Given the circumstances, having a class of kids who don’t usually want to learn, I’ve been pleasantly surprised with my year 11s. Don’t mistake what I’m saying to mean that my year 11 boys are perfect angels, they’re not. However, they keep me on my toes. They’re an interesting bunch. They are actually the first class I’ve come to know everybody’s names in, and half of this I believe is due to the fact that each student in the class is extremely different than the person next to them. There aren’t two personalities that are alike, and I think the mistake that many teachers have made with these boys, is that they assume they ARE all exactly alike, shove them all into the same category, and then dismiss them. I’ve found that positive reinforcement has been so successful with these boys, that you’d almost think I was faking it, but I’m not. I’m genuinely thrilled with them.
There are two boys in my year 11 class, “Allan” and “Jimmy” and I had been warned multiple times that these two boys can serve as the catalyst for an entire class disruption, and it’s 100% true. HOWEVER, I’ve also noticed that these boys seek attention, and that by giving them positive attention, they do not do negative things. I’m not giving them fake attention, or praising them for doing nothing, but let’s be logical for one second. As frustrating as it MAY seem to deal with misbehavior, set all the misbehavior aside and analyze it on a more basic level. Who really wants to listen to anybody yell? If someone looked at me and told me to “shut up and sit down” honestly, I’d feel like standing up and telling that person to go to hell. Nobody wants to be talked down to, and if you pose what you want from them in a more positive light, in most cases you will get positive results.
If you help a student to realize that you care about them, and that they too should care about themselves, it makes the work seem much more relevant. Here is my example from today with my year 11 boys. It clicked yesterday that not a whole lot of people have had high expectations of these boys when I handed out a packet I put together for the boys to fill out while watching a movie.
“Oi! Miss! You’re expecting way too much of us!” Allan groaned
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Well nobody ever really expects anything from us” he replied.
“Boys, I’m grading this” the whole class simultaneously protested “BECAUSE you can all get A’s on it, and believe it or not, I actually LIKE giving out A’s, and I’m giving you a chance to earn one while watching a movie that has all of the answers in it.” The class was silent for a minute and the protesting stopped. Suddenly it seemed easy to them.
A few times during the movie a few boys behind me became restless when they didn’t understand a question. They started saying things like I don’t wanna do this, I don’t get it. I moved myself to sit with these boys, reworded the questions, and they figured out the answers themselves. Perhaps these boys have been drilled so many times that it’s just easier to say “I don’t get it” than to actually critically think about something, but they DO get it. I whole heartedly believe that they WANT to get it, they just haven’t had many people show them that THEY want them to get it.
There are a few boys in the class I’ve been worried about when it comes to completing their final assessment for this unit, so I’m trying to stress to all of the boys that if they need help, or even just a few minutes to get organized, that at any of my breaks, during lunch, or after school I will set time aside to help them. Working with this class has really forced me to think deeply about this concept: Are students a product of their environment, or do they choose to not succeed? Everybody I’ve talked to thinks it’s one way or another, but I think it’s both. When I say product of their environment I don’t necessarily mean their home life. While some students may have rotten home lives, I am referring to their school environment. Sometimes all it takes is one person, at any point in one’s life, to make them feel inferior, and from then on they might actually believe it. I’m not saying this is the case for all of my students, but when the boys said nobody ever really had expectations of them, what I was hearing was “nobody has ever thought enough of us to expect anything great from us.” I’m looking forward to helping these boys learn over the next few months that they have been presented with every single great opportunity that everyone else has, they just have to learn how to use the tools they’ve been given. I’m hoping not to just teach these boys English, but to teach them a little bit of self control, manners, and a little bit about life in general. What I’m looking forward to even more, is watching them succeed, and watching myself learn from them. I think this class will end up teaching me quite a bit about myself.
For a change of pace I’ll talk about my advanced year 10 class. This is quite an opinionated class, as you may expect from an advanced class. Naturally, their opinions are often valid, but I taught a very important lesson yesterday on prejudice. We are reading a book called Deadly, Unna? It’s an Australian book about Rugby (footy). The book is based on a footy team where the Australians and the Aboriginals play together on the same team, and this is the only place in the community that the two groups of people interact. While most of the book revolves around footy, the underlying issue of the book is the prejudice that goes on in the town. I wanted the students to keep this in mind while we read the book, but I also wanted them to acknowledge their own prejudices. The word prejudice is a funny word. I think a lot of us stick our noses up at it and say that we aren’t, but the truth is we all have our own prejudices. It doesn’t make us bad people, it makes us human.
I wrote the word BRITISH on the board and I had the kids list every word, slang, slurr, and term they could think of for British people. The kids listed words such as “Pomme”, snobby, tea, the queen, and big ben. Then I wrote AMERICAN and I told the kids to do the same. Some of the words they yelled out were fat, stupid, McDonalds, gangster, school shootings, and Hollywood. Lastly I wrote the word AUSSIE on the board and the a student yelled out “best place ever” so I wrote that on the board. Then students said things like laid back, friendly, southern cross, Sydney harbor bridge, and kangaroos.
After we had the class lists on the board I went through with a different colored marker and circled specific words. Under BRITISH I circled “Pomme” which is an Australian slur for a British person. I also circled snobby and the queen. Under AMERICAN I circled all of the words. And under AUSSIE I circled best place ever, laid back, friendly, and kangaroos.
“The words I have circled are your prejudices on other countries, and how you people might think others view your country, what do you notice?” I asked.
“We think highly of our country” a girl named “Gwen” announced.
“And you also hold prejudices on other countries. For example, I am American but I’m not fat, I hope you don’t think I’m stupid, I don’t eat McDonalds, and I’m not from Hollywood it’s actually on the opposite side of the country.” A few people in the class apologized for what they had said and I told them not to apologize, I purposely asked them to unleash, but the point was that at the time they seemed proud of the slurs and slangs they were coming up with, but once they realized how many negative things they had to say about other countries, suddenly they didn’t seem like the “friendly” and “laid back” people they thought they were.
Yesterday was the kind of day that makes you realize how great being a teacher is. People often ask me, “Why would you ever want to be a teacher, the pay isn’t great, kids talk back to you, and you work long hours.” Yes, well the same can be said for being a parent, which I also hope to someday be. On the other hand, I have no interest in waking up in the middle of the night to change a stinky diaper. All I want to do now is help people think and create. Being an English teacher is so fantastic because I get to play with ideas and concepts that other subjects don’t get to play with. I have an entire dictionary and every word is part of my playground. I’ve always been a rule bender, and it’s exciting for me to be in a class and tell my students that for the 80 minutes that I have them, it is perfectly okay to bend the rules. What’s even more fantastic is you have the opportunity to see their lives changing right before your eyes, and at the end of the day all I can do is hope that they’ve become better people and better thinkers, even if just marginally, than when I first met them
Friday, July 30, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Music in the classroom
Following up on my earlier post about music, ironically the next day I had a long chat with my class about music. We were all outside taking a break when a few of my students and I began a great discussion about how your mood can truly affect the music you listen to and the same can be said about music affecting your mood. My students asked me if I would post a song of the day every day on the board and I agreed, deciding this would be a fun way for all of us to start class, and for the students to learn about me. I remember when I was a high school student the idea of teachers being "normal people" was such a distant concept, that it made it hard to relate to them. I think it's important to show your students snippets of who you are, whether it's music, interests, or passions, because they will look at you more like a human being and less like the person who merely marks down whether or not they are absent. I also believe that if you show your students personal investment you will have a much better day to day interaction with them. In fact, I recommended a band called "The Middle East" to a student in my class and they rushed into class early first thing to show me that they went home and downloaded the entire album off itunes. It made me smile.
