Miss Adams… and the potlatch

It is an important week, semester finals. Kids are rushing to get work turned in. Teachers are rushing to grades done and submitted. Now, this is an end to something. I hate endings. I think that beginnings are scary, middles are happy and endings are sad and depressing. And how do Italians cope with sad things like saying goodbye? We eat… actually, we feed the people we are loosing. So! Guess what I am doing this week with my classes? You bet, feeding them. Every class is having a potlatch! I just finished making a huge army size pot of meatballs. Talk about food of love people! School potlatches have a special place in my heart… let me tell you why…

I had an amazing friend when I was in high school. We met our freshman year, right after my family moved from Texas to California. We weren’t friends at first; in fact he made me cry the first time we met. He yelled at me because I was sitting in his seat. And when I say yell, picture your second day of school in a new state (lookin’ like a preppy in the hood) and an angry latino male up in your grill lookin’ like he gonna kill you. Since I was not the tenacious Miss Adams that you now know and love, I avoided him at all cost for several weeks after the incident. I even went as far as to fain illness and go home to avoid being in the same room as him. But he was a nice person, and when he was finally able to catch me, he apologized for what he had done. We were friends from that point on. But my fondest memory of this friend was our 11^th grade class potlatch.

We had made a pact him and me that we would join our school’s restaurant and so in 11^th grade we did. After a year working as cooking partners we had mastered the art of making breakfast sandwiches and burritos, cookies and other delightful Eagle’s Nest delicacies. For our final grade we were assigned to host a class potlatch. I was thrilled! I have always loved to cook, and this was an opportunity to cook what I love and not what I was assigned. I made tortilla soup. We sat at the potlatch for 2 hours eating soup and goodies and talking. And I realized what a special friend I had when I was sitting at that potlatch. There is something special about sharing something you have worked so hard on with people you care about. Sometimes there are no words to say thank you. Sometimes there are no words to tell someone how special they are to you. But food is an art form that let’s us do that.

Miss Independent and Korean Drama Induced Narcolepsy...

So I went to dinner last week with a friend of mine, and there we were enjoying our Korean BBQ when the topic of dating came up proceeded of course by the realization that I am a quarter of a century old. I am closer to 30 than to 20 and I don’t even have a prospect of a love interest at the moment. Now, I am fine with this on a daily bases. I like being able to say that I answer to no man, I go where I want when I want and spend what I want. I travel; I have stamps in my passport. I don’t have to justify my job to anyone. In fact, just start humming independent woman right now and put a picture of me in your head. But it struck me today… I am exhausted from being so independent! I used to be able to watch T.V. without falling asleep, now as soon as the T.V. turns on, I am GONE! It is driving me crazy!!! I just want to watch one show, just one little 30 minute show. Is it possible to develop narcolepsy at 25? I saw this Korean drama once called “Loveholic”, where the main character developed narcolepsy and she falls asleep everywhere she goes, bus stops, work, dates. Is that what is happening to me? Have I watched so many Korean dramas that my life is becoming a mixture of “Star Candy”, “Samsoon” and “Loveholic”? That is it! I think I need so good old American T.V. Is “Lost” still on???

The Miss in Miss Adams is the most important part of the name

So while I was in South America my students were assigned to read Bacon’s “Essays”. Specifically, they had to read “Marriage vs. Single Life”. Now, this is required reading. I didn’t pick it, but some how my kids had the idea that I was sending them a message from Chile through their reading selection. And you better believe that when I checked my email the day after they read the essay, it was filled with messages reminding me that “overseas romances are never a good idea”, “single life fits you, don’t let a man tie you down…”, “boys are bad” and so forth. What happened to I was so old I was near death? I think I might have some students with abandonment issues… But this really made me think, what if I could send subliminal messages to my kids… What if….????

If I could really get subliminal messages through to my students they would go something like this…

1. Pee before you come to class…because, no you will not get a pass…

2. Bring a sweater, because Miss Adams doesn’t care how cold you are… wear a full shirt for that matter, then she won’t have to write you up for a dress code violation…

3. Bring Miss Adams a Twix… or a Double Shot from Starbucks…

4. Miss Adams doesn’t care why you are late; you still have to check in at the front desk…

5. Miss Adams is not your mom, so stop asking her for money… and STOP trying to hug her…

Transcendentalism…

Transcendentalism – Basically this was a movement in American literature rebelling against the norms or religious thinking, social and urban life.

Here is what teaching transcendentalism to teenagers is like….

Day 1: Students went on a nature tour of the campus. Really what this means is that we walked to one of the two grass areas on campus, just 50 feet from the classroom, right next to the parking lot. I set them loose with their journals and this topic, “what natural objects do you see?”. It really is sad when kids think that cars, basketballs and benches are natural objects. “Grass people, think grass! Not that kind of grass, school appropriate grass!”

