I woke up this morning kind of tired and a somewhat grumpy. How come I am a morning person when I don’t have to be (weekends) and a not a morning person when I have to be (every other day)? Despite my serrated-edged personality this morning, I actually had a very fun first period class with my juniors and seniors. It set the tone and mood for most the day.
We were supposed to be working on their papers on a experience/lesson called A Class Divided but somehow we ended up talking about me. For some reason, I told the story of (sorry, Meg) how my sister managed to have every bodily function happen at the exact same moment. The kids were laughing so hard, I couldn’t help but laugh with them. And then, we got even more off-track and ended up talking about how if my parents hadn’t named me right away at the hospital, I was going be “Baby Wells” on my birth certificate. So, one of my students asked, “That was your name: baby?” But the way she asked it made it seem like she called me “Baby” and the class lost it. Luckily there was only two or three minutes in the class, so the utter destruction of my lesson was aptly timed. Even though the class may not have been as productive as it could have been, I think it is times like these that both teachers and students need. I think it forms a bond with the kids when you let down your guard and let them hear about your life… especially when it comes in the form of your sister exploding on the guest room couch.
By the way, I’ve included a widget (the things on the side of the page) that will allow you to switch the different themes on the page. You can do this if you don’t like the one I have right now or if you want a little change of scenery.
Well, it’s official, the state of Oregon has entrusted me with the fragile, sponge-like minds of tomorrow’s generations. As of today, I am an officially licensed teacher. Scary, ain’t it?Eugene Moment:
While waiting to see John Edwards on Campus, this guy walks up in front of me, wearing a dark green sweatpants, with a light green sweatshirt wrapped around his waste, topped off with sandals and socks. After two minutes, he turns to me and asks why I’m at the rally. I said, to hear John Edwards. He says, “hmmm. ok ok. hmm.” turns back around, tapping all ten of his finders on his jaw. At this point, I knew this was going to be another memorable interaction. Thirty seconds later, he turns around and asks, “so… you support this guy.” I said that I do. He said, “oh, ok… support him, support him.” This is the mode of conversation for the next fifteen minutes, ranging in topics from my degree (he was repeated tens of times that I was in my second year of grad school) and to my family. He correctly discerned that I was originally from Oregon–to which he repeated in a Rainman-ish way, “definitely not from Germany”… thought, I assure you, this man was not Autistic. Eventually, he was trying to figure out what I was going to school for, he said, “I’m just trying… trying… to…” I chimed in, “compute?” He lit up, “Ah ha! Are you a Bill Gates?” and added, “don’t worry, I’m not the CIA, but I like puzzles.” I made the mistake of saying that I would hope that I was more of an enigma–which sent him on more of a World War II, Deutschland rant.
Luckily Meagan showed up and I had a good reason to move away from “Michael” which he openly said was a pseudonym, stating that I should think of his last name as “Anonymous”.
I’m really going to miss this town.
Welcome to the new year. The beginning of my year was initiated through ice, snow, and general slush. Speaking of which, I found out how emasculating it is to have your car get stuck in the snow and slush. The testosterone leaves your body even quicker when a group of neighbors come out to help you get your car back into your drive which was never more than six feet away. After the flying slush, unwanted down-hill movement, and a pair of extremely wet shoes, I was still stuck at my house in Eugene. Luckily, it was Pratt’s car that got stuck, so my masculinity is still in working order. Thanks to our New Year’s experience, we finally found a downside to living in the hills. Of course, that was the weaker of winter storms I had to endure. Since the start of the new term was coupled with three days of ice, I was trapped in my house for each of those days. Thankfully, I am an experienced in-doorman (as Garrison Keillor would say) and boredom was dealt with on am around-the-clock basis.
Which brings me to my next point. The University is stupid. Out of the three Universities south of Salem, Oregon was the only one open–and I think it was open for ego’s sake. They had the mantra of “we have students who live on campus, therefore, we are not responsible for those students who live off campus.” This just seems like they are actively putting students, staff, and faculty as risk… not the smartest move, if you ask me. But you didn’t. I have only been to my Agnes Stewart Middle School only once, so far. As of right now I am completely unsure of what this term will bring, as far as teaching goes. I’ll just mask my fear… I hear pre-adolescents can sense your fear. What happens if they approach me, and I supposed make myself look big and not run away? Is that middle school students or bears? Totally random: I just had a flashback of Mr. Bowen’s health class my sixth grade year, where we had to read through a book about adolescence… and it was narrated by Bill Cosby. weird.