What I've agreed to is at the start of each class period I will write a few lyrics to a song that is stuck in my head, fits my mood, or just something I've been jamming to lately on the board. The first student to guess the song gets a treat! I have a bag of lollies (sweets) in my desk and I bring one piece in a day for the person who guesses the song correctly. To be fair, they can either guess the name of the song or the artist. I have an erratic taste of music, so at some point everyone will have a chance to guess the song. I'm not going to lie one bit, some days I'm in an extremely corny mood and I wouldn't put it past me to post a throwback NSYNC song.
My inspiration for my first "song of the day" did not come from the original artist, however their version is mindblowing and deserves all the credit in the world and then some.
"Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart."
Those were the lyrics I wrote on the board and within seconds somebody guessed correctly that the song was "The Scientist" by Coldplay.
I said the initial reason this song was stuck in my head all day had nothing to do with the actual band Coldplay, although I do respect and love the original version of the song. I was hypnotized by his cover, and most of his other covers as well. If you get the chance check him out on youtube --He is truly talented and you can tell that he puts passion into what he does. It also just so happens that he's Australian, which fits quite nicely with the theme of this blog. Here is the cover to his version of The Scientist, which thanks to him, was my first, very successful, song of the day with my year 9 class.
Enjoy.
What I've agreed to is at the start of each class period I will write a few lyrics to a song that is stuck in my head, fits my mood, or just something I've been jamming to lately on the board. The first student to guess the song gets a treat! I have a bag of lollies (sweets) in my desk and I bring one piece in a day for the person who guesses the song correctly. To be fair, they can either guess the name of the song or the artist. I have an erratic taste of music, so at some point everyone will have a chance to guess the song. I'm not going to lie one bit, some days I'm in an extremely corny mood and I wouldn't put it past me to post a throwback NSYNC song.
My inspiration for my first "song of the day" did not come from the original artist, however their version is mindblowing and deserves all the credit in the world and then some.
"Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart."
Those were the lyrics I wrote on the board and within seconds somebody guessed correctly that the song was "The Scientist" by Coldplay.
I said the initial reason this song was stuck in my head all day had nothing to do with the actual band Coldplay, although I do respect and love the original version of the song. I was hypnotized by his cover, and most of his other covers as well. If you get the chance check him out on youtube --He is truly talented and you can tell that he puts passion into what he does. It also just so happens that he's Australian, which fits quite nicely with the theme of this blog. Here is the cover to his version of The Scientist, which thanks to him, was my first, very successful, song of the day with my year 9 class.
Enjoy.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
FAIR DINKUM
NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED
I had been warned that my year 11 class would be unruly, obnoxious, and down right rude at times. I was given the impression that they were incapable and somewhat miserable. That’s what every teacher wants to hear first thing in the morning on the very first day student teaching right? On day one my co teacher, we’ll call him Mr. X, and I co taught. He introduced me to my class, which I could immediately see consisted of about twenty-two 17 year old boys and perhaps five girls. This was going to be interesting.
“Class, this is Miss Barton, she’ll be interning here and taking over the class eventually this semester.” The class snickered a bit. I heard a discreet wolf call from the back of the room. “She’s travelled all the way from America.” The class fell silent.
“I’m alright with that!” One of the boys exclaimed.
“I’m SURE you are” Mr. X replied sarcastically. The student winked at me, which Mr. X did not witness, but I decided to pick my battles and not say anything about it. The first half of the class I observed each student two or three minutes to see exactly what I would be dealing with. A few students stood out. “Scott” sat in the back, a heavy set boy, tall, with sandy brownish hair and a bit of a crooked smile. His voice was loud and boisterous and his comments always seemed off topic and inappropriate. “Derek” was blonde, very blonde. His hair had clearly just been bleached, and his personality seemed to feed off of whatever “Scott” was doing or saying. “Lenny” sat in the front and he was very quiet. He looked polite, but it was almost this secretive, sarcastic polite which made you think he could be paying attention or he could be thinking about how much he hated your guts. “Adam” sat next to “Lenny” and he was clearly a bright young boy, with spiky hair and an inquisitive face. He always looked like he had a question to ask. “Onnie” and Lindsy” sat side by side, two of the overachieving girls in the class. The smiled at me, sat straight up, and seemed fascinated with my accent, and always did what they did what they were told.
During the next half of the class Mr. X and I split the class up to discuss the video we had just watched. Before the video the kids took a survey on the capabilities of the handicapped. Then the kids watched a video about the Paralympics and were to be split up into two groups to discuss if their opinions had changed before writing a response paper. Mr. X took “the bad boys” and I was given “the good girls” and “the smart boys.” (Mr. X did not put it this way, but it was clear that he had taken on the troubled students courteously to probably prevent me from pulling my hair out on the first day of school.) Everything ran smoothly and my group all seemed to agree on everything. I hated it. I wanted argument, disagreement, conflict, and questions. This would have to change, but for now I got through the lesson with no complications.
Back in the staff room I sat at a table with the other English student teachers and they shared stories about the disruptive and difficult students in their classes, and I was JEALOUS! These are the students that make you think, and make you push yourself, and make you frustrated because you know they are capable of so much more and it’s your job to show them that! I stormed out of the room to track down Mr. X. When I found him, he was in a rush doing a million things at once. He told me to follow him, to walk and talk. I began blubbering, my mind coming up with a million different ideas, and I stumbled over them as I spouted them out too quickly for my mouth and brain to coincide.
“Mr. X…I…well I have this idea…but…ok well I have a really great idea for a lesson…I think the boys would love it…but it would just be easier..ok well…”
“Carley, do you want to teach the whole class tomorrow?”
“I would love to!” I sighed in relief, and scurried back to the faculty lounge to plan my lesson. The lesson for the next day would be on the effectiveness speeches. Rugby is a large sport here, and I had come across a motivational speech given by a man named Glenn, we’ll keep his last name out of the story for now. Glenn was an AFL rugby player (equivalent to our professional Football sports leagues in the United States).
Class the next day started out the same as the day before, except for one minor change, Mr. X was out sick. In true Aussie fashion I adopted their saying “no worries” and carried on. A “casual teacher” subbed into the class just in case I needed the help. The boys were causing a ruckus while deviously eyeing me as I stood at the front of the class and waited for everyone to be quiet, assuming they would if they saw me standing there. They kept talking. I cleared my throat hoping they would pick up on the social queue. They did not. I began writing on the board and the class gradually quieted down as I wrote in big capital letters: FAIR DINKUM. Fair Dinkum is an Australian term for being true or genuine.