Day 2: Students are given examples of nature and as a class we discuss how we as individuals are similar to objects found in nature. “Miss Adams, what do you mean I’m like a cloud? I’m not a fluffy!”, “Jorge looks like a puppy”, “No I don’t… hey can I borrow your mirror?”, “I’m a pineapple”, “Why?”, “…ummm….do I have to have a reason?”

Day 3: “Okay, I think we have all had enough so let’s wrap this up. Pick one natural item that you have things in common with, draw a picture and write 2 paragraphs explaining the item and your similarity to it.” ….

“Miss Adams?”

“Yes?”

“Can I go outside and get a leaf to help me draw?”

“Sure”

And thus students were sent out to collect nature and bring it back to draw. Now there will always be one student who thinks outside of the box. And my students like to think WAY outside of the box.

Student 1: “Can we go out to get some nature?”

Adams: “If you’re gone more than 5 minutes, I’m calling security to get you”.

Student 2: “We’ll be really quick, don’t worry”

3 minutes pass and I am standing with my back to the window of my classroom when all of a sudden a student yells out, “ADAMS LOOK”. I turn, unsure of what is behind me, when I see students 1 and 2 walking up to my door with their nature. Nature apparently to them involved ripping a 5 foot tall branch off a tree and completely uprooting an elephant plant. I stopped them at the door taking the branch, and trying not to laugh as student 1 attempts to hide the plant he is carrying.

Adams: “What is that?”

Student 1: “I don’t know what you are talking about”, as he places the 3 foot high plant in the trash can behind him.

Adams: “Put it back, where ever you got it, put it back”

I look to the right to see how it was possible that two students could make it all the way across campus with half a tree and an entire plant. There I see the campus security guards laughing hysterically and pointing at me. I burst into laughter myself. What do you do in that situation? The elephant plant was replanted, the tree branch ended up being used in my class’ red ribbon week door décor, and then the students in question were “talked to” about the “appropriate” application of transcendentalism. Thankfully there the principle and vice principle were at a meeting and did not witness the events. However, the stand in admin was watching the entire thing on the video cameras. As I stood at my door during the passing period I was approached by the stand in admin and asked if I needed any shovels. And for that matter, he told me that he would lend me the strongest boys on campus. “Why?” I asked. “Well I thought you might want that tree over there for your project”, he remarked as he pointed at a 50 foot tree. HA HA HA. Better yet were the security guards who came into my room looking for missing trees and campus plants for the next week.

Transcendentalism…

Age is just a number…with very little meaning and no absolution.

Sometimes I wonder if the generation that I work with has ever seen the movie “Bambie”. Because if they have, I think they have missed one of the essential lessons that movie seeks to teach young children. One smart reared child in my class decided that I am an old maid and that I am nearly past the years of child bearing. She told me, not just that I was old, but that I was *$%@ing old. REALLY? Since when is 25 *$%@ing old? What would possess you, to make you think that saying something like that was okay? So here's to you... I think i may hang an "old people crossing" sign up in my room, since I am so near death and didn't even realize it.

Red Ribbon Week and an Attempt of Conqure a Small but Meaningful Portion of the World

Alright, let’s chat… it’s been a while. It is my DUTY to humankind to spread the word of Red Ribbon Week. However, there is an irony in Red Ribbon Week here at my school. Red Ribbon Week at a continuation school is like throwing a baby shower at an abortion clinic, completely ironic. I mean hello, everything I learned about drugs was here, from my kids.

But I really wanted to take this as an opportunity to do something worthwhile as a teacher, and thankfully I am getting the chance. It was decided that teachers could use forced child labor (otherwise known as class participation) to decorate their door for RRW with the hopes of winning a party for their class. And much to my pleasure 4^th period was the chosen group to do this. I love my fourth period class. It is a tiny group of kids, which for the most part make my whole day better. No matter how bad things might be, my fourth period always makes me feel like everything I go through is worth it, because I have them. And I have struggled this year to connect with the new group coming in, but these kids are a gift. But anyway… let me get back to the point RRW.

Our mission is to pick a theme and decorate our door. I was thrilled with this competition. Really any competition has my name written all over it. Any chance to conquer a small portion of the world and I am all over it. But to top it off I get to conquer a small portion of the world with my beloved fourth period! Who could ask for more? But much to my dismay, not so many of the other staff members were as thrilled as myself. So how to fix that… put them on blast during the announcements and call them pansies of course! Needless to say sending out “don’t be chicken” and “make my win worth the work” emails went far.

We have a good portion of the staff decorating doors now. But I will just say this; my kids have this in the bag. I will spare no expense, I will pull everything physical and monetary resource I have. Why? Not just because I love to win… but because I never realized how excited my kids would be with the project. They have brought ideas and talent and joy to the competition. I’m really proud of them. And we will relish in the tears of the classes who perish in the luminescence of our splendor!

Oh Yeah...

