hipteacher

the great debate

I love the resources at the  Folger Shakespeare Library. The site contains background info on Shakespeare, background on each play, and lots of detailed lesson plans and resources for each play. Right now I am teaching "Macbeth" and "Romeo and Juliet," and I used two of the lesson plans, with some modifications, this week with pretty remarkable success.

The Romeo and Juliet lesson explores a primary document from 1604 outlining the rules for marriage. First we talked about why folks back then had each rule. I taught them about reading banns and how marriage licenses today work. Then the kids discussed as a class how Friar Laurence doesn’t obey any of these rules when he marries Romeo and Juliet. After that, I split the class into two groups, one to argue in favor of Friar Laurence performing the marriage and one to argue against it. Each of their points needed to be supported by specific evidence from the text or the marriage law document. They worked for about fifteen-twenty minutes.

The next day we did a debate. I let pro give all their arguments and then the con give theirs. Afterwards, each group had several minutes to confer before presenting their rebuttals. The day of the debate, my principal and my chair walked in to observe me, during my insane, overly-full-of-ninth-grade-boys class! And they actually didn’t make eighty million references to sex! Yea!

I felt so proud of what they did today. Both groups had strong arguments supported by the texts and responded to my clarifying questions like they understood the play backwards and forwards. They were magnificent. The head and the heart both won.

At the end, my principal told me the lesson was "very inventive.” In my head, I was all like, “Uh, not really. Teachers do this kind of thing all the time.” But here’s the thing: he doesn’t KNOW that. My school is lost in some sort of college-circa-1950-teaching black hole, i.e. old, ivy-educated, white-haired men wisely intoning their knowledge while students busily write everything down to repeat back on a big test. Don’t get me wrong, there isn’t anything disastrous about those teachers or their methods. One day those kids will probably have a class with a professor long past the age of retirement, and they will be ready. But I think, I hope, things are changing. I hear some admins and teachers say the right (according to me) things (you know, interdisciplinary learning, authentic learning, student-driven, interest-driven, collaborative, blah blah blah) , but when it comes to implementing real change, I see major foot dragging. I can’t even write about that yet because it’s making me really upset.

I’ve been feeling for awhile (is this supposed to be "a while" like Word tells me??) that the school wants a teacher like me in theory but not in reality. Tomorrow I am thinking about suggesting to my principal that I step out of teaching literature classes altogether next year and shape my position as a combo of writing center, learning lab and techie girl. It is part of the “vision” of the school to use more instructional technology, and I can easily envision  bringing the techie love to other teachers  as part of my job. You know, teaching workshops, suggesting lesson ideas, helping implement them, etc.

I dunno.

Hm, grumps again. More on the Macbeth lesson later…

taxing language

I finished my taxes last night at 11:49. I still don't consider this to be procrastination because my dad, a tax accountant, never, ever filed his taxes without getting the extension. Wisely, I resist the temptation to extend. I need hard and fast deadlines to get anything done.

Trained at birth to understand the art and science of income and deductions, I like to do my taxes myself. Mostly, I know what's going on, but every once in awhile, I need to look something up. I find tax code quite entertaining.

If you claim the foreign earned income exclusion or housing exclusion on Form 2555 or Form 2555-EZ, the Tax Increase Prevention and Reconciliation Act of 2005 made changes to the tax law that may affect your 2006 tax liability. The IRS will waive the 2006 estimated tax penalty to the extent the underpayment of any installment is attributable to changes made by the new law.

When I teach diction and tone, I like to bring in samples of tax booklets, cereal boxes, appliance manuals, cosmetic ads, etc. We always conclude that tax law and instruction does not tend to be user friendly. It makes sense. Tax laws are very complicated, and often there isn't an easy way to make it simple and clear. Like I always tell my students with tortured sentences, if the thinking is all jumbled up, the writing will be too.

Last night I tried H&R Block's new on-line tax prep program, Tango. I had to prepare two returns, so I used Tango for one and TaxACT for the other. I have to say that if you own a business or have lots of complicated investments, I would go with TaxACT. The deluxe version is cheap, and when you get stuck or have a question, you can access a huge resource of tax law to research your issue. Tango, on the other hand, only provides brief help information, and offers telephone assistance at an extra charge.