“Who looks in the mirror in the morning?” I asked. Nobody raised their hand. “Come on, who wakes up and looks in the mirror while they are in the bathroom in the morning?” I raised my hand and hands began popping up. “Who likes what they see?” A few hands went up, but not all. “Who in here has ever made a mistake?” I raised my hand. “Who can tell me what FAIR DINKUM means?” I asked.
“A good Aussie!” One of the boys shouted. I wrote the words true to yourself under FAIR DINKUM.
“Who in here thinks they are a FAIR DINKUM Aussie?” I asked. All of the boys and a few of the girls raised their hands. That was my gateway, I introduced the video to the boys, after some minor technological problems which surprisingly the boys handled alright. We had to switch classrooms a few times because the video was not playing on the computer which was hooked up to the projector. Technology always fails when you need it the most. Finally I was able to get the video to play. The boys sat and watched the tall, dashing, dark haired, badass man on the screen talk about how much he loved drinking and fighting. The boys laughed at all the appropriate times in the speech and I could see the thought process going on inside the boys heads “drinking and fighting, this is bloody awesome!”
You see Glenn, the sports star in the video, goes on to explain in his motivational speech to a group of high school boys, that he eventually became heavily involved with alcohol and fighting. During one fight in particular he shattered his elbow through a glass window and tore his elbow basically in half. At the hospital, intoxicated, passed out, covered in blood, he woke up to the doctor who nonchalantly explained to him all of the physical therapy he would have to go through to even turn a door knob again. However, before leaving the room he looked and Glenn and said “I think you’re a joke. You’re not your own person. You need to recover who you are.” Glenn woke up every morning from then on, and as he lifted his arm to put gel in his hair, he had to stand face to face with the scar that ran all the way down his elbow and arm. He was forced to face his scar, and himself. He looked in the mirror, and asked himself one question: “Am I fair dinkum?”
As the video ended the class didn’t budge. Every set of eyes remained on the screen, and nobody spoke. I turned the video off and the class remained silently still. Finally one boy spoke.
“Is it over?”
“Yes it is”
“But, I want to hear more” The rest of the video was just question and answer with the audience and was irrelevant to the class, so I shut the video off. We moved to the computer lab where I asked the class to write a letter to Glenn about how the motivational speech affected them, what it meant to them, and how they could relate to it. I also told the kids that I researched Glenn a little and came across his website where I found his email address.
“Oi! He’s NOT going to want to hear from a bunch of kids!” A student exclaimed.
I walked around the class observing the boys as they wrote and helping when I was asked. The layout of the letters for some of the boys was all wrong, but the emotions and ideas that the boys were putting on paper were exactly right. I was thrilled. These are boys, who I was told on a GOOD day would perhaps write a sentence IF they felt like it, were each writing excellent ideas about how inspirational the speech was and how it made them think twice about fighting. These letters might not have seemed like that much, but it was a start. I didn’t want the students to write pages of perfect, professional, letter writing. I just wanted them to think and react according to their own feelings and experiences. “Derek” amazed me the most. I stood behind him while I helped “Scott” his counterpart, but out of the corner of my eye I watched “Derek” focusing on putting his thoughts into words. I started to walk away…
“Miss wait!” Derek shouted after me. I whipped around.
“Whats up?”
“Is this okay so far?” His response was both thoughtful and honest, but what shocked me the most was that he actually cared whether or not I approved.
Later that day I wrote to Glenn introducing myself as an American student teacher, telling him a little about my class, and letting him know that the students really enjoyed his speech and that they really looked up to him. Glenn lived in Melbourne and had probably never heard of Newcastle High School. I told him he was probably a busy man and if he didn’t respond I understood, but I just wanted him to know how that the kids in my class really connected. The next day in the faculty lounge I received a phone call from the main office. They had put somebody through for me. I answered the phone, and it was Glenn. Half in shock I may have initially sounded like an idiot. He looked up the high school and found the main office number. He told me it was good to hear my voice, and that he just wanted to tell me it was great what I had done with the kids, thanking me, and that he really enjoyed the letters.
This was my first experience teaching at Newcastle High School. I wasn’t going into it expecting to hear back from a major athlete, I just wanted to do something that would make the kids think outside the box and realize how capable they are and how much they can accomplish if they put their minds to it. The kids wrote the letters, I did not, and the kids are the reason Glenn called me. I am so excited to share the news with the class tomorrow that I received a personal phone call from Glenn himself. It’s very important to me that my students trust that when I say I’m going to do something, I follow through. It’s made me realize that I always need to be dependable and follow through. If I am asking my students to be dependable with assignments, I also have to be dependable. As I said, I was not writing to Glenn for attention, or to hear back from a big sports star, I simply wrote to him because I told my students that I would send their letters.
~Carley B
SG3VY7Z74RNP
I had been warned that my year 11 class would be unruly, obnoxious, and down right rude at times. I was given the impression that they were incapable and somewhat miserable. That’s what every teacher wants to hear first thing in the morning on the very first day student teaching right? On day one my co teacher, we’ll call him Mr. X, and I co taught. He introduced me to my class, which I could immediately see consisted of about twenty-two 17 year old boys and perhaps five girls. This was going to be interesting.
“Class, this is Miss Barton, she’ll be interning here and taking over the class eventually this semester.” The class snickered a bit. I heard a discreet wolf call from the back of the room. “She’s travelled all the way from America.” The class fell silent.
“I’m alright with that!” One of the boys exclaimed.
“I’m SURE you are” Mr. X replied sarcastically. The student winked at me, which Mr. X did not witness, but I decided to pick my battles and not say anything about it. The first half of the class I observed each student two or three minutes to see exactly what I would be dealing with. A few students stood out. “Scott” sat in the back, a heavy set boy, tall, with sandy brownish hair and a bit of a crooked smile. His voice was loud and boisterous and his comments always seemed off topic and inappropriate. “Derek” was blonde, very blonde. His hair had clearly just been bleached, and his personality seemed to feed off of whatever “Scott” was doing or saying. “Lenny” sat in the front and he was very quiet. He looked polite, but it was almost this secretive, sarcastic polite which made you think he could be paying attention or he could be thinking about how much he hated your guts. “Adam” sat next to “Lenny” and he was clearly a bright young boy, with spiky hair and an inquisitive face. He always looked like he had a question to ask. “Onnie” and Lindsy” sat side by side, two of the overachieving girls in the class. The smiled at me, sat straight up, and seemed fascinated with my accent, and always did what they did what they were told.
During the next half of the class Mr. X and I split the class up to discuss the video we had just watched. Before the video the kids took a survey on the capabilities of the handicapped. Then the kids watched a video about the Paralympics and were to be split up into two groups to discuss if their opinions had changed before writing a response paper. Mr. X took “the bad boys” and I was given “the good girls” and “the smart boys.” (Mr. X did not put it this way, but it was clear that he had taken on the troubled students courteously to probably prevent me from pulling my hair out on the first day of school.) Everything ran smoothly and my group all seemed to agree on everything. I hated it. I wanted argument, disagreement, conflict, and questions. This would have to change, but for now I got through the lesson with no complications.
