Moving Out
I have always thought there is something very therapeutic about having to stop and reflect backwards on what you have done, learned, or created.
The process of packing or unpacking pieces of your life can always be a good catalyst for consideration and metaphorical movement. They are always the signs of endings and/or beginnings.
As I am packing up my classroom, and in a big way my teaching career, I am coming across pieces of myself and my learning process over the last nine years. Pieces of curriculum from Madison where I student taught for a year in a high school, and a semester in a middle school, and subbed for semester. From Milwaukee, my first 'real' teaching job. From Southern Minnesota, classes and materials I treasured. So many things learned. And now the last two years in the 'burb.
At times and with certain materials, I am throwing out with reckless abandon. Thinking: "Oh, I hated that unit." (pitch), "God, that took me forever to put that together" (pitch), "I have been lugging this around forever" (pitch), and "How will I explain to husband why it was necessary to store this in our crowded basement?" (pitch, most of the time.)
Then there is the other stuff. The pieces that will be vital if I ever decided to do this again. The articles I have collected for years because they are so much better for having the kids read than any text book, the activities I have made up and modified over the years, the binders of materials that guide me through units that have taken years to put together well. The collection that almost no one that knows me (aside from my students) ever sees. These are the things that contain valuable hours of my life: blood, sweat, and tears on my part.
The other night when Jff and I were down in the basement- he was working on his computer (shocker), and I was dealing with organizing the many crates of files and misc I had already brought home from school. While I was moving stuff around, husband made the off-hand comment of: "that is so much junk". I knew he was referring to the shabby look of many of the files and other things I have used over and over again and the sheer amount of it, but I couldn't help thinking to myself that all that "junk" represented a huge part of my life and accomplishments over the last nine years. I thought about the importance of the papers, artifacts, and binders as I gingerly placed them in a file cabinets. Putting them away, and not knowing if I will thank myself for saving them, or come back to it in two years and laugh at saving it.
The final category of stuff I am packing up, are the reminders of time and career well spent. The sign the crazy girls from AP World History made me my first year for homecoming, the binder of Thomas Friedman stuff that another student made for me as a gift, the "bling" the senior girls awarded me with two year ago, the "coach" shirt they made me before I coached the powder puff games, the political cartoons, movies, and books that students have presented me with, the letters, the cards, and emails from former students finding success in life.
The hardest to pack up are all the memories and names of students who have taught me valuable things, including that I made a difference for them over the years. I keep thinking to myself- if I can just do one thing- it is to remember that I have done something important here. Something valuable and made up of every thing I have inside of me.
About a week ago, I was walking through the hallway during passing time, on my way out for the day. I waved hello to a student I had had last semester in American History.
"Hey, Mrs. R-, (as the kids are still fond of calling me) do you miss me in class?"
"I do, actually, _______,"
"Well, I just wanted to tell you that I miss having you as a teacher,"
"Really?, Wow, I am flattered. Thanks."
"Yeah, I didn't realize how much I learned until this semester where I have not learned a thing... Mr.____ is sooo bad, we do the same thing every day and it is so lame."
"Really? That surprises me... are you guys just creating havoc? Third hour gave me a run for my money last semester, I mean you know..."
"No we are actually good this semester because most people just sleep in that class."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you know_______ , well she and I sit next to each other again and everyday we say things oh, man, R_ would never have put up with this. I mean you really made us work and now I am glad because I actually know a lot.... You should just keep teaching the way you are, because you made me think and it was cool (yippee! Learning= cool) Plus you were fun, I liked the cat stories you told, well... like every morning. (she smiles- I turn slightly red- I don't tell them stories every morning.)
And the conversation went on from there, and I left school that day glowing. How do you pack that stuff in a box? How do you keep track of those things in your life and past that really matter?
I guess, hopefully, by occasionally unpacking it and spreading all that junk all over the floor, picking it up, remembering and reveling in it as pieces of yourself. Thankful for what you learned then and what you have learned since then.
