The other night I was on a massage table, listening to my massage therapist talk about her daughter's wedding when I realized something: I miss women's conversation.
Sure, I converse with women at my school, but it's usually about classes, curriculum, and students. When I think of women's conversations, I think of the stories we tell one another, the empathy we can show, and the laughter at shared situations.
I don't have women's conversations anymore, with my mom gone. I miss her stories, our talks, our times sharing. It's gone and I don't know where to find it. My life is surrounded by men, and our conversations aren't quite the same.
It's ironic that I've realized this loss within myself because I never thought of myself as a "woman's woman." I generally prefer the company of men because I find it less complicated, less stressful. But now, two and half years after my mom's passing, I find myself lonely and a bit desperate to have women's conversations.
We talked about so much; I never truly realized how much talking we did. There was always something to say, to share. I miss her advice about problems in my life. I miss her sympathy. I miss talking to her about my husband and son. I miss her stories of growing up, her complaints about my dad, and her silliness and laughter.
I don't know how to fill the gap her death has left in my life.
It would be different if I had female friends, but I don't. I don't quite understand female relationships or the intricacies of said relationships. At least I understood my mom, for the most part, and what she expected of me. I don't understand what women want of one another or why it's so difficult to understand them.
And I don't even know if it's possible at my age to find female friendship and conversation. I just know how much I miss it.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
End of another year
Today ended my 20th year of teaching. It's funny how some years are so bad, I cannot wait for the end of the year. I can hardly clean up my classroom, get my signatures, and leave tread marks in the parking lot on my way out.
This year was a good year, which makes its end bittersweet. Granted, I had a really rough class, and it was a relief to finish with them on Tuesday. I had to learn new curriculum and new assessments, but upon reflection, I enjoyed doing so. And I had to be compared repeatedly to our department 'guru' aka "Mr. Kurtz," but I lived. What really made it a good year, though, were my students, especially my AP Literature students.
Looking forward to each day our class met compensated for the more difficult classes. I was lucky to have a group innately curious and yet sponge-like. They absorbed-at least most-of what I taught them. They worked harder than I expected, and we had more laughs than I thought we would. I enjoyed the days we met and came home tired but jazzed from our discussions.
What makes a great school year, truly, are great students and colleagues as well as some supportive administrators. I was lucky to find a great partner for next year as well as a lunch buddy. I was able to laugh with more colleagues, joking more, and essentially enjoying our time together. I feel as though I smiled more this year. I was supported, mostly, by administrators when I needed it. As I walked to my car this morning, I was a bit sad to leave.
But as with all good things, this too, this year, has ended. I have time now to relax and ready myself for next year, a year I hope will be as enjoyable.
This year was a good year, which makes its end bittersweet. Granted, I had a really rough class, and it was a relief to finish with them on Tuesday. I had to learn new curriculum and new assessments, but upon reflection, I enjoyed doing so. And I had to be compared repeatedly to our department 'guru' aka "Mr. Kurtz," but I lived. What really made it a good year, though, were my students, especially my AP Literature students.
Looking forward to each day our class met compensated for the more difficult classes. I was lucky to have a group innately curious and yet sponge-like. They absorbed-at least most-of what I taught them. They worked harder than I expected, and we had more laughs than I thought we would. I enjoyed the days we met and came home tired but jazzed from our discussions.
What makes a great school year, truly, are great students and colleagues as well as some supportive administrators. I was lucky to find a great partner for next year as well as a lunch buddy. I was able to laugh with more colleagues, joking more, and essentially enjoying our time together. I feel as though I smiled more this year. I was supported, mostly, by administrators when I needed it. As I walked to my car this morning, I was a bit sad to leave.
But as with all good things, this too, this year, has ended. I have time now to relax and ready myself for next year, a year I hope will be as enjoyable.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Hard Call to Make
One of the benefits of teaching the same students over a period of time is the chance to know them well, but with that knowledge comes responsibility, especially if there's a change in them. This has recently happened to me, and I had to make a difficult decision.
Bobby, a senior, has been with me for two years. He's sweet, kind and compassionate, intelligent, and fun. He's a good listener, attentive to others and a hard worker. At least that's been true until this semester. Bobby also has a friend, Travis, who's intelligent, lazy, irresponsible, mean, and essentially the antithesis of Bobby. I've long suspected Travis's involvement with drugs, and I hoped that Bobby would avoid them and Travis's negative influence.