Teacher of the month... ME!!!! Next step, total world domination=)

Locked up Abroad Lesson # 1: “Don’t Take Packages from Strangers"

I have waited my entire life, all 25 years of it, to visit South America. And finally, my dream is about to come true. I will be spending 12 days in November basking in the beauty and culture of Chile and Peru. I will take in the sights, eat way more than I should, and carry a copy of Pablo Neruda’s “20 love poems and a song of despair” everywhere I go. My kids are oddly afraid that I am going to end up in prison in Chile or Peru and not make it back for finals. Now, as I am wondering what to wear, how much to pack and whether or not to bring a flat iron, my students decided to impart some thug life knowledge on me to help me survive the rough streets of Santiago. So they have over the past few days compiled a list of tips to help me through my adventure.

1. Don’t take packages from strangers (apparently drug traffickers prey on unsuspecting / stupid / too nice to say no tourists. I’m not really sure which of the above listed qualities my student was implying that I possess…).

2. Never let your drink out of your sight. One minute your drinking a soda and the next thing you know, your gonna wake up in a crappy hotel room tub packed in ice with a note thanking you for your kidney (one of my students has a cousin, who has an uncle, who has a friend, whose daughter had that happen to her).

3. Don’t talk to strangers. Randomly in conversations over the past 2 months I have had this delightful comment made to me by several of my kids, “Don’t talk to strangers, your gonna get kidnapped. Green eyes sell big on the black market, you know…” No, I didn’t. But thanks for that tid-bit of information that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

4. Write a will (or to make things easy, just give my stuff away before I go and buy all new stuff when I get back).

5. Learn to do a choke hold, just in case someone does try to kidnap me.

Instructions

• Step 1:

Thrust your chin to your chest the instant you feel someone trying to put you in a sleeper choke hold. If your chin is on your chest they will not be able to get their arm around your throat and won't be able to render you unconscious. (okay, so chin down…)

• Step 2:

Reach up with both hands. Place the hand closest to the attacker's hand on his choking arm over his hand. Place the other hand on the elbow of the choking arm. Both of your hands should be on the attacker's arm that is around your head. (really, both hands on the attackers arm? You mean asking them politely won’t make them stop???)

• Step 3:

Squeeze the pressure point near the elbow. You can find this about 1 inch above the elbow. Place your thumb on one side of the arm and your middle finger on the other side. Squeeze the bone between your fingers hard. Try it on yourself. It hurts. (Pressure points…maybe I can test this out on my TA)

• Step 4:

Push the wrist on the attacker's choking arm toward his elbow. Do this by placing your hand on the back of his hand. Wrap your fingers around the meaty part of the hand beneath the attacker's thumb. Place your thumb between the knuckles of his middle and ring fingers. Push in the direction of the elbow, making sure the attacker's wrist is bending. Use the hand pressing on the pressure point near the elbow to push toward the wrist. Your hands should be pushing toward each other. The attacker will be distracted by the pain in his wrist and elbow. (I think I can do that…)

• Step 5:

Step behind the attacker by moving to the side and swinging your inside leg around him. Be sure to do this on the side of the choking arm. When you step behind him you will be facing his back. Push the choking arm up and over your head as you move behind the attacker. (okay…)

• Step 6:

Pull the attacker's arm behind him as you move behind him. This should be easy since you are holding his wrist and elbow. Once his arm is behind his back push the wrist up toward his head. Trip the attacker forward onto his face and follow him to the ground. You now have him at your mercy (seems pretty easy… and this will totally give me some street credit…)

Celebrity Collage by MyHeritage

What better way to waste valuable time that upload pictures of yourself and find out what celebs you look like! Can we say vain? Can we say completely addictive? I would just like to say that whoever created this should get a Noble Prize!

http://www.myheritage.com/collage

MyHeritage: Celebrity Collage - Free family history - Vintage pics

The Masochism of Teaching… Starting a New Year and the Kids that Love You Enough to Come Back…

This past week I came to the full understanding that my profession builds masochism in seemingly normal people. It is sad really. Before becoming a teacher, I stayed away from things that I knew would hurt me, but now… I go into the year knowing full well that I will build ties and let love grow, but in the end those ties will be severed. The kids will go on, and I will be left with pictures of them as mementos of happier times. But what really kills me, is that after all of the hard work we put into them, some will realize right away that they are semi-adults. They realize that they do not need our approval for every detail of their lives. We as teachers cease to be a sounding board to them. It is masochistic because we work so hard to make them independent, but really it hurts when they are no longer dependant on us.

I don’t think most of the kids realize just how much we worry about them. But until this week, I didn’t really think about how much they, not so much worry about us, but think about us. This past week when school started, I was sent emails and texts throughout the day from former students just wanting to let me know they missed me and hoped I had a good first day. To top that off, three of my most beloved students came to see me throughout the week. And it really made me think when one of my new students remarked that “Miss Adams, your going to forget all about us in a few years…”, is that possible. All I can say is that it would be like forgetting your first love. It simply can not happen. Will I remember every child? Probably not, just as they will not remember me. But there are those, like the three that came to see me and the ones that sent me messages that I will never forget. That love can not be changed by time. And even if after this week they never call or write or visit, the memories will go on being cherished.

