Bernie listening to last week's broadcast of Elektra

lovely larry

What's a vacation?

A break in work for a teacher is like a break between two championship series for a baseball team. You know you should rest, you also know the next battle will be even harder. Except for the teacher there will be no rings and no world-astounding end. The books will close, students will pack up and go home. And then a longer or shorter break, etc. Do business people feel this way? The one friend I used to have in business used to truly enjoy her vacations. She stayed out of contact with her office and she shopped and hopped around the globe. I can't imagine having the concentration to do this. There are so many other things to think about and so many to avoid.

I turned on the radio in time to catch Leonard Lopate interviewing a Yale professor about a book called, It Can Happen Here. Lopate was doing his best to dismiss the possibility that the "it" could be terrorism or violence, but was less able to quash the possibility of total economic disaster, though he did argue the usual "we've been through this before...." It was right for him to play such a strong devil's advocate, both as a good host/journalist and someone who knows that an audience that literate and free at noon is either over-educated and underpaid or unemployed. As someone who now tries VERY HARD not to listen to rumor, not to predict what is going to happen next, but just focus on immediate tasks, I was especially grateful. I called a former colleague who proceded to give me the latest news of what was "on the table" for our upcoming contract. We all see those tables so vividly and we argue for our deaths better than our lives because we accept both that we are powerless and that we were smart enough to have been given more power. So what? I know that "It" of various kinds can happen here and am less dismissive of the possibility of total economic collapse. But, I can't think about that either. It won't profit me. Panicking has caused me enough trouble.

Still, what do I do with this bountiful time? I've bought a test prep book. Bookmarked some textbooks to buy when I have more money. I'm going to surf for some more test prep and lesson plan materials I need and look for reduced-priced middle school readers. That, clean the cat box, eat and maybe look at a movie on Netflix (which I keep largely as it might be useful to my classroom) seems about as much as I can handle. In between, I do bits of massive cleaning around the apartment. What I don't do is talk with anyone. I don't know if this has happened to anyone else, but my friends have all reduced themselves to texting or to the kinds of conversations which don't last beyond a minute. "What else is there to say?" No one is going out much. Even on the rare moments when I think, "I would like to see that," I never pursue the thought. First, I'm broke. Second, everything seems indulgent. Everything. Except what I need right in front of me. There is no reason to get away. It will be there when I get back and there will be less time, less energy and even more fear. More fear. I never knew how much fear I could feel.
When I was a kid, they would show us pictures of the holocaust so we would be aware of how badly Jews had been and could be treated. That fear was nothing like this. This is not to minimize genocide. Thinking about its possibility and looking at miserable sites makes me bilious. Being in a position in which thinking ahead is frightening is living in a conscious slow motion. Stultifying.

How should schools handle the holiday season?

It's impossible, in your first year as a school, not to respond to the irrepressible enthusiasms of ten year olds for everything from secret Santas to decorating the classroom, etc. in honor of the two holidays which dominate the December shopping season, Christmas and Hannukah.

But, if you have a chance to think about this for the future, what is the right position for a school to take in this throng of powdered-sugar inspired sentiment?

Mine this year was to do as little as possible to acknowledge it. Both the popular mythology of Christmas and Hannukah figured into World History this term, so I got to talk about the connections between the two holidays and cultures in an academic sense. Since the fact that Jesus was a Jew was a brand-new shocking detail to one of my smartest students, the entire contextualization of the famous crucifixion among the murder of over 30,000 Jews during the Roman occupation of Judea may have fallen by the wayside. And that's okay. It isn't important to me that the religious stories attached to periods of history be the highlights of my units. It just seemed like a way to get studets to visualize the events in occupied Judea at the time. Overall, my students knew more about that event than they had before, so I was fairly satisfied at the end of the unit.