That said, I kinda got a warm fuzzy about Tango. If you have simple taxes, I would totally recommend using it. The platform is nicely designed, not super cool but nice. The screen is simple, and the organization and navigation is very easy. But the best part is the attitude. When I finished entering the first section, Tango checked for errors, and when it told me there weren't any errors, it told me I was a rock star!

At the beginning and the end of each section, Tango greeted me with compliments and sympathetic statements. The copy made me feel cared for, admired and supported. And I was doing my taxes! I used to do ad copy, so I am very aware of how they were making me get the warm fuzzy, but I kind of don't care how real it all is--if they can make preparing taxes more pleasurable, I am for it. And dude, they even have a blog.

I did the Tango return first. As much as it gave me the aforementioned warm fuzzy, I went with TaxAct for the second return because of its complexity. I've used TaxACT for three years, and I am completely happy with their service. But, I'll admit, I kinda was sad not to hang out with the cuter and nicer Tango a little longer.

It certainly gave this teacher a little lesson in the power of language to add life to even the most dry, complicated subjects.

Ohmigod, I can't believe I just wrote about doing taxes. I clearly need to go outside and play.

One Big Heathcare Rant

So, I’ve been thinking about health insurance. A lot. For a long, long time.

Aren’t teachers supposed to have really good benefits?

I don’t know whether I am accident prone or plain sickly, but I’ve had a couple long hospital stays and many emergency room visits, which, when added together, probably cost around $450,000.00. Clearly, I couldn’t have paid my healthcare bills without the aid of good insurance.

Before I get into the rant part of this post, I must say, insurance has treated me well on several occasions. The one time I was hospitalized for two months straight and had a smorgasbord of treatments and procedures because the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me and my pancreas-on-strike, my insurance paid 100% of my charges without argument. I only paid a paltry $100.00 hospital co-pay or something. Not bad, right? It is especially not bad considering that I was working for a not-for-profit legal company and only paid $15.00 a month for individual benefits.

Speed ahead about seven years.

I am speeding past the CVS on the way to school, even though I feel like crap and need my prescription, because I don’t have money to pay for it.

I don’t live extravagantly. My only splurge is an occasional stack-o’-books or music. My salary is decent, not as high as local public schools but in the 90th percentile for private schools (state or country I’m not sure). I get a little extra pay for sponsoring the school’s news magazine and academic bowl. I should have enough money left over after I pay for rent, food and evil credit card to cover my medical expenses. Except, I don't. And it doesn’t make sense.

Here’s my deal: My school opted for one of those high-deductible insurance plans. For an individual, that means I have to pay $3000.00 out-of-pocket before any insurance benefits can be applied to anything, including routine doctor visits and prescriptions. The school lessens this burden by paying half of that deductible, in 12-month installments, into a bank account. For me, that means I get around $125.00 a month.

Last week I listened  to Jonathan Cohn, author of Sick: The Untold Story of America's Health Care Crisis — and the People Who Pay the Price,  on Fresh Air, and I would like to declare myself one of those price-paying types. He talked about the challenges associated with high-deductible insurance plans. While the news wasn’t positive, it was a relief to know that many people are struggling with these plans.

Here’s my complication: Have a mentioned that I am a wee bit crazy? Both sides of my family have mental health issues ranging from depression to schizophrenia to alcoholism. All those happy chemicals I’m supposed to have in my brain don’t exist. They never did. So, I need help. Many milligrams of help. My meds cost about $300.00 per month. And I don’t get any luxury medication, like for example, my allergies. I just learn to accept that my nostrils are split at the seams because I’m so snotty.

I’m not shy about my mental health issues because I don’t believe in being ashamed for no good reason. I choose to view my situation in the same light as I would, say, a diabetic. A diabetic’s insulin doesn’t work right, so it must be controlled. It’s pretty helpful to know if someone is diabetic in case he/she starts shaking like a leaf and sweating like Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias. In the same way, if I start crying or punch the wall when you say hello, you might like to know why.

Ok, back to the math. In addition to the $200ish I spend on my premiums each month, I shell out $175 for my meds. Every year I go to the doctor about four times: two shrink visits, one lady visit, and one sinus infection visit (then they just call in the antibiotics for me as I get four or five more sinus infections each year—remember no allergy meds).  On average, those visits probably average $150.00 each.

