As incredibly excited as I am by the nearly 1/2 million phone calls posted for today (now yesterday), I urge the campaign to PRESS forward.
It seems the media is lulling the public into security: the electoral map, the "up in the polls" Barack leanings, the hype over a McCain "last ditch effort."
Tomorrow I am calling not only because I believe in what we are all doing and support the cause, but because I have a new fire in me. Let's not underestimate the Republican based to get the job done- anyhow, anyway.
I watched the infomercial today and looked over at my class photo of elementary 1st-grade students from the Atlanta school where I taught. I REALIZED THAT NOW IS THE TIME TO KICK IT INTO HIGH GEAR. They need this. We need this. America needs this.
PLEASE URGE EVERYONE TO NOT REST! Call, knock, donate, support and let's not take anything as granted.
I am not afraid-- quite the opposite-- I am faithful. Thank you everyone for making me believe. Thank you Barack for giving me hope.
Let's do it. :-)
Sunday
Monday
Reflections of First-Year Teacher
He steals. At six-years-old, this boy can look me in the eye and tell me that this new-found pencil is his, and then proceed to tell me how he came to be associated with the utensil. I suppose at that age I thought that I, too, was witty. It began with stickers: motivational, encouraging stickers that I used as a behavioral system. I would endow them to the rightful recipient, and—sometimes even in a day’s time—they would disappear from the chart mounted on the student’s desk, never to be seen again.
I’ve caught him. Twice, thrice… several times over; each time using varying tactics: the guilt-trip, the disappointment, the anger, the frustration, the empathetic, the questioning, the serious. Over a cautious gradient of time, he graduated from stickers to pencils. My pencils, ironically. Attempting to convince even me that he found them—three of them—on the floor.
He advanced to quarters today, and, in the same fail swoop, I advanced to intolerance. The write-up came swiftly, but it was not unforeseen. Somehow it comforted me to learn that he had stolen elsewhere. Sadly, I should be all the more concerned, but in my newness of teaching, I somehow thought his deficiency of self-control could be related to my neglectful eye—or worse, my ignorance. Alas! His mother notified me of their continuous concern for his behavior: that he’s taken money from a student at the afternoon recreation hall weeks before.
Perhaps my insecurities kept me from the write-up sooner. Or maybe it was learning that he has 5 other siblings at home, mostly sisters. Or maybe it was his brilliance in his writing or his perceptive ability to answer aloud correctly. Or maybe, because in a sick way, I wanted the challenge of out-smarting him. I wanted to beat him in his own game and catch him in the act. But when it rains, it pours and he had overstepped the proverbial line in the sand. As fate would have it, he also confessed on my second round of questioning. In an uneasy contortion of truth, I think I love this little boy… even if he’s the stark opposite of why I wanted to teach in the first place.
I’ve caught him. Twice, thrice… several times over; each time using varying tactics: the guilt-trip, the disappointment, the anger, the frustration, the empathetic, the questioning, the serious. Over a cautious gradient of time, he graduated from stickers to pencils. My pencils, ironically. Attempting to convince even me that he found them—three of them—on the floor.
He advanced to quarters today, and, in the same fail swoop, I advanced to intolerance. The write-up came swiftly, but it was not unforeseen. Somehow it comforted me to learn that he had stolen elsewhere. Sadly, I should be all the more concerned, but in my newness of teaching, I somehow thought his deficiency of self-control could be related to my neglectful eye—or worse, my ignorance. Alas! His mother notified me of their continuous concern for his behavior: that he’s taken money from a student at the afternoon recreation hall weeks before.
Perhaps my insecurities kept me from the write-up sooner. Or maybe it was learning that he has 5 other siblings at home, mostly sisters. Or maybe it was his brilliance in his writing or his perceptive ability to answer aloud correctly. Or maybe, because in a sick way, I wanted the challenge of out-smarting him. I wanted to beat him in his own game and catch him in the act. But when it rains, it pours and he had overstepped the proverbial line in the sand. As fate would have it, he also confessed on my second round of questioning. In an uneasy contortion of truth, I think I love this little boy… even if he’s the stark opposite of why I wanted to teach in the first place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)