Back in the staff room I sat at a table with the other English student teachers and they shared stories about the disruptive and difficult students in their classes, and I was JEALOUS! These are the students that make you think, and make you push yourself, and make you frustrated because you know they are capable of so much more and it’s your job to show them that! I stormed out of the room to track down Mr. X. When I found him, he was in a rush doing a million things at once. He told me to follow him, to walk and talk. I began blubbering, my mind coming up with a million different ideas, and I stumbled over them as I spouted them out too quickly for my mouth and brain to coincide.
“Mr. X…I…well I have this idea…but…ok well I have a really great idea for a lesson…I think the boys would love it…but it would just be easier..ok well…”
“Carley, do you want to teach the whole class tomorrow?”
“I would love to!” I sighed in relief, and scurried back to the faculty lounge to plan my lesson. The lesson for the next day would be on the effectiveness speeches. Rugby is a large sport here, and I had come across a motivational speech given by a man named Glenn, we’ll keep his last name out of the story for now. Glenn was an AFL rugby player (equivalent to our professional Football sports leagues in the United States).
Class the next day started out the same as the day before, except for one minor change, Mr. X was out sick. In true Aussie fashion I adopted their saying “no worries” and carried on. A “casual teacher” subbed into the class just in case I needed the help. The boys were causing a ruckus while deviously eyeing me as I stood at the front of the class and waited for everyone to be quiet, assuming they would if they saw me standing there. They kept talking. I cleared my throat hoping they would pick up on the social queue. They did not. I began writing on the board and the class gradually quieted down as I wrote in big capital letters: FAIR DINKUM. Fair Dinkum is an Australian term for being true or genuine.
“Who looks in the mirror in the morning?” I asked. Nobody raised their hand. “Come on, who wakes up and looks in the mirror while they are in the bathroom in the morning?” I raised my hand and hands began popping up. “Who likes what they see?” A few hands went up, but not all. “Who in here has ever made a mistake?” I raised my hand. “Who can tell me what FAIR DINKUM means?” I asked.
“A good Aussie!” One of the boys shouted. I wrote the words true to yourself under FAIR DINKUM.
“Who in here thinks they are a FAIR DINKUM Aussie?” I asked. All of the boys and a few of the girls raised their hands. That was my gateway, I introduced the video to the boys, after some minor technological problems which surprisingly the boys handled alright. We had to switch classrooms a few times because the video was not playing on the computer which was hooked up to the projector. Technology always fails when you need it the most. Finally I was able to get the video to play. The boys sat and watched the tall, dashing, dark haired, badass man on the screen talk about how much he loved drinking and fighting. The boys laughed at all the appropriate times in the speech and I could see the thought process going on inside the boys heads “drinking and fighting, this is bloody awesome!”
You see Glenn, the sports star in the video, goes on to explain in his motivational speech to a group of high school boys, that he eventually became heavily involved with alcohol and fighting. During one fight in particular he shattered his elbow through a glass window and tore his elbow basically in half. At the hospital, intoxicated, passed out, covered in blood, he woke up to the doctor who nonchalantly explained to him all of the physical therapy he would have to go through to even turn a door knob again. However, before leaving the room he looked and Glenn and said “I think you’re a joke. You’re not your own person. You need to recover who you are.” Glenn woke up every morning from then on, and as he lifted his arm to put gel in his hair, he had to stand face to face with the scar that ran all the way down his elbow and arm. He was forced to face his scar, and himself. He looked in the mirror, and asked himself one question: “Am I fair dinkum?”
As the video ended the class didn’t budge. Every set of eyes remained on the screen, and nobody spoke. I turned the video off and the class remained silently still. Finally one boy spoke.
“Is it over?”
“Yes it is”
“But, I want to hear more” The rest of the video was just question and answer with the audience and was irrelevant to the class, so I shut the video off. We moved to the computer lab where I asked the class to write a letter to Glenn about how the motivational speech affected them, what it meant to them, and how they could relate to it. I also told the kids that I researched Glenn a little and came across his website where I found his email address.
“Oi! He’s NOT going to want to hear from a bunch of kids!” A student exclaimed.
I walked around the class observing the boys as they wrote and helping when I was asked. The layout of the letters for some of the boys was all wrong, but the emotions and ideas that the boys were putting on paper were exactly right. I was thrilled. These are boys, who I was told on a GOOD day would perhaps write a sentence IF they felt like it, were each writing excellent ideas about how inspirational the speech was and how it made them think twice about fighting. These letters might not have seemed like that much, but it was a start. I didn’t want the students to write pages of perfect, professional, letter writing. I just wanted them to think and react according to their own feelings and experiences. “Derek” amazed me the most. I stood behind him while I helped “Scott” his counterpart, but out of the corner of my eye I watched “Derek” focusing on putting his thoughts into words. I started to walk away…
“Miss wait!” Derek shouted after me. I whipped around.
“Whats up?”
“Is this okay so far?” His response was both thoughtful and honest, but what shocked me the most was that he actually cared whether or not I approved.
Later that day I wrote to Glenn introducing myself as an American student teacher, telling him a little about my class, and letting him know that the students really enjoyed his speech and that they really looked up to him. Glenn lived in Melbourne and had probably never heard of Newcastle High School. I told him he was probably a busy man and if he didn’t respond I understood, but I just wanted him to know how that the kids in my class really connected. The next day in the faculty lounge I received a phone call from the main office. They had put somebody through for me. I answered the phone, and it was Glenn. Half in shock I may have initially sounded like an idiot. He looked up the high school and found the main office number. He told me it was good to hear my voice, and that he just wanted to tell me it was great what I had done with the kids, thanking me, and that he really enjoyed the letters.
This was my first experience teaching at Newcastle High School. I wasn’t going into it expecting to hear back from a major athlete, I just wanted to do something that would make the kids think outside the box and realize how capable they are and how much they can accomplish if they put their minds to it. The kids wrote the letters, I did not, and the kids are the reason Glenn called me. I am so excited to share the news with the class tomorrow that I received a personal phone call from Glenn himself. It’s very important to me that my students trust that when I say I’m going to do something, I follow through. It’s made me realize that I always need to be dependable and follow through. If I am asking my students to be dependable with assignments, I also have to be dependable. As I said, I was not writing to Glenn for attention, or to hear back from a big sports star, I simply wrote to him because I told my students that I would send their letters.
~Carley B
SG3VY7Z74RNP
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Back To Schoooool, Back To Schoooool...