Yikes. I don’t know if my a + b = c and is totally logical. However, I conclude that I don’t get to utilize ANY of my insurance benefits until October or November in a full year, and now the ins. only pays at 80% instead of 100%.  So, I pay over $200 a month for insurance that I DO NOT GET TO USE.

Ludicrous, I say!

Purveyors of high-deductible insurance plans argue that when consumers are faced with the real costs of medical services, they will stop abusing the system and spend less money. I bet this is true sometimes. I know I take generics whenever I can because it makes a huge difference in the cost, but I’m not into brand-name medicine anyway. The whole concept is appalling.

Here’s the bottom line: I have to have my pills. They are not a luxury. When I don’t take them, I am a mess. But who has $300 a month to spend on silly pills?

One day at school, after one of my tires blew and all my med money went to fix it, I was invited to an English teacher tea party. There was no tea, but we are dada like that. My chair mentioned being on a teacher compensation committee and asked us to share any concerns we had before an upcoming meeting. I briefly mentioned my insurance issue.

A couple of days later my chair took me aside and told me that she was worried about me after my comment. She didn’t know what my situation was, but she wanted to help. I started crying.  I didn’t explain my full situation (damn stupid stigmas), but I told her a little. All I know is that I have worked in both private and public sectors, and I have always been able to handle paying for my medicine. Somehow, that changed.

The next day, my principal came by and told me that they worked a new $3000 stipend into my contract for next year. He said it was technically for taking on a study hall/learning lab in addition to the writing center but really for helping the school out of a few jams and staying really flexible. He said it was a stipend for “being wise beyond my years.” I thought it was crazy-lady money. I talked to my chair later, though, and she said she hadn’t mentioned anything to the principle.

I want to say thank you to the universe for that gift.

I also want to say that the health care system in this country is royally screwed up. I’ve got my fingers and toes crossed that the next president will help create a federal, universal healthcare system. I’ve got my fingers crossed about many things, but that one is near the top.

The Price of Freedom

After I graduated from college, I never really got used to living on a traditional calendar instead of an academic calendar. Sitting in a cubicle as the months of March and April rolled by without a break nearly killed me. So, when my mentor teacher told me that she never takes summers off--that she’s worked through the last ten years or so of summers--I did not get her at all.

I love summer. I look forward to all my summer habits: sitting on my butt, reading in the sun at the park, seeing friends, driving around listening to music, sleeping late and eating ice cream for breakfast. If I hadn’t had that down-time in the summer for the last two years, I don’t know how I could’ve gone back in the fall.

Then the realities of family life finally hit me right in the face. And who’s the guy throwing the punch? Let’s call him "The Antichrist."

I got my first credit card when I was sixteen. It had a limit of $1500.00, which I promptly spent on shoes, music and trips to New York City. I’ve always had money coming in because I’ve worked since I was thirteen. I paid my bill promptly, and by the time I was eighteen, Dumbo Credit Co. had increased my limit to $9500.00.

I remember feeling stunned by that number when I saw it on my statement and dumbfounded as to how I could ever amass that amount of debt. Then I went to college. I always worked, but somehow groceries, gas, and even tuition (once) ended up on the card. One day, I received my statement and saw that my limit had been increased to $11,500.00.

I called Dumbo Credit Co. because I didn’t want my limit to be increased. The madness had to end. A customer service representative answered the phone and started asking some questions to verify my identity. Finally, she came to the end and needed my password for the card.

    “Password?”
    “Yes, it is a word or phrase that you use to identify your card for security purposes.”
    “Gosh, I don’t know. How about [mom’s maiden name].”
    “I’m sorry ma’am. That’s not it. Is there another word that is perhaps special to you?”
    “Well, not really. Try [name of city where I was born].”
    “No, I’m sorry. That’s not it either. Maybe you could try a less traditional password that you may have chosen for this card?”
    “Less traditional? Oh, god, did I pick something really weird?”
    “Yes, ma’am, I guess you could say that.”
    “Well, I’m not trying to get past your security or anything, but could you give me some kind of clue, like a category or something?”
    “No, ma’am. I’m not at liberty to do that. But I have been wondering if you’ve been to church lately?”
    “What? Church?! Jesus, did I call the card Satan or something?”
    “Yes, ma’am, something like that but not that exactly. Would you like to try again?”
    “Yeah. Is it The Antichrist?”
    “Yes ma’am. Very good. How may I help you today?”