What it comes down to is this: for all of my students, if I had all the money in the world, I would make sure that they were cared for and that no harm could ever come to them. I wish that I could make sure that they were always safe and loved and happy. But I know I can’t, and I guess that is the masochism of teaching. We wish that we could give them the world wrapped in a beautiful package, but we can only put them on the road to find it and hope that our dreams for them and their dreams come true.

The Unthug

So today confirmed just how unthug I really was before the events of today. After accidentally locking myself out of my bedroom and thinking I could easily pick the lock, I realized that all movies that depict lock picking as an easy crime are misleading to say the least! “Not a problem!”, I thought as I found a spare Swiss army knife and hair pin. I mean seriously, I have watched every episode of MacGyver. LIARS!!! I have lost all faith in Richard Dean Anderson. The knife didn’t work, the hair pin didn’t work, and the banging on the door in frustration only left me with a strange cut on my elbow. There was blood literally smeared on the wall, it was disgusting. So what could be done? Mind you that all of my stuff (phone, computer, purse, etc.) were in my room, so I was stuck. I couldn’t even get to my phone book to contact possible thug connections, in hopes that they could walk me through the steps of picking a lock! Thankfully my mom remembered an old family friend that was a locksmith many moons ago. Very long story short, all of my brut strength and a butter knife pierced through part of the door jam, broke a nail and jimmied the lock open. How long do you think that took? 2 stinking hours of my life that I will never get back! But I am left with this realization; at 6 PM on August 5^th I was the unthug, but by 8PM I was confident that if the need should ever arise again, I was now thug enough to pick a lock.

I love This

New Room Update

I have been moved! My heart is broken... Rm. 4 is no longer mine... I have been relocated directly across from the principles office... I guess I can't throw signs to RF anymore=(. I will start moving in a little tomorrow and then get all my stuff up next week. My new theme is "Urban Jungle", any ideas?

Adventures… Sitting in a Room Full of Elementary Teachers?

So I got an email last week reminding me that my so cherished summer vacation is soon to come to an end. The email informed me that I was to attend a 5 day long training for a new intervention program I have been assigned to teach. It really is as dull as the first two sentences of my blog make it sound.

Predictable as ever, Miss Adams of course wakes up late on the first day. So I decide to throw on what I (but not my mother) deem appropriate training day attire: jeans and a black t-shirt. With the knowledge that my hair was not fully dry and I was wearing jeans…I snuck out of the house thus avoiding my mom yelling that I look, “like a student not a teacher and no matter how hot it is in Perris you can still catch pneumonia going out with wet hair”. No matter how old you are….

I can’t even tell you how fast I had to drive… but I made it and with 5 whole minutes to spare. Thus, taking a deep breath I walked into the small training room! It was packed, but immediately I noticed the lack of usually provided coffee and snacks (stupid budget cuts) not even coffee, I mean really how cheap can you be? Anyway…I take a seat at a table where one middle aged woman is sitting alone. I despite having no coffee tried to be polite and introduced myself. She just looked at me, and said “Oh, okay” and turned away. Another lady joins our table, and then another, and then another, and then another. With each new arrival I introduced myself and get the same response. But they all appear to know each other and happily talk to one another about how awful last years kids were and how they were all going to end up at “The Lake”. I stay quiet, realizing that there is no where for me to move to… and wondering where these teachers are from… I’ve never seen them before… they clearly don’t know I’m from “The Lake”…

And then it comes, as it always comes… the thumb ball. Oh, you don’t know what that is! Let me enlighten you. A thumb ball is an ancient torture technique used by teachers around the world to humiliate students. Okay, so not really… it’s actually just a stupid soft ball we throw around the room to get answers from kids. It is kind of like pulling names. But, it never ceases to amaze me that they make us do this at teacher meetings. Do I really need to have a stupid ball thrown to me for me to know I can speak? Does the instructor think that just because I work with kids I have some how lost my ability to be an adult? And then comes in the factor, can you catch? It is my worst nightmare to miss catching the thumb ball and fall out of my seat, and yes I have seen that happen! Now what is the question we are being forced to answer you ask. Name, rank and serial number! The other sites are enemy territory, say nothing to implicate your site of anything other than grandeur. So finally the thumb ball is mine (didn’t drop it, rock on!). “Denise Adams, 11^th grade English, ummmm…. The Lake…” and then I threw the ball as fast as I could. My table turns… they know… I’m a teacher at “The Lake”…

Come to find out, I’m sitting at a table of elementary school teachers. It is important to know that elementary and high school teachers are fundamentally different. And it really comes down to one major factor. They wonder how we can deal with kids talking back to us and we wonder how they can handle kids peeing on themselves.

