Waxing nostalgia

I have been a little sad this week. I always get this way the last week of classes. While the audible sigh of relief surrounds me, I find that I reflect and think, "I'll never see these kids again." I get attached to most of my students and rarely do I see them again. To add insult to injury this semester, I'm faced with the very real possibility that it will be a while before I am in a classroom again.

Today the only student I have ever had for two semesters thanked me. He's a sweet student. Not a great writer. He's a solid B. I think he could do better but he is happy with what he's got and, at least he's consisitent. He said that he was glad that he got me for his comp teacher because comp is his least favorite subject and I made it interesting and "do-able." Well, I was on cloud nine. Not just because he seemed to realize that I needed to hear it (don't we all) but that I was getting through.

I have long believed that it is my job to make my students learn two things---first, that their writing should be clear and convey their meaning the best way it can, and, second, that there is no magic formula to writing effectively. There is no magic at all. It is a matter of learning the tools necessary to convey ideas on paper so that someone not in the room with us will understand. It is not my job to make my students brilliant writers. Quite frankly there are only a few even capable of that...I would prefer that they become more comfortable writers.

I don't mean those students who feel like they already know everything and I have nothing to teach them. I mean instead those students who have always been told that they can't write, who have had the proverbial English teacher baring the red pen as a mighty sword to slash spelling errors and concur the comma---those students who have given up. I try to reach them. I don't dumb down my class and make it easy for everyone but I seem to have a soft spot for those students that have been told that they can't write and those never given the opportunity.

I am very mindful that the comments I make to all my students will be interpreted. I cannot imagine tearing a teacher who is willing to pass judgement but not to teach. How do these students become competent if we don't show them how to do it? I realize that there are those out there who do not care, those who could care less about writing for an audience and a purpose---I have had a few of those---But the majority of my students have been taught that they can't write...then they just give up. I try to reach them and show them that there are tools that will make them effective.

So as the semester draws to a close (thank goddess;) I am thinking about those students who will encounter the red pen and those that will be told that they can't write and hope that I have at least shown the path the competency and hope that I will be given the opportunity to lead another group down that road. One week....just one week...

Bodies transcendent

The human body never ceases to amaze me. What some people can make their bodies do...it leaves me breathless.

Channel surfing I happened upon a production entitled "Dancing Upon Dangerous Ground." It was modern dance reminiscent of Irish dancing---lots of stomping and jumping, leaping and soaring. The women were able to glide as though not bound by the rules of physics and the men leapt through the air---even through the television I could feel the air around the dancers move. I watched as muscles flexed and bowed, writhed, in sheer synchronicity with one another. It was as if, at times, their bodies were fluid into one another, meshed with the stage, performing as one ethereal body. It was transcendent...

I have always wished for a body that was able to move with such grace. I have always wanted to dance. I remember as a child mentally choreographing sequences to my favorite songs, instructing my troop of stuffed animals in the proper forms, the ways their arms should float. But when I would see myself move, I was reminded that some people are born "soarers" and others remain eternally tethered by corporeal limitations. What should have looked like a slinking jaguar looked more like a loping rhinoceros. My body has never been able to achieve what my imagination would have it do.

I am drawn to the creative in others. I watched the dancers tonight bonding with them, moving with them, imagining the give of the floor as their feet solidly hit and drummed. I watch ice skaters and envy their ability to fly, to feel their bodies moving so quickly, so lithely...I long to create kinship with my body, to express through the body...unfortunately my gift is with words. My gift transcends the physical and yet I long to feel that creativity in my muscles. I do not need to know how to assume the positions to be a writer only to understand that my gift is to give voice...also important, but at times it leaves me wanting to be silent. While I describe the jaguar, I would rather feel the skin, the joints...

It leaves me wanting and yet, strangely inspired.Their bodies spoke to mine. Mine does not speak their language and yet it knows their meaning. I can imagine the strength in their calves, the ache in their thighs, the burn of their lungs. I feel them too. How I wish that I could dance instead of lope, glide instead of stumble...how I wish I were the jaguar and not the rhino...though the horn is a nice accessory;)

Hands and what ifs (I'm plagiarizing you guys)

Okay, so this one will probably be short...I've got little hands home with me today but the tv is babysitting right now so I'm going to try to do a new entry.

I am so tired of feeling like I am living at least two lives simultaneously. I know that everyone feels this way but this week has been one of THOSE weeks...so in keeping with the "what if?" I find myself wondering "what if?" I could actually do something to the best of my ability without the "hands" pulling on me. What if I could be just a teacher, with no responsibilities of my own? What if I could pour myself into my studies and actually spend time doing all the outside reading I always mean to do? What if I could just be "mom" and plan interesting and educational activities for my kids and be super involved in their school work and their lives?

I don't want to sound too maudelin. I'm not wishing any of it away...I just wish that I could really enjoy a part of my life without feeling that gnawing guilt of all the other responsibilities grabbing at me. I want to do it all but can only barely make a dent in any of it...but what if I could do it all as well as I know I could??? Wow, I would be so great then!

(I'm starting to notice a theme in my blog...more time...oh please could I have more time???)