And do you know that after that ridiculous conversation, after calling them The Antichrist for god’s sake, they wouldn’t let me decrease my credit limit?

That was, oh, ten years ago, and me and the antichrist are still battling. This summer I’m at least going to get him down on the mat, if not knock him out completely.

So, now I have three jobs.

1. I am teaching a one week workshop that I will create on digital literacy for high school and middle school kids that will teach how to use blogs, wikis, pod casting, social web pages, etc.
2. I will be farmed out to tutor writing and vocabulary with struggling high school students--mostly kids I have already taught.
3. And, last but not least, I will be teaching fifth grade (!) for seven weeks in a summer program for at-risk kids from low-income families.

So watch out Mr. Antichrist-pants. The hurricane is coming.

(from the draft files circa June 2006 with some new editing) tips for new teachers

Here is an undefined list of things I wish I knew before I started teaching and some I knew but didn't really heed and should have:

1. There is no one lesson plan format. If someone wants "lessons" from you ahead of time, you could be turning in anything from red Sharpie scrawl across a napkin to three page documents that site local/state/national standards. Don't do the latter if you can do the former. This, after three years of teaching and beating myself up about my inability to make and keep plans, is part of my actual philosophy of teaching. If I can remember a lesson that I've done before, and I want to do it again, then it was probably really good. If not, then I need to go back to the drawing board. I know this won't work and won't make sense for many people, but, for me, I keep my lessons fresh and my own excitement and engagement with the material high by doing this, and the kids respond.

2. Know when are grades due. Turn them in a day early if possible. Make your admin's life easier, and he/she should return the favor.

3. Be especially nice to custodians and secretaries. They know what's up about everything no one bothered to tell you but expects you to know: Who do I go to for substitutes/ professional leave/ field trip forms/ etc.? How do I take attendance/ sign in/ notate tardies? What secret things am I expected to do during testing and finals?

4. Don't be offended when people do not smile or say hi in the hallway. People are busy. You too will become pseudo-bi-polar. This does not count for private school. Always smile and say hi in private school. If you don't, people will think you have mental problems and are not socially well-adjusted. To them, this is icky.

5. Keep handwritten, like with a pencil or pen, records. Keep everything. Your electronic grade book will erase your grades at some point. You are not crazy (this time!). It happens. Note: I don't actually do this, but I should. But I don't. I keep wee little scraps of paper with random grades for random students scrunched up at the bottom of my big bag in case of emergency. Please pray for me.

6. Ignore co-workers who are threatened/pissed by your general presence and/or energy--you are part of the natural cycle of things and should be valued for your aforementioned energy and new, sprightly ideas. Of course, you should also value the wisdom and experience of your more "seasoned" peers. Respect should go both ways.

7. Do not do anything unlawful within school district. This includes (sigh) sleeping with students, showing up to school drunk and/or high, drinking or doing drugs with your students, dealing to or being dealt drugs by your students, having dirty pictur*s on your desktop, hitting students, performing seances or exorcisms with students, or doing any other thing you don't want your very old, fundamentalist granny to know about. This rule seems so obvious to me, yet I have seen teachers do every one of aforementioned things during the course of three years.

8. Stay away from negative, I-hate-children teachers. Avoid break-room, and eat in classroom if necessary. In private school, amend somewhat to eat lunch with others a couple times of week. This is a social thing and, therefore, necessary.

9. In public school, do not get sick or take any days off from work. No one understands that people with 103 degree fevers are not supposed to be teaching, and boss-people will think you are unreliable and/or faking. I have not found this to be the case in private school.

10. Do not hook-up with co-workers. It is really really gross. If you do, keep your mouth sealed with Krazy Glue ('cause you are Krazy!). Your co-workers do not want to know about your nasty social life. Tee hee.

