Teaching Gumbo

Louisiana is a beautiful state, but my question is "who cares about that?"  "Not a single person" is the answer to that echoes back from the bowels of the Internet.  Certainly the reason Jefferson snatched up that beautiful state is because he wanted to add some quirky interest to the fabric of the American people-quilt that we've been in the process of piecing together since 1492, or thereabouts.

Pictured: Actual Cajun.  Actually raging.
Also pictured: people-quilts. They keep America warm.

I don't live in Louisiana anymore, but not a day goes by that I don't think of the gumbo festivals that are going on in central Louisiana right now.  If you had been with me at that festival last year, you would still dream sweet dreams about the various and sundry exotic gumbos that were served by extremely friendly Cajun gumbo makers.



Above: Very exotic gumbo.  

So, Monday night, a friend and I made a huge vat of gumbo.  If you are unfamiliar with how to make gumbo and would like a recipe of your own to follow, well, have I got no news for you.  Our recipe suggested buying everything at the grocery store and throwing it in the pot, possibly with the wrappings still on.

That seems right. 

Our gumbo-making experience was the most fun we'd had in weeks, mostly because making gumbo is pretty fun.  And also because we were comparing the experience to the weekend prior.

Last Friday was the end of a very eventful and very stressful six weeks grading period.  If you have been following me, you noticed the radio silence on this blog.  Also, you probably noticed a lot of things that no one else has noticed, because you have too much free time.  How are things going in Toledo right now, by the way?

As a person, it's difficult to fail students, because on the contract that I signed with my school district, my job is to teach every single ninth grade student about English language and literature.  Someone has failed to include on my contract that teaching isn't nearly that straightforward.

It says here that I'm required to go to Professional Development fifteen times per week.

You're not just teaching.  You're also juggling and babysitting and scuba diving and any other number of metaphors for work that requires a lot of concentration and patience (fire-swallowing, grave robbing, dental technician...)

In the last two weeks, I've really doubted whether I'm cut out for teaching or not.  I love it, but it's also the most stressful job I've ever experienced.  I've found myself longing for the tedious and arduous hours of quiet study time of grad school.



At least books of critical theory don't make this face.
 

But here's the beautiful thing about my job for which I realized I am so lucky.  Every morning, I carpool to work with the friend that made gumbo with me.  Yesterday afternoon, while we were driving home, I sat in the car and told Mr. Justin all about my day and told Mr. Justin how frustrated I was.  My rant ended with, "But I love those kids."

Mr. Justin's instant response was, "THAT'S how you know that you're cut out for teaching."  That's all he had to say to make me shut up and realize that, as important as the teaching part of my job is, it's the process of my job, not the product.  It's the gumbo-making, not the gumbo.  And, honestly, the gumbo-making is easily the best part.

I have seen the face of teaching and it is gumbo.  There's no recipe; a lot of what you do is just throwing your best practices into a classroom (sometimes all at once) and hoping for the best.  Sometimes it turns out okay.  Sometimes it doesn't.


You decide.

But the whole idea of gumbo comes from a place of celebration, like the entire state of Louisiana.  When you're teaching, you are coming from a place of striving to do better.  You're coming from a place of doing the best with what you have.  What I am uniquely lucky to have is the friends and family here at NTO who are not only willing to contribute their share into the teaching gumbo, but who are ready to sit down and eat it with me.

My Dean of Students told me this week, "Take everything as a learning experience."

She was right, but I have my own teaching recipe. It involves a lot of crossing of fingers and hoping everything turns out okay:

Laissez les bon temps rouler.

See you next week, cher.