As the Army of Helaman

Dear Mom,

I love you.  I miss you.  I’m sad that things can’t be like they were when I was growing up anymore.  I remember you used to call me your “right-hand-(wo)man” and talk to me like a best friend.  I mourn the loss of those days.

I suppose things had to change though; my younger siblings had to grow up, I got married, the rest of the family moved away, I had kids, life moved on.  What troubles me the most, however, is that you are not happy.  You are often bitter and resentful and rarely at peace.   I’m not entirely sure why.  I get the feeling that some of it is my fault, but I don’t have the courage or the timing to ask what I have done or how to fix it.  I wonder if doing so would even change anything.I wish I could give you some of that happiness.  Maybe its your struggles with aging, or money that’s keeping you from being happy.  Maybe its pain or guilt that’s holding you back.  And maybe its something that I can’t help you with at all.

When you come to visit, we are happy, but you are just ok.  I’m not sure if you are here because you really want to be or because you feel you ought to.  I’m not sure if you are helping me clean or watch kids because you want to or because you disapprove of how things are at my house.  I’m not sure if you are happy to be a grandma or find it distasteful. I find myself choosing my words carefully so as try to cheer you up or at least not make anything worse. I cringe when my kids behave badly or do something that might upset you.  I cringe even more when I do something that might upset you.

I don’t want see you frustrated and sorrowful anymore so I want you to know that I release you.  I release you from any obligations towards me and my family.  Please don’t feel like you HAVE to come visit, or make this or that, or do this or that, or that you HAVE to go here or there.  Don’t misunderstand me either – we want you around, we love having you around, but I would much rather have you not do these things and be happy, than do them bitterly, grudgingly, or simply because you feel you HAVE to.

I love you mom.  I miss you.  I hope someday to see you happy again, and I hope we can be part of that happiness.

With love,

Your Grown up Daughter

So, I have realized that I am becoming more negative lately. Not depressive, or PMSish, just complaining and noticing the bad over the good. For example, I would grouch at my husband for making a mess, but not thank him for watching the kids for me while I took a nap. I would complain to a friend about how much work it is to take care of my boys, but not mention how much I love their hugs and kisses or how smart they are.
I’ve been here before and I know its a slippery slope. Being negative leads to being critical of everything and everybody. It darkens the sky and everyone’s mood and eventually becomes a poison that sickens you (and others). So, my plan is to catch myself before I go too far. I will look for the roses and then stop and smell them. Whenever I catch myself wanting to complain or criticize, I will find something good.
For example, instead of groaning that it is so so hot, I will say that I am so so glad we have AC and some otter pops in the freezer.
Count your blessings they say, and you will be surprised how many you have. Here are a few of these roses I have noticed:
- Sister Ramos is so awesome. She is a great example to me, and so kind.
- Being silly with kids is fun, especially when they get your jokes
- I love being sucked into a great novel, one that you can’t put down until its done.
- I love my husband and my kids more than anything in the world!
- Answers to prayers
- I love the free time I get when both kids are napping.
- My wedding ring makes me smile. I still think it is so pretty.
- My husband taught my son to pic flowers and bring them to me. That would make anyone feel special.
- More to come

In teaching, just as in writing, you have to find your voice. (I believe I am paraphrasing Sandra Cisneros here). When anyone is learning to write, they have to work at and develop a voice. It is not something someone can give you, its something that is uniquely yours and that only you can do best. It is your style, your point of view, your little bit to contribute to the world. The hard part is often finding your voice. As you learn to write and as you get practice (lots of practice) you find what works for you. Most of this is by trial and error. You could also copy someone else’s style and steal elements from them, but this will only get you so far.
Something similar is true of teaching. Every teacher has his or her own “voice” – their style, what works for them, their small contribution to the world. The frustrating thing for a new teacher is that this style can only really be found by trial and error. You can copy ideas, lessons, activities, procedures, and other elements from other teachers. This is a good start. But things will not sync and flow and those glorious “aha moments” will be scarce until all of these elements become your own – until you adapt them to your classroom at that moment.
Teaching really is a creative process. There is plenty of technique, best practice, and research that goes in to a lesson, but what makes a lesson rich – what makes it a work of art is the pain, the stress, the joy, and the learning from failures. (someday, I would like to see the paintings DaVinci threw away) And, just like any art and any science, teaching is constantly changing and seeking for the newest and best way as times and audiences change too.
So, to all my fellow new teachers who struggle to find their voice – learn from others, learn from failures, learn from students. Most of all, remember that YOU are the most valuable resource – your experience, your background, your memories, your abilities, your love, your expression, your voice can turn an objective to be learned into an experience to be had by the students in your classroom.

My little boy came running to me the other day in tears “mami ouchy mano” (mommy owie on my hand). All he needed was a kiss and to be held for a moment and he was all better and ready to face the world again.
Things are not so simple as an adult though. How can I tell my mother now that I am grown and with kids of my own that I am hurting? Should I tell her at all? I still wish my mom would comfort me sometimes, but is that not to be had anymore? This is a difficult topic for me. I have many mixed feelings. I think writing will help and this may be a safe forum, since nobody ready my blog anyway.
My mother has changed a lot in the years since I went off to college. Everyone changes, especially with major life events, but this change has been so drastic that it is difficult to recognize her sometimes as the mother I had as a young girl. In all fairness, I know I have changed a lot too, but to complicate the matter, with my parents and siblings so far away and so busy I sometimes feel cut off from them. I have been left to evolve on my own while they evolve in a different direction. On the occasion when I do get to talk to my mother, it seems our lives and circumstances are so different we may as well be on separate planets.
I suppose the most difficult part is that my mother does not like my husband much. She used to like him.  Maybe she is just angry at him, but it is the sort of grudge that could go on for decades unless someone is willing to “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”(Hamlet) to try and end it.  I fear what the future will bring – strained family gatherings, excuses NOT to go somewhere for summer vacation or Christmas, and my children growing up feeling they cannot be loyal to both their parent and their grandparent. (it has happened in the family before).

