What Institutions

The small moments and interactions keep us moving in sync despite the whirlwind hoping we’ll crash and drown. 

The small moments and interactions show us that we are not so different than the other despite the images and messages that bombard us with just the opposite.

The small moments and interactions teach us wonders about what it means to be human despite the hate we each hear on the daily.

The small moments and interactions allow the institution to function, even those that reinforce the hate we seek to eliminate in such moments and interactions. 

Night on the Beach of Yesterday

I’ve seen things I never thought I’d see. I’ve heard stories I’d never thought I’d place faces to. I’ve felt things I’d never thought I’d feel. Not even in a thousand years.

When I fall asleep, I see their faces. I told him, his eyes bright, I have 85 children. He started giggling, confused. What was this lady talking about? Was she mad?

I might be just about it with the job I have. It feels like a stretch of human physical limits to be the gargantuan that one must as a teacher. The expressions worn on peoples’ faces when they react to the statement that I am a teacher are truly baffling and unnerving in many cases. How lowly and undervalued a job title. It truly is treated like a minimum wage job. How can that be difficult?

Let me tell you that the work that we do is never done and the feeling of unsatisfied yearning to be there for your children never dies away. Being open-eyed in the field only makes the feelings sting more strongly and hurt all the more when others scoff.

Let me tell you that it is not about being HUMBLE. It’s not just the feminine in me coming out and fulfilling function. It is not just something NOBLE. Sure, it is a calling. This work is a collective force born on the backs of those that answer the call to be a part of the collective of société.

The smiles on my children’s faces nearly knock me off my feet. The difficult moments when we struggle to find the calm in the storm are those in which we learn valuable lessons about the human mind and our own. How am I feeling? How is this person feeling? Are we so different, even if the ways that we react and show these feelings vary so much? We learn about how we work together, or don’t. About how we relate to one another in so many ways.

My children speak LOUD. They speak in loud voices and other times in tears, whispers, connection signs, clenched fists, silently raised hands, suffocating embraces, crayon doodles, backflips, letters written on lined paper and pencil, notes scratched on florescent Post-it’s, eye contact or lack of, changes in behavior… They will not be silenced even if that is the structure they grow in serves to cater to this.

It will be my job to be their advocate. It is my job. I will be their amplifier. I have learned that this does not come easily. First, you need a handle on your classroom management, your curriculum, your place, and the context. Only then can you transform visions into reality. That’s where I feel myself approaching. I am only sorry that it comes so late. I feel emboldened and invigorated looking with full consciousness of this past year into the future. I feel alive and ready and strong.

I not only have the want and ideas, I have the heavy hands and feet to break down the walls that exist external to me, pushing in around us, forming the very fabric of society at present. I have the heavy hands and feet to break down the walls that exist yet inside of myself. They have already started to come down and have begun to replace the vacuous pockets of space between ribs with rubble. And so as I tear through what holds me down on the ground and away from the stuff of clouds. In so doing, I get closer to creating the change I once envisioned and had become scared to reach for.

I had fallen into the lake and nigh drowned. I’ve been laying wait on the beach in the longest night I’ve ever known. When the sun comes up again, I’ll too stand up to face the day. One in which I am the teacher I need to be for my 85 today and the countless more tomorrow.

Otra Vez

It’s 6:06am. I’m rushing out the door, careful to not let the latch catch without my keys and coffee in tow. I peer up at my own reflection from behind saucer eyes, heavy with sleep. I rise with the sun. Crossing the street on the raised platform of the L, the halo peeks up from the horizon line. I wiggle at the platform. Dancing. Always dancing.

As summer nears, and the sunshine smiles more, my inner core is warmed and I feel the magic of life. How wonderful it is to exist and be.

Today was frigid. How I wished I could have pulled the layers of blanket over my head for but an hour more. As the day waxed on and my joy waned, I found myself in the library with a dear colleague. The two of us had tears in our eyes. Anyone could tell you love your kids. You pick up quickly and you work hard. Her warmth was richer than the sun. I felt safe in her words. I felt heard.

Train track constellations

Conversate, relate, initiate. Something changed upon talking with you. A chance encounter — we crossed on the tracks. Outside a fluorescent lit sketch bar on the east side of town, it didn’t seem so dark and a strange place seemed familiar at sight of sandals on your feet. A saving moment in a pagan place.

What brought us together was downright ridiculous and shall not be mentioned. What bound us was a common vision of the world.

Despite the time and place, your words spoke beyond their meaning.

A lighthouse steers the ships clear of danger in the night. It is in the darkest of hours that such bright moments are littered by passing stars. They guide us home. These constellations of intersection points, revelations, and glorious exchanges are often overlooked or seen as a temporary transaction with the universe. Seldom seen for their true meaning and connection to our lives (and those of others).

