I’m reading a book with a several thousand other people. The Chicago Public Library has a program called “One Book One Chicago,” which is an epic city-wide book club. For two months the library hosts countless events ranging from traditional book club meetings to book-specific events like irish pub nights with live music or historical performances and period fashion shows. I am constantly impressed with the infinite ways in which the gargantuan city of Chicago brings its people together. It makes me feel more a part of the Windy City to know that there might be a person reading the same book just around the corner. The book for March and April, Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin, follows the life and challenges of a young Irish girl named Eilis who, after WW II, immigrates to New York to find work.
I am strangely comforted by the stories of her struggles in a new world; I relate very well to her unfamiliarity with the customs and people of a new culture, and, to a lesser extent, with her sporadic bouts of loneliness and longing for friends and family. In the early part of her transition to life in the U.S., Eilis describes how every day is so enormous, so full of events and ideas and life, that she would need another whole day to successfully process everything that happened––a 24-hour pause in time to synthesize––before she could take on the next regular day.
I know this feeling all too well. Especially since I began my new experience in middle school, I can’t believe how much happens in one day, and how little time I have to think about it until we get rolling again the next morning.
This past Monday was a disaster. Ms. Dean, the arc angel of control, was not able to be at school that day. I remember trying to write a blog post that day, but being to frustrated to finish. This is as far as I got:
“These are among my least favorite days. They are always a loud, argumentative, and exhausting reminder that this is not my classroom. As soon as students realize that the “real” teacher is absent for the day, my whole world swan dives into chaos.”
Monday was especially disheartening because even my “best” students––as far as I can judge after a week––were breaking rules, disrupting class, and disrespecting me and the substitute teacher with the rest of the middle school tribe.
Tuesday was reconciliation. Ms. Dean was furious to hear how her students acted with her gone, and swift, heavy justice swept the land. She made it very clear that “Mr. Walker is hear to stay. He’s not a sub, and he’s not a student whatever. He is an adult, and I SUGGEST that you treat him with the respect an adult deserves.” (Ms. Dean loves to “suggest” advice to her students, and they know she means business when she suggests something; it’s kind of like being voluntold to do something.) One apology letter reads:
Dear Mr. Walker,
I’m sorry for acting a fool yesterday. It will never happen again.
Sincerely,
Tamika
Some of the students were downright pissed that I took down their name and handed it off to Justice, but middle schoolers are wonderfully resilient. One student who I thought was the most upset––I was waiting for her to slug me (no joke. She was suspended two weeks ago for fighting)––wrote in her apology letter that more than anything she was sorry because she didn’t want me to be mad at her.
I’ve learned that middle schoolers, about 700% more than the high schoolers in my first 8 weeks, respond to my interaction with them. My questions, encouragement, or evil eye are all taken seriously, and they bounce back after a bad test or an off day, returning with reformed attitude and ––dare I say it––a passion to learn! Though not everyone, some of my students still hold a sense of wonder and intrigue that makes teaching a cardiovascular workout. Their faces are clear windows to their churning minds, and their insightful questions fuel my instruction equally as much as my passion to teach.
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