What pains me most is to know that she doesn’t want to come see us. Perhaps it is because of the feud with my husband, or because she has bad memories of the city where we live or because she hates to leave home.  But still she doesn’t want to come, and when she does she is angry or on edge.
How do I tell my mother that I miss her, that I wish I could talk to her like I used to, that I still wish for her love and comfort? How do I say that I want her to be proud of me and of my children and of what I have accomplished. How do I tell my mother that I am hurt by her anger, her criticism and pessimism?
How can I explain my vast disappointment when it seems she has no time for me?
How do I escape becoming bitter from the hurt?
And how do I build a strong family
circle that includes
my mother?

I don’t tell them where I am from on purpose.  Firstly, I am not entirely sure myself.  I have been in many places and around many kinds of people that have had an influence on me.  I think I am a mix of all of them.  “Where are you from?” seems a very shallow question.

My biggest problem with that question is that many tend to use “where are you from?” to categorize people. It could go something like this: “you are from Mexico (for example), therefore you must act like other Mexicans act and do what other Mexicans do and like what other Mexicans like and be LIKE THEM (or US as the case may be).”  Automatically all these expectations and/or limitations have been put on this person just because they said they are from Mexico.  This person has been perhaps comfortably categorized, labeled, and assigned to a group.  This is of course an exaggeration, but I don’t think such labelling is healthy for a school or any group that wants kids to overcome stereotypes.

Because I have such a mix of influences and I don’t look obviously of one race or another, I simply don’t say what race I am from.  And I make a point not to.  When a student asks, “Miss, what are you?”  I will answer something like, “I’m a human of course! What are you?” Or if they ask “where are you from?” I will say “I don’t know” or something outlandish like “I’m half chinese and half irish.”  Admittedly, I get a kick out of their puzzled looks.

Anyway, the point of all this is the unconscious “assigning to a group” that people do when they find out “where are you from”.  I have a mix of hispanic, black, and white kids in my classes (with an occasional asian).  I don’t want any of my students to feel like they can get away with something because I am “one of them” or, more importantly, like they cannot relate to me or I couldn’t possibly understand them because I am NOT like them.  I don’t want anyone to feel I am excluding them or playing favorites to one group or another.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t ever put my personality or identity into my classes.  I do it all the time.  I just don’t ever assign it a label.

Have you noticed that those teacher greats – the ones that write books and get movies made about them – are often single? Think of “Dangerous Minds”, “Holler if You Hear Me”, and the “Freedom Writers” just to name a few. All of these teachers were great teachers, and they were also single. No husband/wife, and no kids. The only notable exception to this rule I can think of is that of Jaime Escalante.

A boyfriend/girlfriend doesn’t count, because a significant other will understand if you are too busy to pay much attention to them until the weekend. A husband or wife will not.  Small children even less.
I don’t think that being single makes you a better teacher, nor does being a great teacher require you to be unattached. The difficulty, I think, is that when you have a family at home to attend to your attention is necessarily divided. Teaching takes preparation and time, and time is sometimes too precious to be spent going a third and forth mile when I have already gone a second.

I would love to say that I became a teacher in order to make the world a better place, or because I have hope in America’s youth, or because I wanted to make a difference.  Don’t get me wrong – I DO believe in those ideals, but they are not the number ONE reason I took a teaching job.  They are numbers 2, 3, and 4.  Allow me to explain…

I finished my student teaching in the 06-07 school year. I would have begun my first year teaching the following school year, but I was pregnant, and my son was due to be born only 2 weeks before school started. No one really wanted to hire a teacher that wouldn’t be there, especially a brand new teacher that didn’t know the ropes. That was ok though, I wanted to take a year off anyway to have my first child and learn to be a mommy. Something happens when you have a child – your priorities change.  Furthering my career now became a secondary goal. 

The next school year I found a potentially ideal job with an online school. I would be able to work part-time from home and still be with my son. This worked out particularly well since I found out I was pregnant with my second just weeks into the school year.
Around about the time the second baby arrived, my husband lost his job due to “reduction in force” with the company he worked with. It quickly became apparent that the unemployment check and my pifulous part-time salary was not going to be enough to cover mortgage and the bills – especially when the benefits we got through my husband’s employer ran out.  I knew I had to go back to work full time.

It seemed like an answer to prayers when I got a few calls in June to interview at some schools.  I was nervous about going back into the workforce, especially since I had a 2 year gap between student teaching and actual teaching.  I agonized over whether or not to take the positions offered to me.  My husband’s income would be spotty at best, and I felt obligated to do whatever was necessary for the success of my family.  Teaching is also time and labor intensive.  We needed the income and benefits, but would it be wrong of me to be leave my beautiful children to take care of someone else’s? I felt worried and guilty about leaving my children at such a young age.  The more I thought about it, and even prayed about it, I knew that taking the job was the right thing to do. 

I still believe in all those ideals I had in college that drove me to become a teacher.  In all honesty, however, the recession is the real reason I became a teacher.

I have to admit, I have considered several times pursuing a different career.

I remember being so full of idealism in college – and then real life hit.  I realized it takes a real special person to be a teacher, and sometimes I am not sure if I am that person.  Although from what I hear this is a pretty typical sentiment for new teachers.

I suppose I am not being fair.  I teach at an at-risk school with 90% minority students and a 75% free and reduced lunch rate.  Despite all this, the students are about what I would expect at any school.  The hard part has been setting up classroom management strategies, keeping up with lesson planning, paperwork, and learning all the other things that really only come with practice and some trial and error.