If they turn off the lights, duck.
Riddle: Where does Phen work?
Hint: Two of my thirty colleagues are drug dealers. Several are queer. One is a renowned local theatre director, another a former-lawyer. We all hold graduate degrees. Our average age is 29. We are mostly - although not exclusively - white.
Hint: I ripped a poster of the wall today in a fury, exclaiming wild-eyed, madly, "NO PIZZA PARTY!!"
Hint: Eighty-six 12-year olds are frantically concerned about my relationship with a female co-worker. One of them doodles pictures of the two of us riding off in our nuptial limousine with a sign that reads "Just Mary".
Hint: I'm called "Mister" but not necessarily with a tone of respect.
Answer: If you guessed "Phen is a gay middle school English teacher in the South Bronx!" you would be absolutely correct.
And I totally expect this blog to save me. Words have always helped me to cope with difficulty, but typically I have dealt with them in ink on paper, the act of writing itself being the savior. Last year, however, was the most difficult year of my life - my first year teaching - and it was so wretched that I could not even write about it for myself. To spend my alone time thinking and writing about school was unacceptable. I conceived myself as a day-to-day Persephone, descending daily into hell, ascending daily to the light, but making the trip so frequently that mental health was never tended to appropriately.
But this year, so far, has been different. I know what to expect, and I know how to duck when the lights go off. Gone are the days of flying books and paper balls in my classroom, but vestiges of that time are starting to return. There are several things that need to be done to maintain my ground, and one of them is what I am doing this moment: writing, but for an audience, however small. Had I known about blogging a year ago I might have saved myself then; I could have written for others, and the words might have held me up and formed my reflection.
But I didn't know, and that year is done, and this year's more fun, so I'll do my best to communicate all of this in future postings that will do a better job of allowing my colleagues and my students to speak for themselves (even if mediated by me).
But for now, I gotta get to bed. It's only 9pm, but I wake up at 5am, and this job requires all the rest I can get.
namaste,
Phen
Hint: Two of my thirty colleagues are drug dealers. Several are queer. One is a renowned local theatre director, another a former-lawyer. We all hold graduate degrees. Our average age is 29. We are mostly - although not exclusively - white.
Hint: I ripped a poster of the wall today in a fury, exclaiming wild-eyed, madly, "NO PIZZA PARTY!!"
Hint: Eighty-six 12-year olds are frantically concerned about my relationship with a female co-worker. One of them doodles pictures of the two of us riding off in our nuptial limousine with a sign that reads "Just Mary".
Hint: I'm called "Mister" but not necessarily with a tone of respect.
Answer: If you guessed "Phen is a gay middle school English teacher in the South Bronx!" you would be absolutely correct.
And I totally expect this blog to save me. Words have always helped me to cope with difficulty, but typically I have dealt with them in ink on paper, the act of writing itself being the savior. Last year, however, was the most difficult year of my life - my first year teaching - and it was so wretched that I could not even write about it for myself. To spend my alone time thinking and writing about school was unacceptable. I conceived myself as a day-to-day Persephone, descending daily into hell, ascending daily to the light, but making the trip so frequently that mental health was never tended to appropriately.
But this year, so far, has been different. I know what to expect, and I know how to duck when the lights go off. Gone are the days of flying books and paper balls in my classroom, but vestiges of that time are starting to return. There are several things that need to be done to maintain my ground, and one of them is what I am doing this moment: writing, but for an audience, however small. Had I known about blogging a year ago I might have saved myself then; I could have written for others, and the words might have held me up and formed my reflection.
But I didn't know, and that year is done, and this year's more fun, so I'll do my best to communicate all of this in future postings that will do a better job of allowing my colleagues and my students to speak for themselves (even if mediated by me).
But for now, I gotta get to bed. It's only 9pm, but I wake up at 5am, and this job requires all the rest I can get.
namaste,
Phen
posted by phen at 8:47 PM
1 Comments:
Hello, your blog is so beautiful! And I read your profile, where I saw that you love the book Mrs. Dalloway, like me. So I suppose you love all the Virginia Woolf, like me. That's why you should acess mine www.exerciciodestiloebrindeasartes.blogspot.com. Kisses. Samantha
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