All right so while I realize that the fact that it's past midnight technically means I haven't done what I set out to do which is publish a blog every day, I've always been of the belief that it's not tomorrow until I've gone to sleep and woken up the next day, so according to Kelly time, it's still today. And today we're going to take a break from all the sex talk because just like I didn't want this blog to turn into a boy blog, I don't want it to be a sex one, either. Instead of sex and boys, which I have to admit are my forte, I'm going to talk about something people will find far less interesting but that's been a very big part of my life for 21 years: Miramar High.
A lot of you who read this blog know all about my school either because you know me personally, you went to Miramar in the past, or you're weirdo little students obsessed with stalking your teachers' lives, so I won't be telling you anything you don't know. In fact, you should just stop reading right now. But to the rest of you, I just have to share the realization I had on Thursday during my third period class, and that's that I work in the best school in the world.
Okay, so maybe Miramar High isn't the best school in the world, but the school that is the IB program is. Where else could I have Jamaican fritters with Indian pastries for breakfast and then watch a Nigerian dance right after? I have learned so much about so many peoples and so many places, been exposed to so many different cultures I never would have known anything about from being a part of the IB program at work, I honestly don't think I could make clear enough my appreciation. On top of that, the students, for the most part, are amazing. They care about justice, they care about the environment, they care about science, they care about learning, they care about each other. They're a part of something, and they make me feel like I also am a part of that thing.
Which brings me to
something I've said many times before and written at least once. I love my kiddies so fucking much. Teaching English I could take or leave. Sure, I love writing and grammar and analyzing rhetoric and lit as much as the next guy, but trying to make my students appreciate it? Talk about muy malo. I've been teaching for 18 years, and if it were all about teaching English, let me tell you, there's no way I could do this job. What it's really about, at least for me, is relationships. These kids, maybe not all, but a lot, have no adults they can talk to or trust, and of that a lot, some of them choose to talk to me. I've had students have me tell their parents they were pregnant, I've had students come out to me, I've had stranded students call me in the middle of the night, I've had students contact me about mental health crises. I'm not stupid enough to think if I weren't here someone else wouldn't take my place, but I'm glad I am here so we don't have to see if that's true. I'm also glad I'm here because as much as I help my students, they help me. I can go to work in a bad mood and be happy by the time first period ends because being around my kiddies puts me in a good place--well, not my blue day kids because my blue day kids are mostly the pits. I can be plagued by a problem and forget it's there until the end of the day. I can care about people enough not to worry about me.
When my students ask me all the time if I always knew I wanted to be a teacher, I always tell them the same thing: I never wanted to be a teacher. I never really wanted to do anything but learn about English and write, so I got a degree in English and was a waitress and then I had a baby and felt like I needed a real job, and thus began my teaching life. For such a long time, I lamented my lot, felt like I was doing something I was too good to do, that teaching wasn't for me, but I have to tell you, I can no longer imagine doing anything else, and teaching isn't just my job but one of the pieces in the jumbled up bag that makes me, me.
A lot of you who read this blog know all about my school either because you know me personally, you went to Miramar in the past, or you're weirdo little students obsessed with stalking your teachers' lives, so I won't be telling you anything you don't know. In fact, you should just stop reading right now. But to the rest of you, I just have to share the realization I had on Thursday during my third period class, and that's that I work in the best school in the world.
Okay, so maybe Miramar High isn't the best school in the world, but the school that is the IB program is. Where else could I have Jamaican fritters with Indian pastries for breakfast and then watch a Nigerian dance right after? I have learned so much about so many peoples and so many places, been exposed to so many different cultures I never would have known anything about from being a part of the IB program at work, I honestly don't think I could make clear enough my appreciation. On top of that, the students, for the most part, are amazing. They care about justice, they care about the environment, they care about science, they care about learning, they care about each other. They're a part of something, and they make me feel like I also am a part of that thing.
Which brings me to
something I've said many times before and written at least once. I love my kiddies so fucking much. Teaching English I could take or leave. Sure, I love writing and grammar and analyzing rhetoric and lit as much as the next guy, but trying to make my students appreciate it? Talk about muy malo. I've been teaching for 18 years, and if it were all about teaching English, let me tell you, there's no way I could do this job. What it's really about, at least for me, is relationships. These kids, maybe not all, but a lot, have no adults they can talk to or trust, and of that a lot, some of them choose to talk to me. I've had students have me tell their parents they were pregnant, I've had students come out to me, I've had stranded students call me in the middle of the night, I've had students contact me about mental health crises. I'm not stupid enough to think if I weren't here someone else wouldn't take my place, but I'm glad I am here so we don't have to see if that's true. I'm also glad I'm here because as much as I help my students, they help me. I can go to work in a bad mood and be happy by the time first period ends because being around my kiddies puts me in a good place--well, not my blue day kids because my blue day kids are mostly the pits. I can be plagued by a problem and forget it's there until the end of the day. I can care about people enough not to worry about me.
When my students ask me all the time if I always knew I wanted to be a teacher, I always tell them the same thing: I never wanted to be a teacher. I never really wanted to do anything but learn about English and write, so I got a degree in English and was a waitress and then I had a baby and felt like I needed a real job, and thus began my teaching life. For such a long time, I lamented my lot, felt like I was doing something I was too good to do, that teaching wasn't for me, but I have to tell you, I can no longer imagine doing anything else, and teaching isn't just my job but one of the pieces in the jumbled up bag that makes me, me.
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