Before I begin: I promised my friend Davies he would get a “shout out” in my blog. He was quite angry with me when he read it and realized he had not been mentioned. I have been a terrible friend in promising him an “I Heart Davies” shirt and I misplaced his shirt in the thousands of piles of clothing that took over my living room the night I packed. We grabbed coffee the other day and caught up. One of my favorite things about Davies is that I never get sick of hugging him. He’s massive, and if you’ve seen or hugged me, I’m quite small. My other favorite thing is that HE never gets sick of my feeble attempts to beat him up. I have a terrible case of “little woman syndrome” and I think I’m much tougher than I am. Our physical altercations, when we jokingly have them, consist of him pulling my sweatshirt hood over my head so that it covers my eyes, and holding me at a far enough distance with one arm while I ferociously swing at nothing. Davies, if you’re reading this, you’re a bully.
Ah yes, back to school shopping. I never thought that back to school shopping would be the same as when I was actually in school myself. Today I must have looked like I was in preschool again, or at least shopping for a preschooler. The other day at the high school I was told I will have my very own desk. This was very exciting to me. I spent kindergarten through senior year of college hating desks, but now that I am not going to be forced to sit at it, I’m thrilled. However, I don’t know what to put in/on my desk, so I just started putting everything in my cart: Markers, high lighters, pencils, pens, rulers…what do I need a ruler for, I’m an English teacher? I drew the limit when I realized I had matching pink binders, pink notebooks, pink folders, and yes even pink post it notes. I don’t even like pink. I traded it all in for an accordion folder and three notebooks, one for each class. This entire decision making process took me about an hour. I’ve never been so stressed out by school supplies, but I was having “daymares” of getting to the high school Monday and not being organized and prepared. I suppose the professional way of going about this is not by showing up with pink everything and looking like pink power ranger. I’m a young teacher, and I’ve been mistaken for a student before. The last thing I need is anything else to assist in looking younger than I do. I adjusted.
Today I woke up at 8, skyped with my boyfriend for about an hour, and then played the guitar for 3 hours before realizing I was running massively late for lunch with a friend from Melbourne who was visiting Newcastle for a few days. The next bus was not to arrive for another hour so I took a 20 dollar taxi into The Junction where we were meeting for lunch. I called the taxi half way to the bus stop when I realized I would not make the bus, and asked the taxi service to have the taxi meet me at the bus stop. What I did not realize was how quickly the taxi would arrive. I turned the corner just in time to see the white and red taxi pulling away from the bus stop. Momentarily I contemplated chasing after the taxi in slow motion while reaching out and yelling “NOOOOOOOO”, but I spared myself a bit of dignity and called the service again. Of course I was connected to the same person who booked my first taxi, who laughed at me over the phone.
My taxi arrived AGAIN after 10 minutes and I hopped in. I only had about 10 dollars in cash but I had my debit card on me so it wouldn’t be a problem (YES, that IS foreshadowing). My taxi driver was older, and from what I understood, which was very little, he was a nice man. The taxi driver had the thickest accent I have ever heard. Keep in mind by now I am quite familiar with the Australian accent. I live with Lachy and his entire family, and all of my friends here are Australian. I don’t know where the hell this man was from but I could not make out a word. Even when he tried to clarify where I had asked him to take me, I couldn’t understand if he was repeating the correct location, and I was unsure exactly where The Junction was. It had been a year since I’d last been there so even if he was taking me to timbuck two I wouldn’t have known. He tried to make small talk with me the whole way and my responses were a sad but polite combination of “ooh yeah?” “Oh really?” and “Oh that’s cool.”
My friend called me when I was about 5 minutes away and I told her I was not sure where I was. My Australian phone is LOUD and OLD. My mom has called me a few times and she has to practically whisper when she talks to me because I don’t know how to turn the volume down. Actually, the phone is such an old model they don’t even make it anymore and I’m not even sure if volume is an option. My friend kept asking me if the taxi driver took a wrong turn and if he knew where he was going. Of course the taxi driver could hear all of this so he began answering her questions to me in an aggravated voice. I sat in the cab as my friend asked “DOES HE KNOW WHERE HE’S GOING?” and the taxi driver responded “kajshdiaiwoihaskdppowq, shell station.” Shell station was the part of the sentence I actually understood, but he sounded irritated, so I took that to mean he knew where he was going, and he was offended.
When we finally reached the Junction the ticker read 20 dollars. I handed him my debt card and it was declined. I will never be successful at using any type of money card overseas. I had a 10 dollar note (a note is what we could call a bill), and 9 dollars and 90 cents in change, which I handed to the taxi driver, and embarrassingly hopped out of the vehicle before he could count that I was off by 10 cents. Luckily, my friend was running toward me by the time I made the sidewalk so I had no time to turn around and see if he was shaking his fist angrily at me while slanderously yelling in my direction. I probably would not have understood him anyway.
Tonight is a school night.
~Carley B
Ah yes, back to school shopping. I never thought that back to school shopping would be the same as when I was actually in school myself. Today I must have looked like I was in preschool again, or at least shopping for a preschooler. The other day at the high school I was told I will have my very own desk. This was very exciting to me. I spent kindergarten through senior year of college hating desks, but now that I am not going to be forced to sit at it, I’m thrilled. However, I don’t know what to put in/on my desk, so I just started putting everything in my cart: Markers, high lighters, pencils, pens, rulers…what do I need a ruler for, I’m an English teacher? I drew the limit when I realized I had matching pink binders, pink notebooks, pink folders, and yes even pink post it notes. I don’t even like pink. I traded it all in for an accordion folder and three notebooks, one for each class. This entire decision making process took me about an hour. I’ve never been so stressed out by school supplies, but I was having “daymares” of getting to the high school Monday and not being organized and prepared. I suppose the professional way of going about this is not by showing up with pink everything and looking like pink power ranger. I’m a young teacher, and I’ve been mistaken for a student before. The last thing I need is anything else to assist in looking younger than I do. I adjusted.
Today I woke up at 8, skyped with my boyfriend for about an hour, and then played the guitar for 3 hours before realizing I was running massively late for lunch with a friend from Melbourne who was visiting Newcastle for a few days. The next bus was not to arrive for another hour so I took a 20 dollar taxi into The Junction where we were meeting for lunch. I called the taxi half way to the bus stop when I realized I would not make the bus, and asked the taxi service to have the taxi meet me at the bus stop. What I did not realize was how quickly the taxi would arrive. I turned the corner just in time to see the white and red taxi pulling away from the bus stop. Momentarily I contemplated chasing after the taxi in slow motion while reaching out and yelling “NOOOOOOOO”, but I spared myself a bit of dignity and called the service again. Of course I was connected to the same person who booked my first taxi, who laughed at me over the phone.
My taxi arrived AGAIN after 10 minutes and I hopped in. I only had about 10 dollars in cash but I had my debit card on me so it wouldn’t be a problem (YES, that IS foreshadowing). My taxi driver was older, and from what I understood, which was very little, he was a nice man. The taxi driver had the thickest accent I have ever heard. Keep in mind by now I am quite familiar with the Australian accent. I live with Lachy and his entire family, and all of my friends here are Australian. I don’t know where the hell this man was from but I could not make out a word. Even when he tried to clarify where I had asked him to take me, I couldn’t understand if he was repeating the correct location, and I was unsure exactly where The Junction was. It had been a year since I’d last been there so even if he was taking me to timbuck two I wouldn’t have known. He tried to make small talk with me the whole way and my responses were a sad but polite combination of “ooh yeah?” “Oh really?” and “Oh that’s cool.”