Summer Vacation # 3: School Supplies, Starbucks at the Gym… and a Shout-out to the Lone Salsa Dancer…

I went shopping today, and how proud of me are you??? I did not buy a single pair of shoes! Instead I bought SCHOOL SUPPLIES. Yes, that time of year is coming. The smell of freshly sharpened pencils, the buzz of kids running around, it is all less than a month away. The only real thing that I am dreading about the up coming school year is of course the ungodly hour at which I will have to start my day. It is oh so nice to wake up at a beautiful hour of 8 AM versus my normal 4:30 AM, make my way to the local gym and fight for machines with mobs of stay at home moms and an odd mixture of old people. Ah yes, the 8 AM crowd is a breed all its own. They try and talk to you… I’m used to people communicating via grunting at 4:30 AM. It is an unspoken (literally) rule which we all follow. Because, dude if I have my head phones in that should tell you I don’t want to talk. I mean really! I’m trying to run. Who can run at 7 mph and talk at the same time? Apparently I am the only person unable to complete this form of multi tasking. But what really kills me are the people who bring Starbucks to the gym. Is it just me, or does that not defeat the purpose of going to the gym? Do they not realize that the venti caramel frap that they just drank would take them 4 grueling hours with Jose in the cycling class to burn off? The thought of 1 hour of cycling with Jose is enough to keep me clear of Jell-O, let alone something dowsed in caramel. But really, the worst of the worst are the girls who wear makeup to the gym. I’ll be honest, half the time I don’t even match at the gym. The people at the gym should be glad a brush my teeth! But makeup, really that is just too much to ask! And what really bugs me is that these girls just sit on machines and never work out. “Why?” you ask. Simple, they don’t want to mess up their makeup. But in the midst of my irritation with the guy next to me on the treadmill trying to talk to me as I listen to rave techno and the girl on the other side of me (just standing there looking at herself in the mirror instead of even walking on the treadmill), there is one thing that brings a smile to my face… the dancing man. Yes, there is a guy who salsa dances in between reps. The lone salsa dancer, he doesn’t care who is watching, he doesn’t care if they are playing T.I. or Lady Gaga, he is still doing the Cuban shuffle with a twist of salsa. Amazingly no one tries to talk to him at the gym… maybe I should bring some Celia Cruz and bust a move between my reps…

July 11th…

Pablo Neruda once wrote a poem about a dear friend of his that had died, and though I myself had not yet experienced such a loss the first time I read the poem, I felt a deep pain in my heart for him. I could not imagine living through such a loss. To go on without such a principal in my life, I simply could not. But as time would come to tell, I was very wrong about myself. Just two short years after reading that poem, I lost just such a friend. The pain that I felt when I read Neruda’s poem was engulfed by an understanding of injustice and anger and devastation. And though it has been many years, the pain has never fully gone away. It is as if my heart knows the day even before my memory has brought it to mind. I could not seem to stop crying for some reason today, and then I realized, tomorrow is the day. July 11^th is here again for the seventh time, and my heart is still broken, because as Neruda says, “I write these words down in my book, thinking that this naked farewell, with him not present, this simple letter, which cannot be answered, is nothing more than dust, cloud, ink and words and the only truth is that my friend is dead”.

C.O.S.C. by Pablo Neruda

HA MUERTO este mi amigo que se llamaba carlos,

no importa quién, no pregunten, no saben,

tenía la bondad del buen pan en la mesa

y un aire melancólico de caballero herido.

no es él y es él, es todo, es la muerte que toca

la puerta,

de puro bueno salió a abrirle carlos,

y entre tantos que abrieron esa noche la puerta

él solo quedó afuera,

él entre tantos hombres ahora ya no vuelve.

y su ausencia me hiere como si me llamara,

como si continuara en la sombra esperándome.

yo si hubiera escogido para este fin de un día

un dolor entre tantos que me acechan

no hubiera separado de la noche su rostro,

injustamente hubiera pasado sin recuerdo,

sin nombrarlo, y así no hubiera muerto

para mí, su cabeza continuaría gris

y sus tranquilos ojos que ahora ya no miran

seguirían abiertos en las torres de méxico.

de la muerte olvidar el más reciente ramo,

desconocer el rumbo, la proa o la bodega

en que mi amigo viaja solo o amontonado

y a esta hora creerlo aún dueño del día,

aún dueño de aquella claridad sonriente

que repartió entre tantas tareas y personas.

escribo estas palabras en mi libro pensando

que este desnudo adiós en que no está presente,

esta carta sencilla que no tiene respuesta,

no es nada sino polvo, nube, tinta, palabras

y la única verdad es que mi amigo ha muerto.

Summer Vacation # 2: Running into students…and a special congratulations!

It finally happened for the first time this year. There I was driving down the street, and as I turn to my left I recognize the teenage boy in the truck next to me. “WAIT!” I yell to my mom in the passenger seat, “that’s my kid”. And like a complete dork I start waving. My mom remarks, “Your kid, what are you talking about?”.