The process of packing or unpacking pieces of your life can always be a good catalyst for consideration and metaphorical movement. They are always the signs of endings and/or beginnings.
As I am packing up my classroom, and in a big way my teaching career, I am coming across pieces of myself and my learning process over the last nine years. Pieces of curriculum from Madison where I student taught for a year in a high school, and a semester in a middle school, and subbed for semester. From Milwaukee, my first 'real' teaching job. From Southern Minnesota, classes and materials I treasured. So many things learned. And now the last two years in the 'burb.
At times and with certain materials, I am throwing out with reckless abandon. Thinking: "Oh, I hated that unit." (pitch), "God, that took me forever to put that together" (pitch), "I have been lugging this around forever" (pitch), and "How will I explain to husband why it was necessary to store this in our crowded basement?" (pitch, most of the time.)
Then there is the other stuff. The pieces that will be vital if I ever decided to do this again. The articles I have collected for years because they are so much better for having the kids read than any text book, the activities I have made up and modified over the years, the binders of materials that guide me through units that have taken years to put together well. The collection that almost no one that knows me (aside from my students) ever sees. These are the things that contain valuable hours of my life: blood, sweat, and tears on my part.
The other night when Jff and I were down in the basement- he was working on his computer (shocker), and I was dealing with organizing the many crates of files and misc I had already brought home from school. While I was moving stuff around, husband made the off-hand comment of: "that is so much junk". I knew he was referring to the shabby look of many of the files and other things I have used over and over again and the sheer amount of it, but I couldn't help thinking to myself that all that "junk" represented a huge part of my life and accomplishments over the last nine years. I thought about the importance of the papers, artifacts, and binders as I gingerly placed them in a file cabinets. Putting them away, and not knowing if I will thank myself for saving them, or come back to it in two years and laugh at saving it.
The final category of stuff I am packing up, are the reminders of time and career well spent. The sign the crazy girls from AP World History made me my first year for homecoming, the binder of Thomas Friedman stuff that another student made for me as a gift, the "bling" the senior girls awarded me with two year ago, the "coach" shirt they made me before I coached the powder puff games, the political cartoons, movies, and books that students have presented me with, the letters, the cards, and emails from former students finding success in life.
The hardest to pack up are all the memories and names of students who have taught me valuable things, including that I made a difference for them over the years. I keep thinking to myself- if I can just do one thing- it is to remember that I have done something important here. Something valuable and made up of every thing I have inside of me.
About a week ago, I was walking through the hallway during passing time, on my way out for the day. I waved hello to a student I had had last semester in American History.
"Hey, Mrs. R-, (as the kids are still fond of calling me) do you miss me in class?"
"I do, actually, _______,"
"Well, I just wanted to tell you that I miss having you as a teacher,"
"Really?, Wow, I am flattered. Thanks."
"Yeah, I didn't realize how much I learned until this semester where I have not learned a thing... Mr.____ is sooo bad, we do the same thing every day and it is so lame."
"Really? That surprises me... are you guys just creating havoc? Third hour gave me a run for my money last semester, I mean you know..."
"No we are actually good this semester because most people just sleep in that class."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you know_______ , well she and I sit next to each other again and everyday we say things oh, man, R_ would never have put up with this. I mean you really made us work and now I am glad because I actually know a lot.... You should just keep teaching the way you are, because you made me think and it was cool (yippee! Learning= cool) Plus you were fun, I liked the cat stories you told, well... like every morning. (she smiles- I turn slightly red- I don't tell them stories every morning.)
And the conversation went on from there, and I left school that day glowing. How do you pack that stuff in a box? How do you keep track of those things in your life and past that really matter?
I guess, hopefully, by occasionally unpacking it and spreading all that junk all over the floor, picking it up, remembering and reveling in it as pieces of yourself. Thankful for what you learned then and what you have learned since then.
posted by KLOU | 11:36 AM
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