Unfortunately, Bobby has changed this semester from his happy-go-lucky self into a stranger. He's distant, inattentive, and lazy. He's lost a great deal of weight and generally looks bad. I talked with him a few weeks ago, to see if I could find out if everything was okay, and he gave me the usual speech teens give interfering adults: "I'm fine, just tired. I'm working too much. I'm stressed out." I repeatedly hear these words from my students, and I know they're only telling me part of their story. I thought, however, Bobby would be different; I don't know why.
This past Friday, I was told by others that Bobby and Travis are into drugs, and I was upset. Travis, sure. His parents make excuses for him and call him in "sick" frequently when he doesn't want to go to school. Bobby was truly upsetting. The hardest part, sometimes, of being a teacher is knowing information about students and deciding what to do with it.
I carried this information with me on our short weekend trip, through Mother's Day, to bed, and throughout Monday morning. I finally decided that I couldn't let this information slide; I needed to let Bobby's parents know. Naturally, I'm a coward, so I emailed first, but I ended up talking on the phone to his mom. My heart broke as she cried, telling me she's had her suspicions too. We talked awhile, and I referred her to Bobby's counselor.
What motivated my decision was my own son. I hope he'll have a teacher some day who sees him as more than a seat in the classroom, who cares about his well-being. I hope he will have a teacher who will make a hard call to us if she or he suspects something is going on with our son. Although my students are not 'my' children, they are entrusted to me by their parents, to look after them, to care for them, and yes, to make hard calls when I suspect something is not right with them. I take this trust, this responsibility seriously.
While I haven't seen Bobby as yet this week, I hope he will some day reflect on this time and understand that my intentions are good. I want what's best for him, as any parent and/or teacher wants for their kids. I want Bobby to go to college, be successful, and have a great career and life. Mostly though, I hope I'm wrong about the changes I've seen in him this semester.
It was a hard call to make, but I hope the end results are positive.
Bobby, a senior, has been with me for two years. He's sweet, kind and compassionate, intelligent, and fun. He's a good listener, attentive to others and a hard worker. At least that's been true until this semester. Bobby also has a friend, Travis, who's intelligent, lazy, irresponsible, mean, and essentially the antithesis of Bobby. I've long suspected Travis's involvement with drugs, and I hoped that Bobby would avoid them and Travis's negative influence.
Unfortunately, Bobby has changed this semester from his happy-go-lucky self into a stranger. He's distant, inattentive, and lazy. He's lost a great deal of weight and generally looks bad. I talked with him a few weeks ago, to see if I could find out if everything was okay, and he gave me the usual speech teens give interfering adults: "I'm fine, just tired. I'm working too much. I'm stressed out." I repeatedly hear these words from my students, and I know they're only telling me part of their story. I thought, however, Bobby would be different; I don't know why.
This past Friday, I was told by others that Bobby and Travis are into drugs, and I was upset. Travis, sure. His parents make excuses for him and call him in "sick" frequently when he doesn't want to go to school. Bobby was truly upsetting. The hardest part, sometimes, of being a teacher is knowing information about students and deciding what to do with it.
I carried this information with me on our short weekend trip, through Mother's Day, to bed, and throughout Monday morning. I finally decided that I couldn't let this information slide; I needed to let Bobby's parents know. Naturally, I'm a coward, so I emailed first, but I ended up talking on the phone to his mom. My heart broke as she cried, telling me she's had her suspicions too. We talked awhile, and I referred her to Bobby's counselor.
What motivated my decision was my own son. I hope he'll have a teacher some day who sees him as more than a seat in the classroom, who cares about his well-being. I hope he will have a teacher who will make a hard call to us if she or he suspects something is going on with our son. Although my students are not 'my' children, they are entrusted to me by their parents, to look after them, to care for them, and yes, to make hard calls when I suspect something is not right with them. I take this trust, this responsibility seriously.
While I haven't seen Bobby as yet this week, I hope he will some day reflect on this time and understand that my intentions are good. I want what's best for him, as any parent and/or teacher wants for their kids. I want Bobby to go to college, be successful, and have a great career and life. Mostly though, I hope I'm wrong about the changes I've seen in him this semester.
It was a hard call to make, but I hope the end results are positive.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)