11. Do not let your students be your "friend" on myspace or facebook. Bad idea (see #10--students DO want to know about your nasty social life, and their memories last far longer than the brainiest elephant). Do like your "friend" hipteacher and create a facebook for you as a teacher. Kids will think you are rad and will like having you wish them "Happy Birthday, Dude!" on their wall. They will even write on your wall to ask you homework questions and stuff. This might make you feel cool. Also, this is a nice way to keep up with all your former students who have moved on to be real adults and who are doing neat stuff you wanna know about.

12. Oh, yes. The magic three: eat, pee, sleep.  Those are the hardest of all.

(from the draft files circa September) A Blog of My Own: A Place to Interpret

You scored as Postmodernist. Postmodernism is the belief in complete open interpretation. You see the universe as a collection of information with varying ways of putting it together. There is no absolute truth for you; even the most hardened facts are open to interpretation. Meaning relies on context and even the language you use to describe things should be subject to analysis. Postmodernist 94% Cultural Creative 69% Existentialist 63% Modernist 50% Materialist 44% Romanticist 38% Idealist 31% Fundamentalist 13% What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com

From the draft files circa August: The Desk O' Mine Part I

In some ways, my life at the fancy prep school is dreamy, but in other ways, I feel like some of my discomfort with the culture isn't totally unfounded. I grew up in a lower middle-class household. Debt and stress were life's daily bread. Now, I work in a place where school credit cards flow freely, and I sense no limitations.  This is both fabulous, the way it should be, and, perhaps, a bit wasteful. Let's just say, private schools could learn a few things from public schools about pinching pennies.

Except, I am totally a stupid-head sometimes.  I sat down with my new principal over the summer, and we ordered furniture for the new writing center. The teacher desk that went with the tables we purchased was about 1200 bucks, and I couldn't stomach it.  Hello, I am a Goodwill girl (aka "Grady baby" for any hotlantans). I shook my head and insisted on buying a desk for $120.00 at some office store. I brought it to school, and some maintainance workers saw me carrying the big box into my room. They insisted upon carrying it the rest of the way while I followed behind open-mouthed. What, teaching doesn't involve manual labor?

They explained very patiently that they would assemble the desk for me. I, for some unknown reason, declined, over and over, their offer of help, saying something about my secret desire to construct things with my hands (which is sort of true). They left, laughing and shaking heads, leaving me with a couple screwdrivers and a mission.

I diligently read the directions and tried to put together the desk. Midway, I realized the difference between "credenza" and good 'ole regular "desk." Although a credenza may be cheaper, it doesn't work too well when I wanted my desk sorta in the middle of the room. When I realized I was going to have all the ick showing on the back of the desk, maybe my work ethic may have gotten a bit sloppy. More likely, however, is that the desk turned out to be a piece of crap.

First, part of it totally broke off. Then, I decided that I didn't need the keyboard tray because I use a laptop, plus I didn't know how how to put in the little slidy things that make drawers work. I attached a funky, green piece of fabric to the back with colored stick pins and moved it to a wall location.The fact that the desk door didn't shut too tight and the one drawer didn't actually go into the slot didn't bother me.

(....)

Until I got moved to a new classroom when another teacher left. I inherited his great big, oh-I've-worked-here-for-thirty-years-desk and left my piece-of-crap-and-poorly-put-together-desk in the writing center that once was. Every single day since then, as I walk past the old room to my new room, I glance surreptitiously at the hideous, greenly decorated desk and wonder: What will happen to me at the end of the year when someone else moves in that room or they try to give that desk to someone?

And I blush.

When the maintenance guy comes in now to do something as small as put a fresh battery into my clock,  I smile sweetly and let him do it. Multiple intelligences at work, indeed. 

What's Up With Public Schools?

Dave writes

Why do the private schools get all the passionate, talented teachers? I'm not judging you - I know that this job was a 'dream' one. I almost weep when I look at the talent being lavished on kids who already have had so much lavished on them (both here in Oz and USA).

Thanks for your comment. Darn good question, Dave.  I don't know why it is everywhere, but here's how it worked for me. 

I just have to say that I tried really hard to get a public school job in my new town, where, by the way, the schools REALLY suck. I may have said this before, but one high school here literally said something on their website about how, although they knew their students would not be heading off to college, they would get you ready for a job at McDonald's. In print. On the web. Like a mission statement.