It is a funny way to refer to them, “My kids…”; at the very least my students are old enough to be siblings or relatives. Despite the age difference, it amazes me how much like my own children they are. I feed them, in some cases (when they are breaking dress code) I clothe them, I give them shelter (I leave my room open at lunch)… the list of basics could go on, but really I share their triumphs and the failures, their heartbreaks and their troubles. But in seeing my student today, I was overcome with joy, not because of which student it was, rather what he represents. I am often reminded by friends and family that I work with gang members, drug addicts, and other forms of “challenging” kids. But what they often forget is that they are also students whose talents and intellect have gone unnoticed and unchallenged because of society’s inability to see past the exterior.

The student I waved so enthusiastically to today is one such student, a known gang member. It was nice not just to see him, but for the first time to see him in a situation where he was just a kid, driving with his dad talking and smiling. We often forget that all of the labels that we put on these “challenging” students diminish the label that should be recognized first. They are kids, they are our kids and we need to remember that we make them who they are. And we have the responsibility to step up and make a change. Because, if we don’t step up, we have no right to complain about what we allow them to become.

The kids I work with impress me everyday. They are the spice of my life, they are my adventure everyday. Not all of them are gang members, many have never touched drugs, and they are challenged in different ways. They have taught me what it really means to earn respect and be brave when everyone seems to be against you.

So I want to say a very special congratulation to a student who is a high school student no more. Anthony, your accomplishment came with so much effort. I know you thought you wouldn’t make it at times, but that just makes graduation so much more fulfilling. The greatest things in life come with hard work and they are sweetest when you gave it your all. I am so proud of you! You did this on your own, and you will continue to do many more great things, because you have proved to everyone (including yourself) that you can.

English Teacher on Vacation…. Subtitles make me feel like I’ve accomplished more that just watching 16 hours of T.V.

I know you all think that English teachers sit around reading all summer long. Indulging in Tolstoy, Dickens, and when we are feeling wild we pull out our copy of “Gang Days in L.A.” by Rodriguez. ButI will be the first to tell you that you my dear friends are wrong. READING! Ha! Forget that crap, I am glued to my computer watching Korean dramas. They are tela novelas to the hundredth power. Every stinking one is the same story retold with a different actors (but amazingly using the same movie set). There is always a love triangle. There is always a mid drama hairdo change for the main cast. There is always at least 2 episodes where a character nearly kills themselves because they have been rejected by someone that they will of course marry in another 2 episodes. But there is the ultimate Korean drama… the… historical drama. No other drama can truly compare to these. They are full of great Korean heroes, passionate love stories and of course they end so happily. Okay, so maybe I lied a little about the last part… they don’t really end happily. In truth everyone dies that the end. You know this from the beginning, all Korean historical dramas end like the Titanic, death! And yet, we still watch them, hoping that just once, the characters that we have spent so much time (in some cases 70 or more hours) loving will survive. But the answer is always no. It is like no one in Korea lived anything but a tragedy 500 years ago. Give me a break! Every single person that lived was sucked into some horrible love triangle, while running for their life because their brother (who they don’t even know is their brother) is trying to keep them from being able to stake a claim on the thrown they don’t even know they are somehow the 12^th person in line for. But you can’t stop watching… your not even Korean, but you are sucked into a story that you know will end bad and you still can’t walk away from it…

Today's Lesson: The Hemingway Challenge

Hemingway once challenged his associates to write a story using just 6 words. He penned the words, "For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn". Amazing how 6 little words can have so many meanings and carry so much emotion. As a challenge a friend asked me to take part in this little challenge. So here are a few of the stories I came up with. Mind you that none come anywhere near Hemingway.

“You voted me off the lifeboat!”

“Is being called thugalishous a compliment?”

WOW! What is the age difference?

I’m sorry now, I walked away.

Sown clothes. Tattered shoes. First day.

People gathering, “What’s happening over there?”

I hid it in a box.

Senior fails economic. Art scholarship lost.

Glistening ring. Bended knee. Answer: “No”.

Shots fired. Teen killed. Retaliation expected.

Under the willow I wait, hopeful.

Unexpectedly the zephyr came and went.

Saying “Hello”, I take your hand.

Today's Lesson: Disappointment...

This is a special shout out to my students! I LOVE and MISS you all (minus of course Tinker Bell) I just want to give a piece of Adams' advice. Don’t tell me to check out your web pages if you are getting messages about thizzle. I know what that is and I just want to say that I am really disappointed. And remember P.O.s check that crap.

Today’s Lesson: A moment of panic, knowing that you’ve lost…

My seniors just had their graduation last night, for which I am amazingly proud. I cried, cheered and felt a pride I have never felt in my heart before. But today, as I took down all of my pictures and posters, I had a moment of panic, knowing that they are no longer mine. It was a bittersweet feeling. They have reached their goal, my goal for them, and the world is now open to them. But in that moment I realized that I had lost something. There are kids that I will never see again, kids that I love and cherish. But the truth of life is that, there is only a handful that I will ever see again. It is for those that I wonder if they truly understand the magnitude of the world around them. I wonder if I did a good job preparing them to stand up to what will face them. I wonder if they know how hard it is for us to let them go.

