conversations with (a) teacher, special edition

When I graduate in May, I will be receiving a Master's degree as well as a Massachusetts state teaching license. Along with the requirements of my program, I am required to take certain classes, complete a two-part standardized test (both of which I've taken and one of which I've passed--I get results for the second part at the end of this month) and student-teach for 300 hours. The leg work it is taking to find a student-teaching slot in an urban high school, which is where I'd like to work, is consuming a lot of this month.

So at 6:30 this morning (after waking up every hour on the hour starting at 2:30 AM and really just dozing from 5:30 on) I got up to visit a high school in Cambridge. The theater teacher there is notoriously elusive and admittedly reluctant about taking on a student-teacher, but I think my persistence will pay off. I spent the morning with her, observing her introductory and advanced theater classes.

She begins each class with a check-in where each kid states a word or phrase describinghow he/she is doing that morning. She also has a large packet from which she asks thought-provoking questions that each student must answer, taking time to let them air their grievances or chat about changes they would make or stories they have to tell.

The beginning class is doing a unit on pantomime, so they spend the day doing physical exercises and engaging with imaginary objects. I was incredibly impressed with these beginning students' commitment, senses of humor, and general enthusiasm. She has obviously created an incredible environment, where the kids trust her and where her care and concern for them is evident.

The advanced acting class started with a totally casual chat and ended with them presenting the two-person scenes they have been working on in a playwriting unit. These texts were nuanced, deep, thoughtfully written, and generally solidly acted. I was so impressed and enthralled.

When one of her beginning students was leaving the class, after he had convincingly pantomimed a lizard crawling into his jacket, she said, "Be safe this weekend and remember your future is in theater." It broke my heart.

It made me think of something one of my professors says, that there are people on the planet because of her. And that there are only so many professions where that can be said.

i'm glad we agree on these things

S: i am a very patient person, but i am not cleaning up your vomit
me: um
no
unless you gave birth to him
S: EXACTLY
me: which you didn't.
although
to be fair
i've cleaned up your vomit
and i didn't give birth to you
S: true that
i would clean up yours
me: holla!
S: holla!

controlling what i can while i can

I just spent a good half-hour, while Sex and the City played on my laptop, strategizing both what I will eat and wear for the rest of the week.

This is instead of doing any actual work, which I feel like putting off while I still have time to.

countdown to graduation starts...now

It's my second week of school. And, normally, that would mean I'm sort of squeaking into the routine of the semester. This semester, however, is a little wonky because I'm only taking one class, working more hours than usual on campus to accrue them for when I student-teach next semester, and beginning work on my directed study.

I've only been on campus four times in the last nine days and only spent 3 1/2 hours in a classroom in that time. It's weird and slightly uninspiring to be in a classroom again, which SHOCKS me because we all know how much I love and adore school. I can't tell if I'm just disoriented because my summer was so long and frenzied or if I'm really just ready for the next step. The Real World, as it were. The Next Steps.

I had auditions for my project Monday and yesterday and they ended up better than I expected. There are a ton of auditions going on right now and I ended up talking the project up and getting some random people to audition. Now, I need to make sure they actually want to work on this project with me, and I might actually have a respectable, eager cast.

Mostly, it feels a little bit like I'm going through the motions instead of plowing ahead with enthusiasm and excitement, like I felt like I've always done during the first weeks of a new semester.

Word of the Day, vol. VII

Word of the Day: HEARTBREAK
The first year I went to sleep-away camp, I turned eight on the very first day. This made me the youngest camper in the whole camp, which was made up of both boys and girls who were mostly from Pennsylvania and New York and ranged in age from eight to fourteen. Campers could attend one or two two-week sessions, and I remember being sorely disappointed at the end of every summer break. Camp life was always much easier and more magical than real life. I spent seven summers there, turning fourteen before my graduating year.

I don’t remember which year I met Dave (and yes, I totally remember his name and pretty much exactly what he looked like as a 14-year-old), but I do remember that I developed a very sudden and very intense crush on him. Oh my God, he was so cute. I couldn’t have been older than 10, but somehow, I became the pet of his co-ed friend group, hanging out in the gazebo, where they would spend the free periods locking lips and breathing into each other’s lungs. What they were doing wasn’t exactly kissing, but it was definitely…something. I never participated, just watched with fascination and slight unease.

