nestled in the heap
I'm back, I survived. It's mid-October.
Tonight I decided I'd paint my nails. I don't know why? I haven't painted my nails in about two years or perhaps more! The last time I did, they were black with white dots. Some kind of emo-expressionist design. Whatever it was, I didn't change the polish until some of it flaked off in a tournament in Charleston. Who knows how much of this "No, I'm Not a Waitress" will stay after tomorrow's ulti league games. I haven't played in weeks, it's a weekend of new beginnings...
Taking a look at where I've come from, and how far I've gone, I see that truly all odds were against me. And on paper, what an intimidating resume of situations I've been placed in:
--first year teacher
--never before been to chicago
--never before been to this school
--never before taught art/coached a sport
--replacing a legacy teacher who STILL works at the school (in the same room no less)
--teaching two of the worst classes to EVER come through North Shore Country Day School
----one of those classes consists of the entire 8th grade student body in a subject I have no real experience in...
Yet, here I remain, steadfast in the tides of obsessive parents, unruly tweens, and a thousand responsibilities (more than I could ever have anticipated). Friends are already commenting that I have changed, and I admit I feel it to...I stare back at my reflection, at my loss of hair, the lines around my eyes and I smile. I am doing what should be done: I am making a difference and influencing future generations. The most minute detail may be lost on me, but impressed on a passing 6th or 7th or 8th grader for years to come. What a better way to become immortal?
I've recently been writing to my professor of printmaking and drawing at Guilford about printmaking programs for my masters. Linoleum has been a favorite of mine over the summer, and involves my skills in drawing which I am tending to enjoy more than painting these days. It's the next step in painting, I feel, and if I work at it, I could develop a compelling portfolio. If only I had more materials at my disposal...I may have to take a few classes over the summer to bulk it up..I think my plan will be to apply to schools next year, and spend the majority of this year producing work. We'll see how I do..
The DC trip with the 8th graders, proved to be one of the most difficult and frustrating periods of my entire life. Here I am, 22, and responsible for nearly 40 of the most disrespectful kids in the school. It took ever ounce of patience not to relent when an officer approached me after four of them were caught flashing key-chain lasers at security guards. What do these kids think? They act and act, refusing to think of the consequences..nevertheless, I am learning to be patient, to see through it all. I wish I could say the same for my fellow colleagues. There's one in particular (an ex-marine) who refuses to change his ways for the benefit of his classes, and our current 8th grade. Any suggestions are taken as a threat to his personal character, and I don't know how to proceed? We couldn't be more different, and though sometimes this lends itself to unlikely but strong unions, he and I just don't see eye to eye. The main thing we have in common is a love of drinking..that'll only go so far. I hope it's far enough for him to listen to me about the future and the potential for better trips in the future.
And so it goes.. it's nearly 2:15 and I need to sleep before ulti tomorrow.. until.
Tonight I decided I'd paint my nails. I don't know why? I haven't painted my nails in about two years or perhaps more! The last time I did, they were black with white dots. Some kind of emo-expressionist design. Whatever it was, I didn't change the polish until some of it flaked off in a tournament in Charleston. Who knows how much of this "No, I'm Not a Waitress" will stay after tomorrow's ulti league games. I haven't played in weeks, it's a weekend of new beginnings...
Taking a look at where I've come from, and how far I've gone, I see that truly all odds were against me. And on paper, what an intimidating resume of situations I've been placed in:
--first year teacher
--never before been to chicago
--never before been to this school
--never before taught art/coached a sport
--replacing a legacy teacher who STILL works at the school (in the same room no less)
--teaching two of the worst classes to EVER come through North Shore Country Day School
----one of those classes consists of the entire 8th grade student body in a subject I have no real experience in...
Yet, here I remain, steadfast in the tides of obsessive parents, unruly tweens, and a thousand responsibilities (more than I could ever have anticipated). Friends are already commenting that I have changed, and I admit I feel it to...I stare back at my reflection, at my loss of hair, the lines around my eyes and I smile. I am doing what should be done: I am making a difference and influencing future generations. The most minute detail may be lost on me, but impressed on a passing 6th or 7th or 8th grader for years to come. What a better way to become immortal?
I've recently been writing to my professor of printmaking and drawing at Guilford about printmaking programs for my masters. Linoleum has been a favorite of mine over the summer, and involves my skills in drawing which I am tending to enjoy more than painting these days. It's the next step in painting, I feel, and if I work at it, I could develop a compelling portfolio. If only I had more materials at my disposal...I may have to take a few classes over the summer to bulk it up..I think my plan will be to apply to schools next year, and spend the majority of this year producing work. We'll see how I do..
The DC trip with the 8th graders, proved to be one of the most difficult and frustrating periods of my entire life. Here I am, 22, and responsible for nearly 40 of the most disrespectful kids in the school. It took ever ounce of patience not to relent when an officer approached me after four of them were caught flashing key-chain lasers at security guards. What do these kids think? They act and act, refusing to think of the consequences..nevertheless, I am learning to be patient, to see through it all. I wish I could say the same for my fellow colleagues. There's one in particular (an ex-marine) who refuses to change his ways for the benefit of his classes, and our current 8th grade. Any suggestions are taken as a threat to his personal character, and I don't know how to proceed? We couldn't be more different, and though sometimes this lends itself to unlikely but strong unions, he and I just don't see eye to eye. The main thing we have in common is a love of drinking..that'll only go so far. I hope it's far enough for him to listen to me about the future and the potential for better trips in the future.
And so it goes.. it's nearly 2:15 and I need to sleep before ulti tomorrow.. until.