I checked out their stats, and I decided I was perty hot stuff. Teachers with Master's degrees were around 30%. Cool, I have one of those!   I had a few pretty successful years of teaching under my belt.  I've gotten every job that I've interviewed for (except for one because I forgot I wasn't Jewish and that was sort of a thing for that job since they wanted someone who could teach the Torah), so I'd like to assume I am reasonalbly personable.  With high hopes I sent out my resume, supa-fine cover letter and glowing recs out to the main county HR and to EVERY SINGLE principal in the ENTIRE county.

No one called.

I sent follow-up emails. I made phone calls. I travelled and randomly stopped in.

I started to feel like I was using the wrong brand of deodorant.

When I finally called the fancy school, it was out of fear of a Ramen-filled future. They didn't even have a stupid job available. But they invented one for me.  Because they "couldn't pass me up."

I am seriously not trying to be stuck-up here. I have plenty of problems and plenty of "areas of opportunity." When it comes to teaching, though,  I am pretty proud of what I do and how I do it.

So what's up with all the public schools?   I really don't know.

Today I felt a flash flood (was gonna say wave, but it was just more somehow) of nostalgia for my old school. Online, I viewed some recent student publication stuff, and a bunch of my old kids were on there. My heart got all full and tight. I really love my old kids.  They had personality. And they, like, needed me.

I miss them.

I don't know how long I'll be doing the private school thing. It's the right thing, right now.   I'm certainly soaking up some of the luxuries and enjoying the amenities.   I want to try every cool lab and go to every pretentious conference they want me to attend because I am a nerd and because maybe one day I can bring that foundation to a less posh environment.

Or, maybe the private school thing is for me. I don't know.      

One thing I do know. Many of the teachers at my new school, good as they are, would be lost in a public school. It's not a judgment thing--I'm not saying one way of teaching is better than another--it's just a matter of temperment and style.  So, when people start apologizing to me because they would like me to make sure my final tests generally the same thing as my peer teaching the same course, I smile.  I've been a public school girl. You gotta do better than that to ruffle my feathers.

Where I Write Letters Apparently Channelling Anne of Green Gables, Only With CAPS Instead of Italics

Dear Mentor-Teacher-From-My-Old-School,

[Intensely edited for job protection]

I have been involved in some deep drama here in ol' City, fortunately none of it caused by me! We were about x weeks into the year, and things started to seem funny. One of the other English teachers, a Veteran Teacher who had taught here for a billion years or something, seemed to be taking a *very* long weekend vacation, and that seemed strange for a teacher, especially one with multiple APs. Then my neighbor-lady Mrs. Poetry, who is lovely, starts coming by and saying things about "preparing for changes" and giving me big hugs. Clearly something was up.

I totally thought I was going to fired or something (god knows why, I'm just insecure that way), so I went in to meet with my principal (who even talks to me! on a regular basis! and says nice things!) armed with all my crazy meticulous info about how many kids had been to the writing center, what they needed help with, what we accomplished, which teachers had sent people, my huge-plans-to be awesomest-writing-lady-ever, etc. Hopefully, I would have been very impressive, but it didn't end up mattering. Principal closed the door, sat down, and quietly said that we needed to "chat." Apparently, Veteran Teacher had suddenly "resigned" as of that morning, and now "we as a school, and [me] in particular, needed to make some major changes."  What??!

In the end, they closed my precious writing center after promising me about a hundred times that we would start it up again next year. I didn't want, and was SO not qualified* to teach this dude's AP classes. His reading lists were CRAZY; I didn't take classes that hard in grad school!  In the end, five teachers and seven classes were switched all around.  I ended up with two sophomore classes. So now I teach a "full-load."

I was really, really disappointed at first because I'd worked so hard to get the writing center nice and running--I bought cute rugs! And cute lamps!--but I'm enjoying my new kids. The course is sort of like another 9th grade year genre study with a twist. Now that they learned all the traditional conventions in 9th, in 10th they learn how authors have experimented with those conventions. So it was nothing I'd ever taught before, the two sections were from two different teachers with wildly different approaches, and they were smack-dab in the middle of the term.  That was a new one.

We're just finishing up great book and about to start "As I Lay Dying"--that is, if I don't die from fear first. Scary Teacher From College*** attempted to teach me that novel in my sophomore year, and it was one of the two things that totally had me lost****. Yes, the other was "Ulysses."

