The Floor Is Lava

Did you know that the Great Wall of China was completed in October?  If you did not, that's because that last statement was a lie.  But there is a wall in October.  I was warned about it from Day One at New Tech Odessa, so I can't pretend that I didn't know it was coming.  But when October came around and I was still flying high with my ideals and beliefs and hope, I thought that maybe I was on the moon and the October Wall was just something that I would see from a distance, snaking around the rest of the world.  

It almost looks pretty from he---ahhh!

The October Wall, like Harry Potter and Bilbo Baggins, has the power of invisibility.  That is its greatest secret and its greatest weapon.  Last week, I hit the October Wall so hard that I fell down and then had to stand up again and make sure that no one was watching. 

Oh, great.  Now I look like an idiot.

I understand that it's just a part of teaching that at some point you realize how futile your work is-- and then you slap yourself awake and realize that you are being an idiot.  I'm still slapping myself.  Good teachers do reflect on what is working for them but also what isn't working.  It's just that you are bound to wind up with some bruises in the process.  

I'm definitely going to grow from this experience.

This week was also Meeting of the Minds for the New Tech Network.  It was generally a cool experience, as we were talking about authenticity in our projects.  We also met some really nice people from a New Tech in Louisiana.  But, of course, I think there was a part of all of us that were panicking about the kids we'd left behind and the work that was waiting for us when we got back from meeting other people's minds.

And that pretty much sums up what I used to know about authenticity. 

Part of that is a trust issue.  At NTO, we preach "trust, respect, and responsibility" like those Rice Crispies guys preach "snap, crackle, and pop."  And I do trust my kids. Mostly.  I trust them to be human beings and also teenagers.  But when you plan a project, if you're like me, you're planning everything down to the letter.  There's room for flexibility, of course, but at the end of the day, those kids need to work.  

Pictured above: A cat working it.  Not what I'm talking about.

And once you've hit the October Wall, it becomes difficult to trust.  It's difficult to trust your kids, but more difficult to trust yourself.  You end up asking yourself all the usual question: 

What if my learners aren't getting it?

What if my projects suck?

What if they don't pass this six weeks?

What if Fahrenheit 451 really is a boring book?

What if I never find out what happens in Season 8 of How I Met Your Mother, because I'm always at school at 8/7pm Central Time?

I can't tell you how to get over the October Wall, because I'm still scrabbling around at the bottom of it trying to get my footing. 

This.  I want this.

But what I've discovered does work in trying to COPE with the October Wall is laughter.  I'm so lucky to be at a school where my coworkers can help me to cope with my frustrations by getting me to laugh. Our work lives have become enormous games of The Floor Is Lava.

If you've never played The Floor Is Lava before, that's because you either had a really great childhood or a really sad one.  The Floor Is Lava is when you climb around on your furniture like a monkey, because the floor is LAVA.  It ends when your parent knocks you down into the burning flames for climbing on the furniture or when you die from your head wound.  

This.

So, if you have hit the October Wall, try doing some of these things.

When your coworkers ask you how your day is going, reply: FIREFIREFIREFIREFIRE.

When your friends from outside of work ask you how you like work, reply, "Please set me on fire."

When your principal asks you how your day is going, reply: "I'm on fire!"

It's funny, because: hyperbole.

After a while, I hope that when my principal asks me how I'm doing, I'll reply, "I'm on fire!" But what I'll really mean is that I've climbed over the October Wall.  But no matter what happens, I rely on my coworkers to keep me laughing at it.

So, for the first time, I'm asking something from my readers.  Tell me a joke.  Tell me a funny story.  Tell me something that will keep me laughing into November.  I think it's amazing that so many people are checking in to read this blog, but I know I can't be the only one who could benefit from a giggle or two in the coming weeks.  

With that in mind, I leave you with these closing words, this closing image, and this metaphor for the mind of a first year teacher: 

This.

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.