Today's Lesson: Things that makes us who we are or will become...

This is a little narrative that I wrote years ago, but it says a little about me...

Evil: "Morally wrong or bad" - Webster

I was about nine years old the first time I came into contact with EVIL, or at least what I perceived it to be at the time. His name was Nicholas Cox and he was my brother Derek’s friend. I remember the day, vividly, it was a brilliant sunny day in late May and Nicholas had come over with the sole prospect of traumatizing me for the rest of my life. I was entertaining myself (with angelic dignity) in the den with my favorite doll (it was in fact the Cinderella Barbie doll), trying to decide if she should wear her blue or white dress for the arrival of the prince. It was no sooner that I looked up to see who had come into the room, that a grubby white freckled little hand reached down, snatching my beloved doll out of my hands. I am still haunted by what happened next.

There he was running around with my doll, laughing a purely evil laugh as she plummeted to the ground from the catwalk above. I can almost swear that I heard her scream as she fell what must have been a mile in Barbie measurements. The smacking sound of her plastic body against the tile was enough to send me screaming to Derek.

I have heard it said many times since then that “good always triumphs over EVIL”, but the dark side was just too strong to save Cindy that day. Derek tried to save her, more out of fear of our mom than out of fear for what was sure to befall Cindy. It was a valiant attempt to save himself, I mean Cindy, but in the last she ended up decapitated. There she was her body in one of those grubby white freckled hands and in the other he dangled her head by the pony tail in front of me.

The next week Nicholas was forced to buy me a new Barbie doll by his mom (it was in fact the super long hair Barbie). I decapitated that one myself out of spite. As a result of the actions of this messenger of darkness, I have since then developed an unadulterated hatred of dolls.

Today’s Lesson: Letting go, or at least trying to.

Graduation is fast approaching, an event for which we have all been looking forward to. But now that it is so close, I feel a tinge of pain in my heart. I find myself nervous for the lives that they are about to embark on. I hope that they are ready; I hope that I have helped prepare them; I hope that they will be happy. All that I can simply say is that even though we still have 5 days left together, I miss them. It amazes me how attached you can become to these odd creatures we call teenagers. I am not a parent, but I imagine that this is what it feels like on the day a parent realizes that their child is no longer a child. You are proud yet devastated, relieved but apprehensive. And though the event is joyous, there is a side of you that wishes they could stay with you forever.

But in an effort to ease the pain of those who will miss the students, less sentimental teachers have put together a BBQ in which we will have some highly entertaining events. We will wipe our tears away while the staff put on rented Sumo suits and wrestle to the bitter end. What better way to ease my pain, than to give me the opportunity to body slam someone? All I have to say is, “Library Clerk, your butt is mine”!!!

Today’s Lesson: Vatos at the Gym and a Unique Gift Idea for Teacher Appreciation Week…

My daily routine begins with a trip to the gym, bright and early and with a tinge of resentment. It is there, that every morning I see a particular friendly neighborhood vato. He is handsome, in his late 20s, and not the kind of person that you would ever go up to and start a conversation with. He has “I could kill you with a tooth-pick” written all over his face. To top it all off, he is an extreme fighter. The dude gets paid to beat the crap out of people. Scary? I think so. Did you know that extreme fighters get a new tattoo after they win a fight? Well, now you do. And guess what, he is covered in them! On one occasion at the gym, he approached me and very politely asked if he could use the machine I was on when I finished. I froze, my life, for a brief second, flashed before my eyes. What could I say? I couldn’t even move! All I kept think was, “he could kill me with a tooth-pick” and “is that a new tattoo?”. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to give my consent.

The hard exterior of such individuals can scare us common folk. But really, they are people too. They have feelings just like me and you. And just to prove that even people with the “I could kill you with a tooth-pick” look can be nice, here is a little proof…

This week is teacher appreciation week. Teachers wait all year for it. We get candy, flowers, food, and other random but meaningful gifts. I told my students that I personally like diamonds, but they gave me something even better. I received a special thug life gift from my students as a token of teacher appreciation. An initiation of sorts, if you will. I, yes I was given the gift of a gang sign by my students.

How many of you can say you have your own designer gang sign? I didn’t think so. It is nice to know that each day when my students come to class and hold up that upside down peace sign with a thumb making a horizontal line, they are really saying, “Adams, we love you”.