Every session, there was a dance on Saturday night of the themed weekends. Dances where we would pile into the dining hall, where the long tables and benches where we ate French toast sticks, bug juice, sloppy joes, and chicken nuggets three times a day would be pushed against the walls.

One day, Dave must have said something like, “I’ll see you at the dance.” My brooding, 10-year-old brain interpreted that as an invitation to go to the dance with him. Like, as his date. I must have mentioned this thrilling fact to one of his female friends who, I believe, out of a combination of pity and territoriality, decided to clear up this misunderstanding. Dave, very earnestly and sweetly, broke it to me that he didn’t want to take me as his date but that he did promise me one slow dance. This wasn’t enough, and I literally ran back to my tent and sobbed into my pillow, totally broken-hearted and shocked by how quickly things had changed.

I couldn’t believe that I had misinterpreted him so royally. How embarrassing and how disappointing. I’m sure I refused to go to the dance, positive that I couldn’t show my face at an event where I had already been rejected.

I don’t remember gathering myself up to get ready to go, but I do remember that Dave and I did share a slow dance. He even spent the song shuffling back and forth on his knees, so I could reach my hands around his neck and look into his eyes.

Word of the Day, vol. VI

Word of the Day: PUBERTY
Before leaving for my summer gig, I pulled out the word “puberty” from my word bag. (Thanks again to UL for the inspiration for this exercise.) Then, I spent seven weeks running after newly-post-pubescent people and realized that a) I wouldn’t have time to craft a thoughtful post about puberty and b) I was grateful that I am no longer a teenager.

The year I turned 14, I moved across the country. From the only house and city I’d ever known, a place where I had been that kid on the Brooklyn streets, the one that played on the street in the summer until after the sun went down, the one that walked to and from the corner store that she actually believed was called Corner Store to buy Sunkist soda and Sour Powers, the one that navigated the subway alone at a ridiculously early age. I loved growing up in Brooklyn, despite the tumult of my family life at the time. And in 1997, we moved to Cambria, California, a rural tourist town of a little over 6000 people. I entered a high school of under 200 students.

There is no way for me to process my puberty without noting that this move caused a huge shock to my system. In fact, I’m beginning to believe that this huge change is part of the reason that, despite the fact that I am 26, I often feel about 13.

Evidence that I am 13:
a)My mother still pays for my cell phone;
b)My wardrobe consists mostly of solid colored T-shirts and jeans;
c)I wear Converse sneakers or flip flops almost every day. In fact,
d)I don’t own one pair of proper high heels;
e)I have a teddy bear;
f)I’ve never lived alone;
g)I rarely wear makeup. In fact,
h)I only learned how to do my own eye makeup last year, and I’m still not very good at it;
i)A home-cooked meal is heating up a can of soup or making a sandwich.

Some of these points (and others) are reasons why meeting the worldly, mature, beautiful young women I was in charge of this summer totally paralyzed me. These girls terrified me. I felt outnumbered and overwhelmed, certain that they’d all had more experience and knew more things at their age than I did at mine.

It took me a couple weeks to pull myself out of that thinking and realize that they were 16- and 17-year-olds and that that actually meant I had 10 years of life on them. And that I’d been through a lot. Had a lot to offer them, even.

Evidence that I am not, in fact, 13:
a)I have not lived in my parents’ house in 8 years (barring the 8 months I was in CA last year);
b)I have a college degree and am working on a Master’s degree;
c)My work resume has experience on it from my first jobs in college, which I had 7 years ago;
d)Aside from not paying my phone bill, I have been financially independent for four years;
e)I do my own taxes every year;
f)I held down a full-time job for almost three years;
g)All the furniture in my room was not only purchased but was also put together by me.

The trials and tribulations of the teens I was in charge of seemed like things I’d never experienced. Or things I had experienced lifetimes ago. While they were lamenting the fact that they didn’t get on the weekend trip they wanted or obsessing about which teen boy would notice them at the dance, I had to worry about paying my rent and making sure I would have a roommate to sign my lease when I got back to Boston.

I’ve been very zen since getting back. My mantra lately is “no drama,” and I think that’s because I was finally able to experience the kind of teen angst that I was shocked out of experiencing for myself. I have this new sense that things will work out. That worrying over them and perpetuating drama and over-talking and over-thinking things won’t do any good.

It’s all making me finally feel my age.

Exciting celebrity news!

Is it wrong that this makes me ridiculously happy?

Best. Couple. Ever.