Still, it irked me that what followed was a thunderstorm of requests for parties and pleasantries attached to Christmas. Having thoroughly established that several students and myself didn't celebrate the holiday, you'd've thought there would have been more discussion of what, if anything, we should do as a class. Instead there was this onslaught of presumptions which caused the muscles in my back to tighten like hubcaps on a wheel. To keep my back attached to me, I insisted as firmly as possible that nothing was to be done. I reminded my studets of "Separation of Church and State." I told the story of a student of mine early in my career who came to school on a day before the holiday to find my class was watching partying and listening to poetry who said, "I walked here for an hour through the snow, to find you are doing nothing!" Still, no one was moved. A colleague begged me not to do force her to "do any work" 8th period and, by this time, my jaw was so tight, I wasn't opened to making things easy. As it turned out my lesson moved at the pace of molasses, but we got through most of it. We were obliged to clean the classroom to prepare for an upcoming move so we started on that when the pulse and the point had basically become leaden. As we did so, streams of children came down the halls with food to give away, which, at first I prohibited, then gave into as we were closer to the end of the day. Sadly, I saw a colleague feasting on the snacks being offered when I had asked her to check on why these students were outside. Of course, I was making a big deal of nothing -- in the last five minutes before we were to leave, these studets obviously wanted to get rid of extra food from their parties. It was no big deal. Everyone around me had taught real lessons but had perhaps allowed for a little more festivity around them.

Students presented me with presents which I politely refused. I had told one that I could not accept presents -- that would be like accepting a bribe. What I told them were my presents were the questions they asked during class and their good work. They didn't need to thank me in any other way.

The week left me tense and I felt scrooge-like. It wasn't that I hadn't been generous, but I'd been pushed into a corner I didn't like and my views only solidified my exclusion. But, it was all right.

Given that we left off in the middle of a discussion of urban sprawl, I should have done more to talk about organizations who discouraged consumerism and who encouraged helping the less fortunate during the season. I know my students would've liked to hear about this. So, somewhere, next year, I will do just that. And more.
World peace won't be solved by one more Wii machine and one less meal.

Shut up! I can't handle your pain. Take a tranquilizer!

The above quote came from my mother, five minutes into my describing my teaching life. It occurred to me that she has probably NEVER been able to to handle any of my pain -- why I learned to tranquilize myself with everything from ice cream to spaghetti as a child.

And I wonder how many of my students use other drugs, violence and just the extension of rage for the same reason.

We must have more psychologists in schools. I got regular counseling in HS and College which is how I survived.

One time only

Two days ago, a student who had not done one ounce of work in my class and who talks continuously regardless of all punishments, worked. I knew he might because we were playing a jeopardy-style game about early civilizations and he likes competition.

And then nothing. I had even called his mom to tell her he worked that day. I did tell her I would call her again if this seemed to have been a "one-time-deal."

Not looking forward to that call.

I don't go out much

Today, both my mother and my uncle suggested arts events I ought to see. This was especially amusing, as I had just finished telling my uncle how angry I was that my mother wouldn't just accept the fact that I don't make plans in advance and I don't go out much, weekday or weekend.

Given the choice of getting rest, planning ahead for school, relaxing or hauling myself across boroughs or neighborhoods for a momentary escape, the latter rarely wins. I read a lot. When not at work, I stay home. My days are long. It's nice to get in extra time at home, when I can.

A Thanksgiving Story

Early this afternoon, I left my apartment to pick up some bread and litter, the two staples of my household. Just a few feet away from me, there stood a religious Jewish woman in her fifties, stylish blonde wig and dazzlingly multi-colored dress garneshing her heavyset frame. The door was open to her black sedan and diagnonally across from it was her husband, white shirt and foamy beard tinged by his nervous hand. "What did you want me to do?," he said. I looked around for a minute, and about ten feet away was a Chinese man in his thirties, his bangs fashionably gelled upward which now, coincidentally, matched his confused stare at the clamshell-like dent in his silver sedan. There wasn't really anger or humor. Just puzzlement, to quote The King and I. "Did you take the information?" said the husband. "No. When the police come, they'll take it." They stood about five feet away from each other, and you could see his heels beginning to lift in reverse. "I knew I shouldn't have called you," she said offhandedly. He walked backwards, stopped, then turned around and walked off. She and the Chinese man just held on to their car doors, staring outward, as if they knew something had happened, but had forgotten what.