But here's the thing, in the middle of everyone LOSING THEIR MINDS about Veteran Teacher being fired, I sort of picked up that it had something to with an inappropriate relationship with a student, and that this wasn't the first time. (All that is hearsay, but it seems likely.) Basically, I'll go figure out how to teach Physics if that means we get rid of a teacher like that, so call me Ms. Flexibility.

Oh yeah, just in case y'all feel like a vacation and you feel like stopping by, the school brings in some pretty amazing people to hang out with us. Please control yourself from vomiting all over the computer as that is the only natural reaction:

[Insert names of FANTASTICALLY AMAZING PEOPLE coming to my school]

I have to admit, I'm really most excited about next year because My Hero is coming.  I guess these rich people do have some MAJOR ADVANTAGES IN LIFE that are totally unfair.  I exist here pretty much to tell them that every, single day. I am now the master of the "You don't even KNOW how good you have it, so you'd better START appreciating it and do something USEFUL with yourselves" speech.  I start getting impassioned about how, when I was a kid, my parents cleaned buildings in the middle of the night to make ends meet, and we were still practically on food stamps, so who do they think they are complaining about how their parents won't let them fly to another city for a big concert because they failed my quiz and can I PUH-LEASE add on some points?!

Um. no.

Also, um, no to the child who wanted two points added to her average because otherwise mommy wouldn't buy her a car for her birthday. And, boy, do these kids have cars--I mean if you can really call a Hummer a "car"--worth some crazy money.

Really, it has been major culture shock for me.

I mean, Cute Small Person I Hang With (Cutie) has to take this big test soon to get into Pre-K. Age 3.  It's ridiculous.  But I have to admit, Cutie's gonna be some kind of genius, even just going to the day care place. We were talking shapes at dinner the other day, you know, square, circle, triangle. Suddenly, Cutie yells out, "Trapezoid!" And I yell out, "Huh?!"  I didn't know Cutie had "triangle" down, and, already, octagons and parallelograms are SO last week. Needless to say, I found one of my favorite upper school science teachers to give me a quick survival course in geometry.  So I can keep up with a 3-year-old.

Right. That's me now. Just tryin' to keep up.

Now all I need to do is figure out how to deal with some of my esteemed fellow English teachers who insist that all American lit is "rubbish" that ought not be taught.  They only like the REALLY dead authors. Oh yes, and that creative writing isn't an "art."  How did all those books and poems they teach get written I. Just. Don't. Know. Plus, they are all really old and male, only teach very old and male books, and sort of SNIF loudly when you say where you went to college if it doesn't start with an H, Y, or P.

So, snif away, the old replaces the new. I like new.  (Take this as a with a grain of salt please; new includes anything originating after, say, 1790???)

Whatever. I mean, they hired me right? They had to have known, even if just a little, what they were getting into?

...

Love,
hipteacher

*I'm not a moron. I'm even pretty smart with books and writing stuff. I'm just a very new teacher. They have people like me experiment on ninth graders**.

**I love ninth graders. I totally, like, WANT to teach them. We're all growing up at the same time--trying to figure out our way around this whole high school gig.

***I may have mentioned her before. She gave me back my first paper with "TORTURED SENTENCES" written diagonally across the whole first page. I found her scary. She was completely right, of course. I grew a backbone, endured almost completely incomprehensible conference after incomprehensible conference with her, earning many hard-won Bs, and got better. I hope.

****Note: I read it again with an open mind (hard for me sometimes when I think I won't get something--I tend to assume I hate it. I know, so silly), and by page 70ish, I had fallen head over heels. That book is COOL. Faulkner is such a hipster---you know, in a dead, Mississippi-ish way. Why I totally missed the boat in college I don't know. Probably my dumb love life.

A Series of Impressions (some unfortunate but mostly pretty darn fortunate)

Welcome to my new life. I jumped ship, moved to a whole new city, and sort of randomly got whole new job in a ritzy private school.

Are you grumbling deep in your throat? I would be.  In fact, I fully recognize my selling out. In the midst of the most fascinatingly good first weeks, I often, really often, feel pretty guilty.

I didn't plan to go private by the way. It just sort of happened. They called me back, created a brand-new-position-of-my-dreams just for me. Asked me, if I could do anything, what would I do. None of the public schools called.

