now light

Today is the beginning of my last week as a student teacher. sigh. (Don't worry, dear reader, there will still be many more teaching escapades of which I can write about!)

I am all planned - I simply need to write an exam and rest up for a heap of grading. I was observed today and everything went very well. I moved the pace along quickly, my students stayed with me, and we got to everything! I even had a sense they wanted more time to write. yay. We watched super bowl commercials and wrote a comparison and contrast paper. Nothing like bringing in what they are already interested in! My prof. said I did a good job of showing examples, and I displayed a strong sense of content. HA! That's awesome. I feel like a teacher, but not an English teacher. Maybe I really do know about language...

My next class perplexed me. I don't think I did a very good job of setting up their literary analysis assignment, even though I showed them examples and modeled how to annotate a passage. They give me these blank looks and they don't know what to write about. "Like personification and stuff?" "Yes." oof. They are having a hard time connecting the language to the theme, which is understandable.

The fifth hour freshmen were everywhere. Last week, somewhere, we got behind, so I have felt super-rushed for the past couple of days . They kept calling my name a million times, needed me to print things, needed, needed, needed. It's amazing to me how students don't advocate for themselves. I am trying to get better at not doing so much for them - they can walk to the printer, they can get up and turn something in....

Somehow, however, today we got through everything and now the classes are together. It is amazing - I am somehow managing to end with both of my junior and freshmen classes doing the same thing this last week, even though they took very different paths to get there. I can't believe everything caught up.

Sixth hour peer editing went very well. I think it was because I was very explicit, even down to the script, of what I wanted them to say. Also, their drafts looked awesome. The had length and substance and organization. Interesting to see such different results with the class I felt more "specific and organized."

When I am in the middle of a class, talking, and looking out at their eyes, and it is quiet, I really do enjoy this. Today the bell rang and I thought, "Ha! I would have just been paid for that! Awesome!" My goal is to go home with energy. I want to get in a routine of working out after school, or writing, or playing the piano. Something for myself. I want to get into the routine of taking myself out for a decadent breakfast on Sunday morning and grading papers. But most of all, I want to be a writer. This is becoming more and more apparent to me. Maybe my teaching life will lead to my writing life. I was looking up literary agents last night, and it seems more simple than I thought; write something and hawk it. I want this so badly.

There is this bakery in Chicago, Alliance Bakery, where in the springtime, they would line the sidewalk with two rows of tables, partitioned off with wooden plant boxes from the traffic of dogs and hipsters and bicycles on the sidewalk. People would sit outside reading, or writing, or doing the crossword, or talking with friends. The air felt sweet, that hopeful air at the beginning of a Chicago summer, an air that makes you feel as though anything is possible. The bakery was famous for cakes - in the window were gorgeous wedding cakes - but also cakes shaped like sofas or ladies' hats, or kittens. I would always buy a sugar cookie with hard frosting and eat it like a child - nibbling, the sugar caking my tongue. I remember those few days I visited the bakery, in my young life, walking down the sidewalk of Division street, dreaming and writing, writing and dreaming.

"I like to see those pencils flying - this is the reason I got up this morning."
"To see pencils flying?" said a student.
"Yes - to see pencils flying across paper, and so many of them, in this quiet room, is the reason I got up."