frustration

This whole winter break thing is giving me a lot of spare time (okay, I actually have a lot to do, but I need a break). With spare time comes blogging. Here we go. Again.

During college I wrote countless papers. I wrote about so many things I cannot even remember - I tried to look, but somehow many were deleted from my computer...? I researched, studied, and wrote about: students' perception of homelessness, dramaturgy, the perception of Asian women within immigration policies, the current education system, roles of women during the Mexican Revolution, and so on. Random. So many random papers that I loved. However, if you knew me well, you would have known my biggest interests in sociology revolved around gang structure/influence, youth, and race.

I have been interested in gang structure and influence since high school - this probably has to do with the fact that I am a sheltered, white, suburban girl interested in everything outside of my bubble. I was always fascinated. Here is the thing. I am still fascinated, but it is different when you love people involved in these gangs. This fascination shifts toward worry and frustration. I'm frustrated with the fact that some of my kids have gotten in huge fights just over someone flashing another gang sign. I'm frustrated with how much trouble my kids should be in because of the choices they have made - things I should not even write about in detail here. I'm frustrated when I have students come to me saying they don't want to fight or do this or that and they want to change, but they HAVE to go through with it. Just stop. Why? I'm frustrated that my kids' friends have died. I'm frustrated with the mindset some of my kids possess - I want them to know that it DOES matter if they live or die. It DOES matter that they graduate.  I'm frustrated beyond words. I can't make them change. They have to make choices. All I can do is love them, encourage them, teach them, and question them. I have to step up. I have to be more of a leader. I have to be the leader I planned to be. I have to surpass that. I have to push them more.
I have to love.

hatred, door talks, and love

I have not updated since the first week of school. I have almost no life outside my job.  I cannot squeeze my emotions and experiences into a blog post, but I will attempt to provide you with a series of ramblings. I'd rather just talk... let's do that sometime.

Let's begin with hatred. Many days I hate my job. Hate is a strong word. But I want to be honest. I don't hate all of it. I think it comes down to the fact that I have very little control over what happens each day. I can plan and plan and plan. I can manage, invest, redirect, and so on. However, my students have very few consequences for their actions at school and get away with too much. I hate that. They know their grades mean very little in 8th grade; they know they can get away with so much; they push the limits. This sometimes causes me to hate them. Yep. Truth. I hate how disrespectful they are. I hate how many of my kids separate themselves based on race. I hate that I am still a terrible teacher and know nothing about math... I hate that many of my students don't see how important they are. I hate that some don't realize their choices have lasting consequences. I hate that no matter how many discussions we have, some don't realize they can work to change their situation.

I could write, in detail, about everything that is going wrong for days and days. Let's move on to something completely different. I warned you I would ramble.

The difference between investment this summer and this school year is huge. Investment was obviously different with 18 high school students compared to 90 middle schoolers. It is so different, but still what I rely on to have a somewhat okay classroom. I have found that my classroom doors have been where my students and I connect most. It is my favorite and least favorite place. It is where I can have a conversation with a student and still make sure the rest of my class is on task working. I send students to my door to wait when they are misbehaving in class. I have conversations about life at the door. I hear about my students' ambitions, lives, mistakes, and joys at the door. I correct while at the door. I yell while at the door. I dance and joke there. I hear, "Can I talk to you about something?" I've even held back tears at the door. I wish I could write about all of it.

Finally, love. I never thought I would love these kids. I instantly fell in love with my students at institute. I liked some of my kids here almost right away, but I mostly couldn't stand them. After a few months, I still didn't care to see some of them and didn't really think I loved any. I mean, I loved when they finally got something in class after being puzzled for a while; I loved when they stop by during passing period to share a random story; I loved when they helped each other. BUT it wasn't until this weekend I realized I really do love them.... well, only some of them. I'm still getting there.

It finally occurred to me when I felt like fighting someone because two of my students were suspended. My students are suspended often and deserve it. This time I was just angry. I wanted to yell at someone like an upset parent would. I was just upset about how students are sometimes treated. And then how it conditions them to react in the future, creating a cycle that I hope they jump out of. I am just frustrated about what this suspension could mean for one of my students. What it usually means for him. I am sick of my students making ridiculous decisions - then they get more time to continue making these decisions. Ugh. The fact that I wanted cry about this made me realize I love them. I really do. I'm often terrible at loving them and do not teach them very well, but I try. I wish you could meet them. You wouldn't like them right away. I don't even like them. But, I do love them. Well, a few of them. I want to tell you more, but I am tired of rambling.