So here was exactly what I wanted. I teach two tiny classes of flower-like 9th graders, and, drumroll please, am starting a writing center for the whole high school. Dreamy.

I constantly compare the new with the old. Trying to understand my total culture shock. Feeling like this is the way things should be—how good the hard-working teachers from my old, beloved department should have it, but don’t. I’m almost afraid to be happy in this place. But it’s new. It’s a process.

Here’s random bits from the last few days in order of their composition:

1. Seeing the fine distinctions between students will be challenging. I am used to seeing grades and home information and making assumptions about their possible success or need for extra help in my class. Are they from the “good” part of town, or are they from the “ghetto”? Do they have a long string of As or Fs on their transcript? Do they live with grandmothers, aunts or “cousins”? Have they had thirty-seven different addresses in the past ten years? Does the student have an arrest record or a parole officer? Will I have to file grades with the court? Do they have no records at all that anyone can find? 

I have had great students and terrible students, but few regular, average, B/C-type students. Now I look at the same sort grade and home information about my new group of 9th grade advisees, and I can tell very little.

Here’s what I do know about my advisees and the school in general (so far):

They have money. They “do” school. They’ve been exposed to art, music and technology in a big way--think animation classes, smart boards and projectors coming out their ears, constant traveling back and forth to New York. Their parents have a penchant for family names (many, many II, III, and IVs). Some of them have names that suggest Asian ethnicity. None have names that suggest “ghetto” ethnicity. As and Bs are the norm—only one F and a couple C on the transcripts from middle school.

The handbook contains a different set of rules. Boys have to tuck in shirts. No “unnatural” hair color. Boys must be clean shaven and have hair above the ears.

No bells ring. Taking attendance is a “new idea” this year. Another teacher, who the other teachers all call “The Hobbit,” bemoans discipline problems in the classroom because of “the girls and their giggling.”

Howard Garner is coming to do a professional development day. Right.

I am coaching a JV quiz bowl team. There are enough interested students to form a JV team. This feels semi-ridiculous.

The copier has no operating code. There is a supply closet roughly the size of my classroom. You wander in and take whatever you need without record-keeping of any kind. The lab got a slew of the brand-new Mac Pro Quad Xeons on the day they came out. And they gave me a couple for a new student publication which I am, apparently, going to sponsor.

Students willingly eat lunch with teachers on occasion.

I’m either in heaven or totally out of my element. Perhaps a bit of both. I need a firm pinch and a rah-rah speech all at once. Yes I know. Poor, poor me. As my momma would say, “Do we need to have a little pity party?”

What is the latitude and longitude of heaven?

2. I teach in a teen movie. When the assembly ended, the students in the control booth cut on the trendy music as everyone filed out of the auditorium. It felt good. And then I thought of Beverly Hills 90210.

3. They don’t say much, my students. But they do take a lot of notes—even when I am totally rambling. I gave them a lecture about thinking for themselves instead of buying into my every syllable. I felt all Mr. Keating.

And every single child turned in a set of summer reading essays. I stared at them in disbelief as they carefully laid stacks of paper in my outstretched hand, as they said, “Thank you, Ms. Hipteacher. See you tomorrow.”

4. I sent an e-card to my old department today. The card read,” You have received the Golden Apple Award. To the most marvelous, superlative, magnificent, dedicated, caring, outstanding, Teacher in the Universe. You deserve it.
Have a great year!

I wrote:

You deserve to be treated like the royalty of the teaching profession. I wish for you a year of supportive administrators who always have your back, colleagues who respect and encourage you, and students who treat you like a Queen/King of English.

Ok, I realize that this may be unrealistic. But it should be that way, and you all deserve that kind of treatment. You all work so hard and care so much. And, frankly, I know you don't hear good things or thank yous too often.

Therefore, I hereby appoint myself your official English Department cheerleader-at-large.

Take good care of yourselves. My thoughts are with you.

Love, hipteacher

For the first time, I realize how it should be. Everywhere. All the time.

5. Um, they brought me cookies. And a card. Parents did, I mean. And an umbrella. I really hate umbrellas, but that was really freaking nice.

And then a child called me. To check to make sure he was doing his assignment correctly.

I keep pinching myself, but I’m not waking up.