So currently my husband is playing lego star wars on our outdated PS2 and I'm commiserating on the computer.
I just received an email from an acquaintance sent today (ie...remember, it's Christmas) that informed me that the last hope husband and I had for him to get this really cool job is no more. Who sends out a rejection email on Christmas? If I can't go to Meijer to buy eggs, people shouldn't be able to send rejections.
So this Christmas is just me, my still unemployed and terribly talented husband, our pets and star wars legos. I thought this was as good time as any to start a blog. I realize that so far it's pretty miserable, but I promise, it shall improve. Since I have the time, I can begin a blog.
I am a band director. I teach little kiddos to play music on instruments. Yes, I have hearing loss; I figure it's the only way I can continue to do what I do. :) I do love teaching, most days. I've been a teacher for over 8 years. I heard somewhere that the burn out for new teachers is 4-5 years. So, I've clearly past that mark and I'm looking toward a lifetime of teaching and inspiring new generations to embrace Hot Cross Buns, Spit Valves and John Philip Sousa.
I've been combing through my archives and I came across saved emails that I had sent during my first two years of teaching. It's nice to be able to look back and laugh at your mistakes and at the things that once drove me nuts. Some of the stories are downright funny! I've decided to share some of these with you, my imaginary readers.
I student taught fall of 2001. I endured a sexual harassment issue on day one of my student teaching career (a French horn student making references about flutes TO the flute section regarding "that one time at band camp"), two students committing suicide by throwing themselves under trains in one semester and the counseling and grieving that follows in a school, and the entire range of emotions and coping from September 11, 2001. Student teaching threw me some wicked curve balls, and I thought that going through these events had prepared me for teaching on my own.
I was so wrong.
I had no idea what was about to hit me. Those of you who have been teachers can probably tell many of your war stories, and I hope you share some with me. Even though I have no idea how life works in other career paths, I'm also guessing that everyone has their stories from when they first started. Their "genesis". Hopefully we can all look back and laugh together.
Here is a tidbit, something out of order to keep you wanting more. This was part of an email I had sent out to beloved family and friends my last day of teaching before Thanksgiving break 2002.
November 2002
The story of the week:
I have a 6th grade student, male oboe player, who is a seriously messed up
kid. We'll call him "Joe". He's the one who has been arrested 5 times for
EVERYTHING. Drugs, theft, you name it. Well, I rarely see Joe because of
his suspensions and whatnot, but in he comes yesterday to class. His oboe is
here at school although he broke it over 2 weeks ago. I do not have an extra oboe around,
and here he sits in class with nothing to do. My new rule for my students is that if they don't have
a reed, their instrument or they can't handle rehearsing with the large
ensemble, they take staff paper and copy their music down by hand. Let me
say that it has been a big help in getting kids to remember their reeds!
But I digress. So I have 2 other students without instruments and/or reeds
copying their music, and I tell Joe what to do as well. He throws a HUGE
fit and blows up in my face. I tell him calmly what is expected of him, why
he has to sit and do this assignment, and what he can do to remedy this in
the future. He refuses to work. So, I tell him that he has to make his own
decisions and I calmly turn around to go rehearse the rest of the 6th grade band. I look over at him
later, and he is playing with one of those little finger skateboards. (I
HATE THEM.) And yet another rule in my class is NO TOYS or they become mine until
the next day. So I walk over and (calmly again) ask Joe for the skateboard. He refuses
and then creates a HUGE scene for the rest of the class. At this point, I
could take no more. I could not balance him and try to keep order with the
other squirrely 6th graders. So, I sent Joe to the office. Class ends, the day continues.
The last bell of the day rings.
After school I have ANOTHER troublemaker of mine, we'll call him Wayne, comes in to tell me that he
"ratted Joe out" and "turned him over to the Po-Po". For those of you in the suburbs or on the
farm, the "po-po" are the police. I asked what happened.
Wayne continues to tell me that he was in the hallway to get a
drink from the water fountain, and happens to see Joe run down the hall, find an open locker, unzip
his pants and start peeing all over the inside and outside of the locker.
I've decided to refer to Joe as "the pisser" from now on.
I don't think Joe will be in my class for the next few days.
****Merry Christmas, y'all!************