My friend called me when I was about 5 minutes away and I told her I was not sure where I was. My Australian phone is LOUD and OLD. My mom has called me a few times and she has to practically whisper when she talks to me because I don’t know how to turn the volume down. Actually, the phone is such an old model they don’t even make it anymore and I’m not even sure if volume is an option. My friend kept asking me if the taxi driver took a wrong turn and if he knew where he was going. Of course the taxi driver could hear all of this so he began answering her questions to me in an aggravated voice. I sat in the cab as my friend asked “DOES HE KNOW WHERE HE’S GOING?” and the taxi driver responded “kajshdiaiwoihaskdppowq, shell station.” Shell station was the part of the sentence I actually understood, but he sounded irritated, so I took that to mean he knew where he was going, and he was offended.
When we finally reached the Junction the ticker read 20 dollars. I handed him my debt card and it was declined. I will never be successful at using any type of money card overseas. I had a 10 dollar note (a note is what we could call a bill), and 9 dollars and 90 cents in change, which I handed to the taxi driver, and embarrassingly hopped out of the vehicle before he could count that I was off by 10 cents. Luckily, my friend was running toward me by the time I made the sidewalk so I had no time to turn around and see if he was shaking his fist angrily at me while slanderously yelling in my direction. I probably would not have understood him anyway.
Tonight is a school night.
~Carley B
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Reunited and it feels so good.
Of course in typical Carley-fashion I’ve been coming back to terms with the Aussie life-style in my own way…feet first, but not quite head first (and by “not quite head first” I do mean not quite with my brain). While I have the courtesy to give myself a break for it having been my first few days back in Australia, and I was still “suffering” heavily from jet lag, my friends do not guarantee me that same courtesy. I hopped out of the car a few days ago to let my friend Lachlan’s girlfriend have the front seat. My intentions always start off kind, I’m sure many of you recall my gender-bender story (if you haven’t heard it, long story short I chased a man down who had dropped his leather wallet in the street. Instead of being a greedy, selfish, flat broke college student, I returned it to the WO-man. That’s right, the he was a she. My bad.) Anyway, I hopped out of the car to let Amy sit in the front seat and began ruthlessly CRANKING the front seat forward to let myself into the back. I am very “accustomed” to this motion because my car at home in the states is a two door car. The feeling of hopping out of my side of the car, which in my own country AND brain is the driver’s side, to let somebody in the back seat. This concept seemed both appropriate and legitimate. However, instead of a lever it was an obnoxious turn crank. At the point of vigorously cranking the seat until it was all the way forward I turned to Lachlan and our conversation went a bit like this:
Lachlan: (Says nothing, giving me a look that says “what the hell are you doing you stupid American)
Me: WHAT Lachy? Is there an EASIER way to get into the back seat?
Lachlan: Yes. The Door. (erupts into laughter)
That’s right. It was a four door car. Excellent.
Lachy then proceeded to laugh at me and regurgitate the story to his family and our friends. I cranked the seat back and tried to defend myself as I stated above, but it was useless. The damage had been done.
The week has been filled with these types of occurrences, such as reliving the infamous “toe-mah-toe, poh-tah-toe” conversation. Last year at the dinner table with some friends I asked for the Ketchup, which then led into being told that it’s not ketchup but instead called (sound this out and familiarize yourself with Aussie pronunciation) toe-MAH-toe sauce. So I asked if the saying “tomato/toeMAHtoe, potato/poeTAHtoe” was accurate, and if they actually pronounced potato as “poe-TAHHH-toe”. Again, the table practically fell over in laughter, a reaction I’ve become quite familiar with. Being American in Australia, if nothing else, teaches you to laugh at yourself.
I’ve had to relearn all the Aussie sayings and a host of new sayings and ideas I had never considered. Lachlan’s sister took their cat for a walk yesterday and it blew my mind. I don’t know about all places in the US, but I personally have never heard of harnessing up a cat and walking it down the street like a dog. Alas, here it is quite normal. Until the cat crosses paths with a dog, becomes scared, climbs up the owner as if she were a tree trunk, and scratches the hell out of her. This is exactly what happened to Lachlan’s sister, and possibly why walking your cat is not popular in the US. His sister and I played a game of “what do you call this in America” and it was quite fascinating to rediscover some of the differences I had forgotten about. Some we discussed included: a cell phone in Australia is called a mobile, the trunk of a car is called a boot, gasoline is called petrol, a sweatshirt is called a jumper, sweatpants are called trackies, bathing suits are called togs, swimmers or boardies, parro means drunk, T-I-R-E is spelled T-Y-R-E, and J-A-I-L is spelled G-A-O-L (that is not a joke. You can imagine the first time I tried to sound out the word gaol...it went a bit like "GAY-OLE")
In other news, I had my first meeting at Newcastle High School yesterday “arvo” (arvo is an Australian term for afternoon). It was quite lovely, and I am beyond excited to begin teaching. The man I met with, who I could equate to a vice principal, and I had a wonderful chat. Over lunch he asked me about the process of becoming accepted through my university to do this, and what had inspired me to return to Australia even after I had been told no so many times. After I answered his question, if you know me at all you’ll appreciate his response: “You don’t lose many arguments, do you?” We chatted about the classes that I’ll be teaching and I must say I’m eager to face the challenges ahead of me. The school was quite large, though nowhere near as large as the high school I attended. So much of the high school is accessed from the outdoors, where there are different entrances to each department. It was almost like a campus, but everything was somehow still connected. Living in the North Eastern United States, you might see how a school like this could be problematic in the winter when everything is engulfed with snow and stepping foot outside is a hassle. However, it is winter here and yesterday it was about 68 and sunny. It tends to rain a fair bit during the winter but I seem to have brought a little sunshine with me.
One aspect of the high school that I really loved was they are very mindful of the fact that not every student goes to university, and there are plenty of options at the high school that are both welcomed and encouraged for students who many not feel that university is their best option. However, this trait has only recently just translated into the English department. Originally the school offers two English classes which are mandatory and students are placed in either an advanced class or a standard class. It is not like the high school that I attended, and many high schools in the states for that matter, where multiple English electives are offered that can fulfill an English requirement (for example poetry workshop, creative writing, journalism, etc). The high school at a time did not offer a class that appealed to the students who struggled with a standard English level, so they have recently introduced a film based English class where students analyze texts with movies, and see as literature. This is an idea that fascinates me because I have always been a firm believer that a “text” doesn’t necessarily have to be a book. They use different technologies in the class to create responses, both written and visual. It’s a class that I am very excited to work with. On Monday, I will have my first full day at the high school, however it is a day without the students where the teachers have meetings and set their classrooms back up, and over the next few days I will be receiving more information about the other two English classes I will be working with.
