another list

I'm really slogging through this day.

I have a list SO LONG of shitty things I have to take care of, and it seems like every time I do one, it sprouts more shitty things for me to sort out.

Here's a list of things that I noticed didn't suck today:

1.  I talked to Willard on the phone.  About a former student of his, he told me, "She's a Republican, but she's a good person."  And then we both laughed so hard.

2.  I brought these two mugs to the laundromat.  For Christmas, Moe got me the one with a meerkat on it that says clit. "It's a meerkat!" she said.  Tammy gave me the Moscow mule mug; she had put it in her purse for me after I had admired it while drinking out of it at the bar by my parents' house.

3.  I listened to "Try A Little Tenderness" while I ate a sandwich.

4.  Rachel and Margaret both agreed that they've had enough of teaching White boy American lit at their respective teaching posts, and that they're just gonna "go quietly rogue."  (Rachel's always turning phrases that make you wanna stand up like, "go quietly rogue.") Also, resonating with Suzanne.  And a peek at Katie's kids' badass YPAR project on sexism at their school.  I really have some serious teacher-friends.  Thank goodness.

5.  My Mom.

6.  I like this sign at the Post Office.

teaching/learning: an intimate pursuit

I just found the post below saved as a draft.  I can't figure out how to see when I originally wrote it, and I can't remember exactly how long ago the visit I describe happened.  It's at least a couple of years old.

Getting my stuff from my classroom Saturday morning was really, really hard.  Viscerally.

It's funny that as I was packing shit up, I got a text from J, just checking in.  I've been trying to get in touch with him for months but haven't been able to.

I asked him how he was.  He responded, "Tryna get on ma feet, but itz hard."  Me, too.

Still not alone.  Dang.

----

Whenever I'm asked (which isn't that often but often enough actually) who influenced me to be a teacher, I always tell the asker about my former student, J.  Obviously, by the time I met J, I was already teaching, but he, I'd say, had the most major impact on the kind of teacher I became or tried to become.

I visited J in jail this morning.  I'd lost touch with him, but I saw his name in the paper, looked him up using the country clerk's website, and found out where he is.

He didn't look good.  He looked skinny, and his skin was all broken out.  His hair was a hot mess.  He was talking really low, keeping his head and eyes down.  "You seem depressed," I told him, "Tell me what's up with you."  He told me that he wasn't depressed, just that he'd been sleeping before being pulled for my unexpected visit. "Yeah, yeah," I responded, skeptical, "Listen.  Takes one to know one.  You seem depressed, J.  Sluggish or something."

"Yeah, you would know..." he trailed off.  He remembered when I was depressed a few years ago when I was his teacher for the second year in a row.  "You were so messed up and skinny.  I didn't even wanna come to school."  We both laughed at that.  Yeah, I was pretty messed up then.  He would know; he was there.

When we take our students human-ness seriously, and when we try to find ways to humanize ourselves in spite of our institutionalized authority, I think an intimacy emerges that is risky for sure (I'm not sure how I feel, as a young woman, about having a male former student commenting on my body at all, even if it's to refer to my mental/physical health) and that is also warm and persistent.

In the traditional high school setting, we spend hours each week with our students.  That's more time than I get to spend with my close friends, my family, or even my colleagues.  We know things about each other, both the things that explicitly get shared in class and the things that we pick up through observation and interaction -- ticks, facial expressions, values.  J's comment then, in a way, told me "I know you.  I know you made it through a difficult time.  I remember."  It's a variation of "You're not alone," the sentiment that brought me to a sense of faith after a life of atheism.

still thinking

I went and saw Selma last night.

Two of the parts that were most poignant for me: this and this.

not sure what the point of this is

Things what I like:

Watching/napping through Law and Order for several hours at a time

Bad black coffee

TJ Maxx and Marshalls

Buying picture books for my brothers’ kids

Reading long books
Earnestness

My brothers’ taste in sisters-in-law for me

The Indian pizza place at the bottom of the hill I live on

Wearing my slippers to the coffee shop in the morning

The owner of this coffee shop always telling me to take my shoes off the seat, but they’re slippers

My own handwriting

Watching the fiddle be played

Talking on FaceTime

Sitting really close on the couch to any family member

When Ricky Gervais farts on Karl Pilkington and then lays on the floor laughing starting at 17:51 in this video

Sending people packages

Gold

The Memorare

When people say “Word.” And ‘Word?”

Gendered insults for dudes (e.g. quit being such a dick)

Videos of my niece and nephews doing cool things

When my roommate says things are “fantastic,” but they don’t seem fantastic to me

All cheeses

The song they sing at the beginning of Glide services

Friendship bracelets
Eavesdropping

Things what I don’t like:

The smell of drool

ROSS

My hair being wet

Frozen peas

Mingling

Those Converse shoes that are high-tops but more like boots (Ew.)

Receiving/responding to (most) email and (all) voicemail

When things end

Flying

Running

This mustache trend with all the mustache shit everywhere

Gendered insults for women (e.g. what a bitch)

When my brothers send a thousand texts about sports when I’m trying to take a nap
When people say boring, obvious things and I have to act interested

Amy, you're next.