Comedy Club: Kitchen

Tonight I'm thinking about opening a comedy club.

I'd call it "West Side Stitch."

Or, more accurately, "Help Me Laugh At My Ridiculous Life."

There is potential for multiple venues, though the first would undoubtedly be: my kitchen.

It’s not that I’m bad at cooking; it’s more that when I “cook,” I put something savory on the stove and then walk away and forget about it, even though I had every intention of returning before a pan chars some vegetables to ash or a pot boils all over my linoleum like the adolescent child of Ol’ Faithful. Though the audience of my comedy club would chuckle goodheartedly as they watched my kitchen swirl into disaster during my absence, I’d probably get bigger laughs from my Sherlock-like entrance into my kitchen, in search of some mysterious hissing sound or stench that smells like food (...but burning), and then, as I realize my blunder, exploding into a hysterical, arm-waving fit of useless activity, flinging full pots and pans and utensils through the air from sink to counter to stove as if chaotic ballistics might somehow salvage the smoldering remains of my dinner...

They’d be rolling in the aisles. If I were watching me, I would too.

Alright friends, stay tuned for updates from the school front in the next couple days!

Shout Out

After more than a week I return to my blog, feeling a little guilty, to be honest, that I’ve left it for so long. This blog is a great outlet for me and I really love writing it, but it serves a different purpose than my personal journal does, and the last week or so has been so challenging that I’ve been focusing on personal growth and had to put off the updates for a bit. I’m really looking forward to catching up, because I have a ton to write about!

But before I do anything else, I need to holla at some important people.

This is a shout out to my teachers, the ones who are my inspiration and who fuel my passion for education. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude when I think how much effort they have put in to my education, in and out of the classroom, in math or Macbeth, music or morality, justice or friendship, and life. I think constantly about you, your devotion to students, to meaningful education, and to me. It helps me to keep in perspective how important my path is, and how hard it is, and––if I can be anything like you––how good it can be for me and for my students.

I draw strength from you all the time, even if you don’t know it. (I know some of you are sending it.) And I especially need it now, during this circus called student teaching, which for me could be accurately described as a string of hilarious-only-afterwards discombobulated and sometimes-chaotic mishaps.

Truth.

Hey teacher, remember all that knowledge you dropped on me in the classroom? I use it pretty often. Remember how you took your life and actually modeled exactly how an effective, rockstar teacher teaches? Now I use that every day. Every incidental learning experience with you has suddenly become my framework for teaching, and each of my (rare) successes I owe to your example.

Teacher, know that I’m working, and struggling, and learning, and that I love what I’m doing even when students make decisions that drive me crazy, and that I look to you like my personal lucky stars or guardian angel. With every small triumph, I think, Yes! Thank you. I know you saw that. I swiped that right from your bag of tricks, and it worked like a CHARM.

Boo yah!

Among the many new phrases I’m learning from my students is one favorite: “good lookin’.” I get the phrase a lot when I lend a pencil to a student so he doesn’t have to do math in pen (disaster). The first time someone said it to me I gave the kid a questioning look, and he and all my students laughed and explained that it’s not a pickup line, but actually a phrase that people use when someone does something to help or look out for one of their friends: Good lookin’.

Example:

“Hey, I picked up your coat you forgot in math class.”

“Thanks, good lookin’!”

Or, in this case:

“Hey, I changed your life because you were in my class and I lit you on fire and now you’re going to be a teacher and rock at it and love it.”

To my teachers:

Good lookin’

Bad Day on the Ground

Sometimes, like right now, having a bad day is a relief. I’ve had so many amazing, inspiring days since I began this experience that I was worried that I was floating on something too good to be solid, and that the bubble would burst and I would fall through into a nightmare. Today was challenging (a good thing) and exhausting (also a good thing). I made so many mistakes (a good thing in the long run), and some students even got mad at me because I was teaching so poorly. To be fair to myself, it was my first “real” day of teaching, and although I thought I was SO PREPARED, I was soooo UNprepared. Teaching in the inner city seems like, on a day like today, a sleeping monster who dreams about slipping a nasty claw or a slobbery fang in between your carefully crafted lessons and preparations to subtly unhitch your whole class, but then who wakes up and tramples through your meek “lesson plan” and sends the whole class swan diving into chaos.

I don’t know how this is a relief, but it is. It affirms everything that I always told myself and others: that I don’t know how to teach in the city. I’m not from the hood, don’t how to teach kids from the hood, but I’m here because I want. to. learn. I’m here to learn. To make mistakes (check) and then turn and mull them over like a watch repairman, finding what makes them tick--or sipping and wafting my mistakes like a wine connoisseur does a well-aerated Cabernet Sauvignon, appreciating all the subtle ingredients and complex overtones. The mistakes help me learn, guide my reflections, and keep me grounded. I need to make sure that this experience is on the ground, not in the clouds.

Today’s big mistakes: Planned too much for 45 minutes. Let students who were late slow me down and hold up the rest of the class. Made poor transitions. Conducted a teacher-directed rather than student-directed lesson. Tried to poor out starch water from pot using the lid instead of a collander and dumped half a pound of pasta into my sink.

Safe to say: I am grounded.