.............
As anyone unfortunate enough to know me closely knows, this is my least favorite time of the year. All sorts of horrible things have happened to me on this holiday, though one year, Queequeg, my godson-cat, was re-born in the ER of the Animal Medical Center. That was supposed to have re-christened the holiday for me, but I can never shed the fears that come with this section of the calendar. I have much to be thankful for, not the least of whom I just scolded for trying to eat an old piece of hard food off of the floor. Being the faithful son that Larry is, he did not. Bernie hovers on the corner of the bed and I know Larry is hinting that he would like to be brought up here, so I will. It should be a quiet day for us, and hopefully one of inner peace, at least for them -- and all of you who might be reading this.

For Nov 23, 2009

I miss you.

Karen Beth Hunter, Nov 23, 1951 - Sept 2, 2005

Very bad.

I've got a lot of good people behind me, so maybe I shouldn't say bad. How about, "very different."

Not really much to say.

My students said that Cleopatra's biography was "hot." Since this week's essay is about her, I hope that means they'll enjoy it.

Bronchitis

It turns out I've got a bad case of Bronchitis which is probably what has been plaguing me for weeks. Even with albuterol, my lungs wouldn't open up much. Plus my fever was 102 yesterday. So, I have to rest, ingest massive amounts of antibiotics, drink fluids and get better. Makes sense I'd be spewing pleghm, be dizzy and run down if I'm not getting a heck of a lot of oxygen.

Take the AX out of the ATR's Back: A personal story

A year ago, I was an ATR eager to find permanent placement. At the same time, I was in a relatively unstressful position which would have allowed me the room to consider any offers made to me. The volume and intensity of the Bloomberg press campaign was the first to shatter my sense of space for reflection. I walked in to my weekly therapy appointment and the first words out of my normally Pollyanish psychologist were, "You're right. You are going to lose your job. I thought you were just catastrophising." She had just read a series of articles in The Times and they had bowled her over. My anxieties came less from the mainstream press which I knew to be largely biased in the Mayor's favor, but from the words of the bloggers I have come to trust on many things and who had been very helpful to me in my first encounters with the 3020a machine. Still, some of the points they predict about ATR's have yet to come to fruition and worse, the cloud they have placed over the heads over ATR's have caused some of us, like me, to make career decisions out of desperation.

There have always been those on the blogosphere who take some of the choices in the UFT's negotiation process to their darkest logical conclusions. The pictures representing ATR's being loaded off on trucks and the tales of "secret deals" made re the ATR positions proliferate on websites of organizations and people who are often right on larger political points. But, they have been wrong about the UFT's dedication to ATR's from the beginning. If they had thought about it, aside from the fact that our UFT stands for job security, if for nothing else, there is the "Thorn in the side" which the ATR plays in the bargaining process. Since the ATR's cannot be easily done away with and they represent an embarassing managerial and financial situation at the DOE (what CEO of his company can't get his directors to hire a constituency to which the company has legal obligations) finding suitable and efficient placements for the ATR should be something of priority to the DOE. The DOE doesn't look any better than the UFT if it can't GET principals to hire teachers and they therefore languish in the lounge.
During my time as an ATR, I did have few days of such dullness, but most of the time there were multiple things to do, particularly during the term in which I served as a Dean.

But, in refusing to see that
1)the UFT has not yet abandoned ATR's or made statements to that effect and;
2) while few ATR's are in comfortable situations, they are, at least, still eligible to be hired and, for now, to be chosen by a school which might be a good fit;
those who spread the rumors of the doom of the ATR place the brunt of the ax they have to grind (legitimately or not) with the UFT squarely on the backs of the ATR's. Many of us, myself included, jumped at job offers which, given a lesser feeling of desperation, we might have much more rationally turned down. I'm teaching 6th grade two hours from my house at a brand new school. Fortunately, I have a supportive administration and I'm eager to learn. However, I am currently as effective as a first year teacher with no training with this age group. At 41, I have to completely reinvent my methodology and personality and while it is an interesting challenge, it is not easy. I've been playing tug-o-war with the flu and sinusytis and their winning. That plus the stress which comes from feeling like a novice at a game you used to dominate can make it hard not to grab a Hairshirt and take penance.