Lesson of the day: Analogies

Teachers : Vikings :: Desperation : pillage

I know that analogies can be confusing, so I am going to break this one down for you. Let’s start with a definition, an analogy is a similarity between like features of two things, on which a comparison may be based. With that in mind, think… think hard. Teachers and Vikings??? I’m sure you have all heard that thousands of California teachers are loosing their jobs. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Skimp, save, be a tight wad! But when the time comes, and it will come, pillage! I don’t mean take all of Kroger with you the next time you visit the market. Because in all honesty we will get severance or unemployment, but until then we have to deal with the budget cuts at work. It isn’t as though our pockets are empty, no, no, they have been sewn shut for crying out loud. And this past week I had taken all that I could take! I was tired of the dirty looks from the office staff every time I ask for ink or paper, so I took matters into my own hands.
Recently the teacher in the classroom next to me was transferred to another school and his room was empty… or was it? I was able to get a key from the secretary and scope out the bounteous treasures that lay within the newly emptied room. As I stood in the doorway, it was as if my long buried Viking blood came bubbling to the surface. Pillage!!! One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I had merely gone in with the intention of taking the desk (since my own has been broken for ages), but then it hit me, the room was like the ruins of a past civilization. Like Egypt, Rome or Greece the “artifacts” therein could be pillaged and reused or possibly… sold. I could not manage the feet on my own, and thus enlisted the aid of 7 student aids. In all we were able to pillage:
1 giant teacher desk
1table
2 dry erase markers
1 ink cartridge
60 or so pages of white computer paper
12 colored pencils
1 mini post it pad
1daily planer
10 report folders (with school logo)
5 unused referrals
1 extension cord

Desperate times call for desperate measures

The Pied Piper of teenage boys…

There are specific types of teachers at every school, and I have finally come to know just which of the teachers I am. I am that teacher, yes you know that one. Not the mean one, not the mom one, not the so old your not sure how they are still alive one. No, I am that one… the pied piper of teenage boys. You remember the story of the pied piper right? Had an amazing ability to attract rats and children. Well, I attract teenagers, boys specifically. I’m not proud, in fact I find it confusing. What exactly acts as my pipe? Could they be drawn to my completely invisible cleavage? Perhaps it is my always Katherine Hepburn inspired baggy men’s trousers and non form fitting suit jackets? I mean really, since when did chubby Italian girls become all the rage? I’m honest with them, I’m a NERD! Since when did Star Wars geeks become attractive to teenage boys? What happened to all the regular teenage boys? Were they taken by pod people and replaced by chubby chasing aliens? My confusion really comes from my own reflections on high school. Never in a million years would any of my friends have told a teacher they were hot! I mean think it, joke with your friends about it, but never and I mean never would it have even been for a second considered something that you would say to your teacher. Have things changed that much in the past 10 years? I am exhausted. I can only hope that over the weekend all the normal youth of America will be returned by the evil pod people who have caused me so much stress.

Today's lesson: having a bubble is never a bad thing

Burrito Contraband

When you work at a high school, it is amazing to see the things that become contraband, clandestine actions, otherwise known as the black market of high school students. I mean really, gum… sounds pretty innocent right? Little did you know that there was a black market gum trading ring at your local high school. Careful, you might get your kneecaps busted if you are behind on your gum payments. But really, that is child’s play. Let’s talk about the real stuff, the hard core contraband of the high school world. There are always drugs, but more interestingly there are things you would never expect them to be selling. For example at my high school we recently had a burrito selling ring. I will admit several of the teachers were involved in the burrito contraband ring, buying the most amazing burritos EVER made. I, trying to be “good” held out for a while until the temptation was just too much and I gave in. But of course, the one time I take part in the underground networking of the high school black market, something would have to go terribly, terribly wrong. Pablo the burrito dealer got caught on camera selling… Caught on camera “exchanging” foil wrapped packages for undetermined amounts of cash… As soon as he got my money the security guard picked him up. Okay, I can see how bad the foil wrapped package looked, but really!!! I mean we are in the ghetto, there is no 17 year old kid with enough money to buy what would have looked like a 5 pound brick of foil wrapped heroin. Clearly it had to be something else! Now, these kids take their clandestine actions very seriously. Do you think he would admit to the principal what he was selling? Not a chance. So, heartbreak of all heartbreaks the burrito underground was brought to a crashing halt… and I never got my burrito…

Freedom Writers

People are always telling me I need to watch “Freedom Writers”, but I refuse to watch it. Why you ask… well, simply put I work in the ghetto. Why would I watch a movie about someone else who works in the ghetto? I mean is the movie supposed to make me feel better about working in the ghetto? I teach essays. I was supposed to teach how to write an essay, not to avoid becoming one. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. But when I get home do you really think I want to watch a movie about teaching in the ghetto? NO!!!! I want to watch nothing even related to teaching. When I leave work I don’t even want to know that teenagers exist. In fact, on the weekends I go to movie theaters where teenagers are not allowed after 9 PM. I have also ended all friendships with people who have siblings under the age of 20. I mean really, it is a sad thing when you can't remember your first name and answer only to “hey you”, “teacher” or “umm… what’s your name again?”. Anyway, to be honest, this “Freedom Writers” chick has nothing on me. Let me give you a summary of last weeks events at my school: 5 students found high on meth, 1 dead body found across the street, 1 sky diver who’s shoot didn’t open slammed into the P.E. field, 3 students expelled (one for illegal selling of burritos) and a lock down due to a shooting in the neighborhood across the street. Top that YO!