The final days

The 2005-2006 school year is winding to a close. Although graduation is not until June 9, the seniors are taking their finals today and tomorrow.

One period down.

Most of you who know me, know that I struggled this year with the apathy from the students. It was overwhelming! Usually...just a few kids, but this year was the most unenjoyable year in my almost eight years in the classroom.

But...during period one (this is the class with which I had the most problems because 50% of the class would be what you would call the "popular" kids), I became frustrated yet again. Blatant talking during a final. General misbehaving and screwing around from the same kids who caused most of the grief all year round.

I commented that I was getting exactly what I expected from certain students in the classroom.

Then...I looked at Maria, Musa, Ryan, Ryan, Elyse, Yvonne and many more kids...kids who tried all year round and were just as frustrated as I was, maybe more...they have more than one class with that group of kids.

But, I told myself, hold onto them. Remember them. Remember Maria's empathetic smile. Remember Ryan, a part of the popular group, distancing himself with a wry smile, a raised hand, and a correct answer. Remember Musa. Mastered the English language in less than two years. Remember Jeff, Dacia, Kyle, Katie, Sean and a whole list more who saw what I had to offer and grabbed at it.

I leave my teaching career with confused thoughts and emotions. I am glad it is over for now. Will I miss it? Will I come back? I don't know.

But, it is changed. In the eight years I have been teaching, it has changed. Or, maybe I have?

Sabotage

I can write.

I can express my feelings and thoughts through the written word.

My heart is revealed, my mind is exposed, and my deepest desires unfold before my own eyes.

So, why can't I talk to him? Why can't the same words in my mind that flow so freely through my fingertips, make their way through my lips?

I cry. I stumble. I can't make proper eye contact. I say half of what I mean. It is vague. It is silly. It comes out wrong. I cry some more.

I trust him. I am scared. I am scared because I am scarred. My fear pushes him away. It casts doubt.

He is the future that can erase my past.

The irony. Words. My gift. My nemesis.

New Email

rebecca.harp@utoledo.edu

:)

Like many women, I have an askewed reality as it pertains to self-perception, which is in itself my own personal hmarsis, or to say else, my tragic flaw.

Hopefully, unlike the Shakespearean heroes, my recognition of my flaw will be able to alter the direction of my fate.

As a child, I could not escape adopting the view of myself that others--family, friends, teachers, strangers--had of me.

"You'd be such a pretty girl if only you'd lose some weight," my grandmother said.

A girlfriend once said, "Once you lose that baby fat, all the guys will be after you."

And, although I truly believe he meant to ill-will, my father told me when I was twelve and we were watching the Miss USA pageant, "You know, fat girls don't win beauty contests."

Even the clerks at department stores were harsh in pointing to the direction in which my mother could hope to find clothes to fit me in the "husky" section.

My personal favorite, though, was what some teen-age boys in their oh-so-sensitive phase chose for me as a nickname in high school. "Harp-oon."

My revelations are not for readers of this blog to feel sorry for me, but for me to add to the realization of my past.

They were words. They are words. They will always be just words. And, they are not the words of all, not even some, but the few people whose words I have chosen to remember.

We all do that...don't we?

It is so easy to remember and focus on the negative, and so devistatingly difficult to elate myself according to the throngs of personal accolades I have received throughout my life.

The irony of the situation lies in the presentation of myself to so many as a confident and self-assured go-getter who is afraid of so little. It began as a facade I created to convice the malicious attackers of my youth that I was untouched by their harsh words.

As time passed, the confident and self-assured woman I presented to so many, actually became a comfort to me.

Until I realized, I am a hypocrite.

I am not whole. I have to defeat that which has sought for so many years to defeat me.

I have tried to do it through going to the gym. Losing weight. Looking "right." But none of that has been for me.

It has been to silence the voices from my past, to which I have decided to hold.

Held they will be no longer as I welcome the woman I am intended to be: all of that which is not created by the negativity of those before me.

Shakespearan heroes realize, right before their demise, their tragic flaw.

Good thing I studied Shakespeare.

How I Sleep at Night

Once I move back to Ohio, I realize that I will have to do a better job at keeping up my blog...

I haven't posted since my birthday, yet that is not to say there is nothing happening. I have been dealing daily with the parents of students who are failing my class. Notice I said students who are failing my class, not students who I am failing. Parents seem to perceive that differently. (Read with sarcasm)...I want kids to fail. What? I want kids to fail?

I have heard that, and a plethora of others.
"I'm glad you have to do whatever you have to do to sleep at night?"
"You should have called me. How was I supposed to know my son missed 5 1/2 weeks of school?"
"Not only should you accept late work, if a kid wants to work on a Saturday to make up work...you should be there."

and then there are some kids...

"Why do I have to have all of my work done in order to do EXTRA credit?"
"What is my percentage?" "A 30%? I thought it was a 33%" "Damn"
"Can you tell me if I am going to graduate?"
"Why can't I pass? I have a 46%"

I have complaints into the board and district about me. I am having to defend my integrity on a daily basis.

But...then...

"Ms. Harp...I got a job because of you!"
"Ms. Harp, my son loves to read. You did that."
"Ms. Harp, I learned more in your class in one year than all three years of English combined."

THAT is how I sleep at night.