Like in much of my career, I've been lucky. I worked with some visionary and patient educators like Malaika Holman-Bermiss at Brooklyn Comprehensive. At my current school, my administration shares her respect for the process of learning necessary to developing good teachers. Moreover, I've been helped by the UFT in so many ways and by so many people. I will have a mentor at this position due to the intervention of Amy Arundell, who has been as understanding as a human can be. A few years back, Charlie Turner represented me with such clarity of strategy that he created the foundation for my getting out of a difficult situation. And I will never be able to thank Arthur Solomon enough, for serving as my surrogate father during my year of hell in the land of the reassigned. And Randi Weingarten read so many of my emails, regardless of my point of view, that the dialogue was a continued source of much needed comfort and intellectual challenge. Plus, she directed people like Amy to me who have made an enormous difference to me.

I cannot forget either the enormous support which the blogger community gave to Brooklyn Comprehensive, especially Norm Scott and the entire ICE community.

All I am saying, however, is that the aggression with which the image of the ATR on a tightrope has been pushed forward has had terrible consequences for UFT members. I am not alone in my awkwardly fitting position, two hours from my house, and at this moment fighting off infections which are also the results of being so run down by the intense challenge of the situation. I've taught mostly older adolescents a range of subjects from college prep to AP English and a lot of skills courses along the way. The transition to ten year olds who need very many of the same skills courses but in different packages is fathomable, but just. Barring my dying of a never-ending battle with infections and flus, I should be able to see my way clear to this in a few months. I have a supportive administration and faculty. But, had I not felt an ax in my back, I might've waited until I found a similarly exciting school in Bushwick or East New York.

In bits and pieces am getting some hang of it

But I am not to say "C'mon guys" nor "Please." Have switched to "Kindly" and "Ladies and Gentlemen."

Survived my first formal observation

But there's a lot of work to be done. All things considered, I'm pretty lucky. Working on the voice. Trying to lilt upwards...

The principal comes in my room and whispers in my ear

He can't stand the sound of my voice. It's too loud.

I got sick

and I went back too early and hit the rebound and then the "age" issue came up along with my health. I got sick when I was in my 20's, too.

The pursuit of anxiety

Anxiety pursues me wherever I go.

That's the sum of a life in teaching.

Standing in the rain

As my weekdays are no longer my own, I don't know how much energy I'll have on Sept 2, the fourth anniversary of the death of my friend Karen Hunter. So, I'm putting up this picture in advance and I'm going to spend a lot of today, I'm sure, doing what I've been doing since that day: standing in the rain, alone, which also feels unnatural. Standing alone doesn't make any sense, period.

Karen took this picture in a park across from her office in Brooklyn Heights.

Lost in space

There is something very jarring about being on a staff in which, at 41, you are the most senior teacher.

I could say that what's different is what we do on weekends -- I try to replace joint fluid with vitamin supplements and my younger colleagues go out and engage in activities. That's not it, however. Many colleagues older than myself are far more spry. There is some truth to what might be a stereotypical complaint: I feel as though I'm a third-tour sergeant among first-tour infantry. Battles have made me less self-assured, though better prepared. I'll know when to jump and when not to, but I also know that there are always challenges which you cannot predict. But, that's not the complete source of my unease. A lot of it has to do with knowing what preconceived ideas younger teachers sometimes have about older ones. Not a small part of it has to do with the fact that I know there are senior teachers out there who don't have positions with whom I could be working if the irrational budgets that Bloom/Klein has created did not make that impossible.

Yet none of these feels completely right. Perhaps the biggest part of it, is that I've never experienced this before. I've never been without people senior to me and without contemporaries. It's unnatural.