I have a few more days of relaxation before I buckle down with work, so for now I enjoy waking up in the morning before anyone else rises, making a cup of tea, and tinkering around with the guitar that’s always resting on the couch. Between that and catching up with old friends in the evening over dinner, coffee, or drinks, my first six days back in Newcastle have been more than successful. There will be plenty of unknowns that will unfold over the next few months, but things appear to be moving at a steady pace. It can’t possibly stay that way for much longer. This IS of course me we’re speaking about, and my life tends to be interestingly exciting, generally pleasant, but never TOO placid.
~Carley B
Lachlan: (Says nothing, giving me a look that says “what the hell are you doing you stupid American)
Me: WHAT Lachy? Is there an EASIER way to get into the back seat?
Lachlan: Yes. The Door. (erupts into laughter)
That’s right. It was a four door car. Excellent.
Lachy then proceeded to laugh at me and regurgitate the story to his family and our friends. I cranked the seat back and tried to defend myself as I stated above, but it was useless. The damage had been done.
The week has been filled with these types of occurrences, such as reliving the infamous “toe-mah-toe, poh-tah-toe” conversation. Last year at the dinner table with some friends I asked for the Ketchup, which then led into being told that it’s not ketchup but instead called (sound this out and familiarize yourself with Aussie pronunciation) toe-MAH-toe sauce. So I asked if the saying “tomato/toeMAHtoe, potato/poeTAHtoe” was accurate, and if they actually pronounced potato as “poe-TAHHH-toe”. Again, the table practically fell over in laughter, a reaction I’ve become quite familiar with. Being American in Australia, if nothing else, teaches you to laugh at yourself.
I’ve had to relearn all the Aussie sayings and a host of new sayings and ideas I had never considered. Lachlan’s sister took their cat for a walk yesterday and it blew my mind. I don’t know about all places in the US, but I personally have never heard of harnessing up a cat and walking it down the street like a dog. Alas, here it is quite normal. Until the cat crosses paths with a dog, becomes scared, climbs up the owner as if she were a tree trunk, and scratches the hell out of her. This is exactly what happened to Lachlan’s sister, and possibly why walking your cat is not popular in the US. His sister and I played a game of “what do you call this in America” and it was quite fascinating to rediscover some of the differences I had forgotten about. Some we discussed included: a cell phone in Australia is called a mobile, the trunk of a car is called a boot, gasoline is called petrol, a sweatshirt is called a jumper, sweatpants are called trackies, bathing suits are called togs, swimmers or boardies, parro means drunk, T-I-R-E is spelled T-Y-R-E, and J-A-I-L is spelled G-A-O-L (that is not a joke. You can imagine the first time I tried to sound out the word gaol...it went a bit like "GAY-OLE")
In other news, I had my first meeting at Newcastle High School yesterday “arvo” (arvo is an Australian term for afternoon). It was quite lovely, and I am beyond excited to begin teaching. The man I met with, who I could equate to a vice principal, and I had a wonderful chat. Over lunch he asked me about the process of becoming accepted through my university to do this, and what had inspired me to return to Australia even after I had been told no so many times. After I answered his question, if you know me at all you’ll appreciate his response: “You don’t lose many arguments, do you?” We chatted about the classes that I’ll be teaching and I must say I’m eager to face the challenges ahead of me. The school was quite large, though nowhere near as large as the high school I attended. So much of the high school is accessed from the outdoors, where there are different entrances to each department. It was almost like a campus, but everything was somehow still connected. Living in the North Eastern United States, you might see how a school like this could be problematic in the winter when everything is engulfed with snow and stepping foot outside is a hassle. However, it is winter here and yesterday it was about 68 and sunny. It tends to rain a fair bit during the winter but I seem to have brought a little sunshine with me.
One aspect of the high school that I really loved was they are very mindful of the fact that not every student goes to university, and there are plenty of options at the high school that are both welcomed and encouraged for students who many not feel that university is their best option. However, this trait has only recently just translated into the English department. Originally the school offers two English classes which are mandatory and students are placed in either an advanced class or a standard class. It is not like the high school that I attended, and many high schools in the states for that matter, where multiple English electives are offered that can fulfill an English requirement (for example poetry workshop, creative writing, journalism, etc). The high school at a time did not offer a class that appealed to the students who struggled with a standard English level, so they have recently introduced a film based English class where students analyze texts with movies, and see as literature. This is an idea that fascinates me because I have always been a firm believer that a “text” doesn’t necessarily have to be a book. They use different technologies in the class to create responses, both written and visual. It’s a class that I am very excited to work with. On Monday, I will have my first full day at the high school, however it is a day without the students where the teachers have meetings and set their classrooms back up, and over the next few days I will be receiving more information about the other two English classes I will be working with.
I have a few more days of relaxation before I buckle down with work, so for now I enjoy waking up in the morning before anyone else rises, making a cup of tea, and tinkering around with the guitar that’s always resting on the couch. Between that and catching up with old friends in the evening over dinner, coffee, or drinks, my first six days back in Newcastle have been more than successful. There will be plenty of unknowns that will unfold over the next few months, but things appear to be moving at a steady pace. It can’t possibly stay that way for much longer. This IS of course me we’re speaking about, and my life tends to be interestingly exciting, generally pleasant, but never TOO placid.
~Carley B
Monday, July 12, 2010
"What If...Australia?"
NOTICE: I have never been blog friendly. For some reason I've had an odd personal vendetta against blogging, which IS stupid--I realize. I am also not a huge fan of technology, but I created a website initially. After patting myself on the back I then realized after filling up '7.7 Mb of 41.9' on my first entry, I did not have nearly enough room to write as often as I hoped. Unwillingly I caved to the idea that a blog, was in fact, what I wanted. Damn.
Anyway, if you saw my original website (which I think looked PRETTY neat), this first entry is the exact same piece that was on my website. If you've read it already, feel free to indulge again. If not...ENJOY! ~Carley B
A guy told me once that he liked my tenacity. I'm not sure if he knew it, not that I've ever disclosed this to him (hey if you're out there and you know that you've said this to me...thanks), but it was the best compliment anyone has ever given me. It's true, I'm tenacious. I can be downright stubborn if I want to be, and it has served me brilliantly thus far. I suppose that is what has brought me to this point: extreme stubbornness and tenacity. I have the tenacity to go after an idea and the stubbornness to actually achieve it despite the ample amount of absolutely not's, no way's, and you must be crazy's that are thrown in my face. So now, here I sit wondering...Am I crazy? Probably.
Anyway, if you saw my original website (which I think looked PRETTY neat), this first entry is the exact same piece that was on my website. If you've read it already, feel free to indulge again. If not...ENJOY! ~Carley B
A guy told me once that he liked my tenacity. I'm not sure if he knew it, not that I've ever disclosed this to him (hey if you're out there and you know that you've said this to me...thanks), but it was the best compliment anyone has ever given me. It's true, I'm tenacious. I can be downright stubborn if I want to be, and it has served me brilliantly thus far. I suppose that is what has brought me to this point: extreme stubbornness and tenacity. I have the tenacity to go after an idea and the stubbornness to actually achieve it despite the ample amount of absolutely not's, no way's, and you must be crazy's that are thrown in my face. So now, here I sit wondering...Am I crazy? Probably.
