"August / Die she must"

August 13th marked the beginning of my eighth year of teaching. For the first time in awhile I have more underclassman than upper which brings with it challenges and joys. I often comment that during my Confirmation I missed the 'patience' fruit and perhaps over 100 14 and 15 year olds is the Lord's way of reminding me I need a big ole bite every now and then. During the first writing prompt of the year a freshman girl asked me what I meant by "please skip lines". After I blinked for a moment to make sure she was serious, I calmly took a deep breath, walked over to her desk and pointed to every other line, indicating that she should literally write on every other line. I didn't end the instructions with 'duh' ... for that I'm really proud of myself. Shortly thereafter, another student after observing her classmate recycle a piece of paper TURNED HER OWN WRITING ASSIGNMENT INTO THE RECYCLING BIN. Sheepishly she retrieved it after I suggested perhaps she should instead turn it in to the shelf marked 'World Literature 9' instead. I actually did this without my words dripping with sarcasm. Again, I deserve a pat on the back, in my humble opinion. My seniors and I are all finishing our fourth year at the IA together; for them, it is their last, for me, it's just the beginning, I imagine. For me the cyclical nature of a teaching career is comforting and rewarding. Reading their first writings of the year allows me to share pride in how far they've come as writers and thinkers. I'm constantly in awe about how damn hard these kids work (my mom swears I worked just as hard .. I don't believe it). In my AmLit class, on a whim, I assigned a poem about the students own immigration experience or their take on what it means to be an American. As I skimmed through them, I came across one (among many which impressed me) written in the shape of the United States. Seriously?! Despite the fact that they're in school three weeks earlier than their friends, they come to class with smiles on their faces, ready to give it their all -- they inspire me to be a better teacher each and every day. Frank McCourt in his book Teacher Man wrote the following: "In the high school classroom you are a drill sergeant, a rabbi, a shoulder to cry on, a disciplinarian, a singer, a low-level scholar, a clerk, a referee, a clown, a counselor, a dress-code enforcer, a conductor, an apologist, a philosopher, a collaborator, a tap dancer, a politician, a therapist, a fool, a traffic cop, a priest, a mother-father-brother-sister-uncle-aunt, a bookkeeper, a critic, a psychologist, the last straw." How true it is and how lucky I am to have this crazy job. If you're a teacher, you know what I'm talking about .. if you're not, you probably know a teacher who obnoxiously tells you stories of the madness. It's all in good fun, really.

Also .. I know you've been dying for an update on Project Goldfish. I am a grandmother, great-grandmother, and possibly great-great grandmother. I now know what the original fish have been doing since I last laid eyes on them: feasting on whatever it is that 'wild' goldfish eat, growing like whoa, and makin' babies. My pond is a mixed race neighborhood at this point, complete with the 8 original fish and many smaller fish of all sizes and colors .. black, white, and orange all over and every variation in between. I'd take a picture except they are shy! It actually would be quite the genetics project. As fall sets in, I'll keep you updated on the sanctuary that is the Secret Garden .. I wonder which perennials will pop up in September?

Though the autumn winds are not yet growing chilly and cold, as Simon & Garfunkel sing, "August / Die she must" and thus begins another school year and change in seasons - literally and figuratively. Oh and a new Mumford & Sons cd! I'm off to Nashville for the weekend so my next post will be no doubt filled with adventures of honky-tonk and  perfecting my Southern accent.