I love to write.
I am in no way a novelist or a poet; in fact,
my writing is full of grammatical errors like comma splices and pronoun-antecedent
agreement problems. I know this about myself. As an English teacher, it is a
source of great shame; as an English major, I am content with my extreme love
of literature being enough. I am not one for quality rhetoric.
Nonetheless, I like to write and share my ideas.
I have been writing all of my life, aside from traditional
academics. I used to create little picture book stories. My second grade
teacher was very impressed. I created a story for her called “Ms. June Bug.”
She said that I would be an author one day and a part of me always clung to
that idea.
My next venture in book making was in third grade when I
wrote “Frosty the Ax Murderer”, a tale of a snowman who vowed revenge for the
children allowing him to melt away. Needless to say, this deeply disturbed my
mother.
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| This idea is apparently not unique, even though it was to my mom in 1986. |
There was a time in college when I was told that I was a
good poet. Upon reflection and maturity, I realized that I am a horrendous poet. Most teenagers are, in my opinion. I have only
known three people who were capable of writing poetry worth reading as teens
and young adults: Sarah, Brad, and Neal. Everyone else was/is producing the
same trite couplets that all forlorn and angst-ridden teens has written over
the decades.
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They were really wanna-be Beatniks, which turned into Hipsters.
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I love reading, analyzing, and discussing poetry. It is one
of my strengths. Despite my knowledge of the technical aspects of poetry, it is
far from my gift. In my early twenties, I realized that the wanna-be beat-niks
who gave my poetry any ounce of admiration were actually only trying to advance
their access to a (probably not-so-poetic) encounter with me. It never worked.
I had one glimmering moment of success with a short story
and it is an idea that I play with to this day. I needed a scholarship and the
prompt was so easily manipulated for the audience that within a few hours, I
produced a piece that tugged at their heartstrings. It served a purpose and met
the needs of the intended audience to get the scholarship. Although the piece had
my voice all through it, it was underdeveloped and it was my sad attempt to be
the next Flannery O’Connor. They say that you write what you know and what I
know is Southern culture and the complexities of crazy, Southern women and the
odd dynamics that are shared between them.
Still, I am no writer.
I eventually found my best form of creating when I became a
teacher. I took great pride in myself for writing some of the best lesson plans
out there. Maybe I am simply full of a false bravado in this department, but I
own it for now.
I have to give all the credit for this ability to the influence
of my professors (Dr. Y, Dr. V, and Dr. L) and my 1st year mentor
because they all challenged me to go with “thinking outside of the box” while
meeting the requirements that are set for educators. It could be that I came in
at a time when many people in my profession were suffering from burn-out and
had resorted to not “recreating the wheel” by utilizing online-resources. Some
call that “working smarter and not harder.” I don’t have an opinion on it,
either way. I wanted to create lesson plans that were true to my identity as a
teacher and that I felt would be most effective for my students. I could find
great ideas in other resources and through collaboration, but I still had to
create what was me and was good for my students.
Yet, with the impending threat of a state-takeover and the
ever-present, profiting-making corporate educational programs in our nation’s
public schools, my ability to write an amazing and innovative lesson has been
trampled and degraded because it did not fit the format of the corporations that
is infiltrating schools across this country. I have been tied down to becoming a “YES”
woman and have had all creativity stripped from me, as deviating one bit is
taken as an act of insubordination instead of an act of trying to reach my
particular set of students. There seemed to be no value in the success that I
was producing in the classroom, or so I felt in that time and space. I, with my
very vocal determination to do what is best for students, became a sitting duck
that was quickly used as an “example.” With each defense that I provided, each
attempt to not be bullied or wrongly accused, each attempt to keep the
instruction true to the needs of the students, I became more and more of a
target. I had not mastered handling these situations with grace and professionalism. I resigned myself to what I viewed as submission, but may make me a stronger educator.
I have spent my entire summer reconciling myself to the fact
that I am not to be a “trailblazer” in education, but rather a “puppet.” Does
this mean that I will give my students less? Absolutely not. I will continue to
walk into my classroom everyday and teach each child as much as a I can with
what I am told to do. I do this for me and my students – no one else. It does
mean that I, like so many teachers across this country, have to face the fact
that we are now merely a part of the political and corporate game that has
become education.
I was very close to leaving the field, yet this was not fathomable
to me. Teaching has been my dream profession since I was very young. God calls
me to teach. In fact, I feel called to teach at a school that many people locally
judge rather unfairly and harshly, despite the fact that we have a great amount of wonderful
students who achieve great things in life and a large amount of staff with the
heart and knowledge that surpasses most. I teach every child that walks through
my door with all that I have because that is what every student deserves. That
is the level that I choose to challenge myself to achieve every day.
Per usual, I digress.
I wanted an outlet for my thoughts and opinions. I would get
into these social media rants and debates. I have opinions that I want to share
and discuss. The limited character space on social media makes it difficult to express
it all and the unchecked emotions that come from an immediate type and click often
detract from the validity of any point that is being made.
A secondary draw to blogging is that I like to talk about a
wide-range of things: Pinterest fails, the crazy situations that I get into,
life as a reformed hooligan, being a mom, a wife, an ex-wife, and so forth. It
isn’t that I think the world cares, but, like with teaching, it is worth the
work to reach just one person.
I very stupidly believed that blogging would come easily to
me. I type exceptionally fast and I run my mouth constantly (hence, the title
of my page).
Yet, it didn't.
I went stale right out of the gate. I continued to
make lists of things that I wanted to discuss, but did not find the time or
momentum to put it down on paper.
I have two friends that are actual authors (Check them out
because they are both amazingly gifted people
Celia Anderson and
Brad Carter). They are very
different writers, but both are passionate about what they create and dedicate
themselves to their craft. In fact, they have had that drive since high school.
I have lacked the dedication to even write my little rants
and raves about life. Anyone who is invested in a venture professionally or
personally has to create a certain amount of time and effort for their projects
and goals. I spent the first half of summer moping over the last school year.
After reflecting about what I needed to do to remain a teacher (which felt like
a ritualistic sacrifice akin to a scene of out Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom), I began working on improving
my outlook on my personal and professional life. I had to cut out a lot of
negativity with myself, my environment, and my associates.
I am still more misanthropic than Polly-Anna, so don’t let
any positive spin confuse you.
Yet, being able to have dreams and to survive suffering the
bumps and bruises of recognizing my shortcomings, being shoved into
metaphorical boxes, and learning that my spur-of-the-moment efforts are not
going to cut it in life is freeing.
Being transparent and raw, is not good for the ego, but it
does seem to soothe the soul and provide hope that I can still be me without
all of the battles that I either create or in which I willingly engage.
Until next time,
LIVE LOUDLY!!!
When I got married the second time, it was an impulsive
elopement after a romantic weekend in Eureka Springs. Although I was nervous, I
felt that it was a practical match built on a strong friendship with love.
Where I am an emotional, bleeding-heart, extroverted loudmouth, he was stoic,
calm, reserved, and an extreme introvert. Focusing on an Austen-esque
mentality, I thought for sure that it was a “prudent” match.