Of course I can never do things the easy way, the "normal" way. I can't be bothered to take the high road or the low road for that matter. I always manage to find myself on this jagged road with plenty of twists and bumps. Following this trend I take these "speed bumps" (which are meant to make "normal" people slow down) at extreme velocities. In other words, I can't really be slowed down, at least not once an idea pops into my head and I think those daring two words that so many of us fear..."what if?" So naturally, I couldn't student teach in New Hampshire like the rest of the teacher certification students, because what if I could do it somewhere else? What if I could do it across the world? What if I could return to a country that I had unexpectedly fallen so deeply in love with? I couldn't just be "placed" in a local school. I had mind enough to place myself where I wanted to be, and where I knew would provide the deepest cultural and educatioal experience I could possibly have. In my opinion, if I was paying for my own education, I could be educated and learn to educate anywhere my heart desired. So what if...Australia?
I'll first take a few moments to explain how I landed here...physically, landed. It always starts with someone who tells me "no." I suppose I should find each person in my life who has said no to me and thank them. That two letter word is usually the cause of most large decisions I make, and more often than not, the result is the exact opposite of what the person who said no was initially hoping for. For instance, getting your nose pierced when you are 18 seems like a large life decision, and after my dad told me no, it went at the top of my to do list, and soon after became an accomplishment. That is, until it became painfully infected and I removed it (by choice of course, because if you have noticed a setting trend, I usually can't easily be told what to do.) It's not that I LIKE being difficult, I just love proving people wrong. So when somebody thinks they are telling me I can't do something, they don't realize they are actually giving me the power to do whatever it is THEY think I can't do.
Let me clear up that I've learned to use my abilities to turn "You can't" into "yes I can" more productively than teenage rebellion.
Journeying Back..
On February 14th, 2009 after shedding my winter boots for flip flops in the airport, I boarded a plane in Boston that would take me to a place that would change my life completely. Of course this was only after a few people told me it would not be possible to go to Australia for a semester, which lit a fire under my butt to make it happen. I needed a change in life. I was bored with the same-scenerio-different-day routine and I have never accepted boredom with open arms, so Australia it was. My five months in Australia were incredible, heartfelt, passionate, intoxicating, and at times reckless. Coming home? Heart wrenching. I spiraled into a reverse culture shock, depression, mentally beat myself up, and eventally blamed the failure of a relationship on myself. It was a crap load of pointless guilt and after I finally decided I had endured enough pathetic self loathing I eventually snapped. That snapping of my heart strings caused a chain reaction of events which conclusively brings me here, onto another airplane a year later, sitting next to a stranger in plaid who has practically fallen asleep on my shoulder while reading a science fiction novel. It has also led me on a journey of self discovery. I am setting out again to not only discover what it means to be a teacher in another country, but I am setting out to REdiscover all the things I had previously known about myself that during this past year I may have lost sight of. Ironically, it has led me from one relationship that was not quite working, to five months of deep breathing and a lack of male influence, and slowly but surely into a new relationship that has shown me what it means to truly support a person you care about, even when they are doing something that does not benefit you. Here I am backtracking through a country filled with touchy territory and the boy I am NOW dating sits at home patiently waiting for my return. His support over the last 4 months has shown me how badly I need the next 4 months for nobody but myself. I won't bore you any longer with my sappy romantic comedy-esque love life, but I will point out what is relevant: Often times a person you care about becomes part of everything you do, but after my last relationship I've come to realize that nobody can EVER be part of EVERYTHING, because when that person leaves, you're left with nothing. I need something that's just mine. Australia, last time, meant one thing in itself. I shared it with somebody. Australia this time around will be just mine. I needed to know that I loved this country for what it was to me, not just who was in it. [SIDENOTE: I'd like to take a moment to thank all the people who have helped me get to where I am now, whether you've helped me overcome the physical or emotional obstacles, I could not have done this without you. While I worked very hard, I did not accomplish this alone]
I was sitting in my University's International Studies department with Jess, who has been my study abroad adviser since I first marched into the building as a bold little sophomore in college with dreams of going to Australia by her Junior year. I was now a Senior and that dream had come and past. It was September and I had only been back to school for a week. She walked over to me and sat down eager to hear about my travels. Before I could even get the words out to tell her a single detail I burst into hysterical tears. SO lame, right? But I felt tortured. Home was not home anymore. Home was not New Hampshire, or New England, or the USA for that matter. I felt like a greedy, selfish, ungrateful human being for having a warm home, a college education, great family and friends, and not wanting any part of it. Perhaps anyone out there who has studied abroad knows exactly how I felt, or perhaps I was alone in feeling this way. I felt like an alien in my own town, and I just didn't know how to live there anymore.
"We have to get you back there somehow" Jess said to me after I had been sitting in her office sobbing like a toddler who had been denied her rattle for 15 miinutes. Figuring out how was the difficult part. After shuffling through study abroad books, graduate schools, and internship packets, we came up with the idea of student teaching abroad. It was something neither of us had really heard of and Jess couldn't promise that it would work out, but she did promise to be on board. "I'm batting for you here, and I need to know that you're in this no matter what happens." Hearing somebody say that to me was the first sign of hope I'd seen in months. It felt like I wasn't alone anymore.Someone, ANYONE, was on my team. "I'm in" I replied.
After a few weeks, endless research, and a few different proposals, we were denied...which had been expected. This was something new that had never been done and would take a lot of work. After a few more weeks, more endless research, and gaining a few more people on our side, we were denied again and it was then we realized I had failed to hand in my student teaching application papers on time due to the work I had been putting in on a project that may or may not work out (of course in my mind it WAS going to work out). Surely, I looked like a raging idiot to these people, just a snobby senior stomping her foot demanding special treatment. After a few more weeks, MORE research, and more no's, I decided to meet with the people in charge myself. It was killing me knowing they had the power to deny me based on paperwork--rather than personality, progress, or persistance. As frustrated as I was, they had every right not to accept my offer. I decided to try to schedule a meeting with the teacher certification office and to my surprise they pleasantly accepted the meeting offer. I gathered all the information and research we had gathered including the high schools in Newcastle, Australia that I was interested in contacting, living arrangements in Australia that I had already confirmed, and samples of my work from previous practice teaching I had already completed. Going into that meeting I was not looking for a stamp of approval on my project, though I did want them to know I wasn't going to give up without a fight. Mostly, I wanted the respect of my university, and for whoever kept denying me to know that I was an intelligent, passionate, and dedicated young woman, (and perhaps a bit of a dreamer with a particular liking for education and adventure). I will say, following my dreams has never failed me. I've never gone after something and afterward thought, "Wow...I really wish I hadn't done that!" The dream paid off, and I walked out of the office with a trip to plan.
[Again: I can't say enough how grateful I am for being given the chance to experience this. Thank you everyone who helped make it possible for me to be here. I know it was a large pain-in-the-tooshie load of work, and I appreciate everything that everyone has done to make this possible!]
It was Amelia Earhart who said, "Adventure is worthwhile."
It's time to start adventuring.
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