As we spoke, I saw beyond the woven moment to the shrug of Atlas I would feel in the coming days. I wasn’t failing so much as I am progressing towards a goal. I would not be so much Artax as I will be Falkor. Whatever the analogy, I’m going to make this work, and not just make it work: but really do my vision justice.

Love

A student was taken from my room today. He chose not to sit down. He got angry when someone bent him out of shape. I could relate, partially. I very much dislike when I must do something arbitrarily. And isn’t that a lot of what school is? Rules to keep in order a gangly group of growing youngsters. As he was taken out, the class was utterly, and quite dreadfully silent. All a’gasp. When the door closed, a terrible laughter tore across the room led by the ring leader in the front row, whose name was familiar to my mouth by now. Mr. —— you have 5 seconds to calm down and be at a voice level 0, I droned over the laughter.

He looked up at me as the hush fell over the class. You must hate us, don’t you Ms. Gini. I looked at him and felt a smile pull across my face in the muscles in my cheeks and the pools in my eyes. I could never hate you. I love you. Each one of you. If I hated you, I would not show up for school every day for you all. I love you all very much, I told him. He looked at me with deep, dark eyes behind which stories lay and a keen mind spun. You’ve never missed a day of school. We’ve never had a sub for you. I replied, and you won’t unless I am deathly ill. He turned his head and looked at the class, everyone! be quiet and be respectful to Ms. Gini! he roared. The front row of boys had heard what I said. Their demeanor changed during that class period. Something was different.

Had it been that they didn’t know that I loved them? Had I ever realized that myself? Why had I not said this to them? These questions spilled into my head. I began feeling calmer and more joyful. Yes, things were not perfect. Yes, this moment came after a very disturbing moment and a painful one for a teacher, class, or student to partake in. Yes, this moment was long overdue.

A first year-teacher learns on the job. There is no training that can adequately prepare you for this performance that is day in and day out, altogether exhausting and frustrating. There is no one in the world who can quite understand your class like you can.

What advice I would give myself for day one me is this: hang a bear wreath and tie ribbons each time a student shows an act of kindness, make banners with messages of respect, always hold high and positive expectations of your students no matter what happened yesterday, start a chant with a positive message repeated to a partner, and tell your students you love them. Literally say the words. Do not think that they know just because you do something nice for them. Say it and mean it and keep saying it and meaning it, even if it isn’t true right away, it’ll become true soon enough with the right mindset.

B +

My to do list is a sonnet that I recite in dreams and wash out of tangled hair. I see it in the mirror when I wipe the condensation from a hot shower. I write it on my left hand.

My heart sometimes hurts knowing that I am so far from home, but the to do list distracts my temporal attention to focus on things not so distant. The stress weighs me down like an anchor as I swim out in the salty, deep blue waves I miss so much. I plunge without choice below the hulls of ships and into the depths I seem to continually return to.

What is want without some sort of dissatisfaction? Our current state of affairs is keen upon us having only to want for more and more, to try to fill these needs with materials and consumables. Let me make another cup of coffee to fill my hands with something, to put my mouth around something, to do something that is within my control. Is this why I am so quick to clean my room on a saturdaysunday morning? To feel in control.

What I want more than anything is to feel composed and grounded, daily. I haven’t found it yet. I seek and cannot yet find that calm I felt in the desert. I seek and cannot yet find the excitement I felt on the tarmac at each take-off and landing. How do I capture those feelings and live them more often? Or do I live for those far and few moments?

I try to stay positive. I try to be positive. For I must.

5:15AM Musing on Failure

Yesterday was one of the most difficult days. I glowed with theatrical improvisation in the morning orienting students to each other in a quasi planned seminar discussion about erosion. The afternoon was chaos in which very few glimpses of beauty shown through. I ended the day feeling defeated, unable to gather composure, sluggishly searching for the words to describe the hurt I felt by failing.

Failing is not an option. To fail in any other job is to spell ruin for yourself. As a teacher, failure is not just your own, but translates into the safety, learning, and state of mind of each of your students.

Today, Z raised a silent hand. I came over. He said to me, Ms. Gini, today was a good day for us. I smiled and told him, yes, it really is. Earlier that class period, D was modeling how to get out of his seat. He erupted into tearful laughter as I dramatically narrated his getting out of his seat and safely pushing in his chair in the new seating arrangement. The entire scene almost made me cry from being so happy. Our class was being respectful, quiet, observant, and they were engaged.

What had I done differently today? How had five students in my most challenging class made it off the charts of our positive behavior tracker?

In the unknown, the risk of failing is high. The chance of frustration is higher. Each day is new challenge. To wash away the sense of both failure and frustration to start anew is the 24 hour baptism of the age. At 5:15AM I start again, rising before the sun, hopping on Orange Line, and picking up where I left off the day before.

Today was a good day. Yesterday was not. Tomorrow is a new day. I think that it will be a good day. I know that I am capable of a good day. I wonder what it will take to consistently have good days. I notice that reflection feels good.