you in on the thrilling conclusion to the story as soon as I can.
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