I know i'm posting a lot about Danielle lately, I don't know why. But here goes another...story.
ok so....our relationship, growing up, is always extreme. Either extremely close, or extremely fighting. If you ask me my earliest memory, I might be able to recall stuff here or there, but one thing I do recall is the first time Danielle felt the first pangs of anger, frustration, and possibly hatred for her loving, devoted sister....me.
The word worship doesn't quite encompass how I felt about my older sister. I WORSHIPED her, in a stupid, ridiculous, stalkerish, kind of way. I would do anything for her attention, and as she got older, the lesser interested she was in cultivating a sister-friend relationship with me. I was the annoying younger sister. This sparked a panic in me, a panic for her love, then approval, then just....any kind of attention. The quickest way to get any kind of attention is just to tick her off as stealth and quick as possible. She has a boyfriend over? I will find pictures of her cuddling a doll to show him. She wants to go somewhere? I will pout and produce tears to force myself along. I never stop and analyze her growing annoyance, anger, and sometimes hatred for my existence...
This is a short story. I am recalling the first time I betray my sister. I am four (I think...?), and I have developed a great idea and just want to test it out and see if I can get away with it. Danielle and I are playing on the kitchen floor, mom is floating around cleaning or something. I turn my head, drag up my sleeve, and sink my teeth into my forearm. Not enough to draw blood (cause that would hurt, wouldn't it?), enough to produce a perfect, crescent shaped, row of crevices in my skin. The tell tale signs of a bite mark, slightly red from the bit of suction I applied when producing the evidence. Phase one...done. Next, I start to imagine my mother saying that I can never swim in our pool again...really, if I want to cry I have to go for my own gut. Good, plush, full tears fall from my lids. Phase two....done. Last, I walk up to my mom, tears in tow, and hold up my arm. I didn't even have to say anything. "DDAaaaNNIEeeelllLELLLLEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!". oh goodness. Scuffle, scuffle, slappppy-dapppy, Danielle is now sitting in timeout with her back to me in the kitchen. I sense Danielle's surprise at a punishment undeserved. She actually had no clue what was going on, but sitting there in that chair, I see the back of her head begin to rotate towards the side of the chair, then her face peers out in my direction.... for the first time ever, I witness, Danielle's evil, I totally hate you, face. It surprised me!!!! Didn't she know I didn't know any better??? Her eyes were slits, she could have been Asian to on onlooker, her mouth pursed into a perfect circle, and her face red....a special red that can only be born of betrayal. It was the first time...not the last.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Milestones
A milestone in childhood, when I was a child, was figuring out how to get your hot wheel going fast enough to be able to slide it to a grinding 180 degree halt when you pulled up the yellow brake.
A milestone in childhood, when I was a child, was digging around in the house and outside of the house to find enough change to purchase a small paper bag full of candy from Guardino's Neighborhood Market.
A milestone in adolescence, when I was an adolescent, was slipping into Danielle's room without her noticing and managing to completely get ready using her hair products, her crusty curling iron, and her makeup without her noticing.
A milestone in adolescence, when I was an adolescent, was manipulating the situation so that Danielle manages to get into trouble right before spending the night at her friend's house so mom forces her to bring me along as punishment.
A milestone in young adulthood, when I was a young adult, was realizing that you are incapable of failing because my definition of failure was not being me. I loved realizing that I was the one that got to define failure.
A milestone in young adulthood, when I was a young adult, was realizing you don't need high school to find a true circle of friends. True friends are everywhere, in every stage of life.
A milestone in adulthood, since I've been an adult, has been realizing that people are around you for a reason, people are teaching you things everyday. Even when your heart is ripped out when they are taken away, you learn how to learn from their experiences and be thankful for the gifts they are awarding you in their absence.
A milestone in adulthood, since I've been an adult, has been learning that hope will be with you for the rest of your life. There is always something to hope for, something to aspire to, you can always change, learn, grow and improve who you are and become the best person you can be.
In the milestones, there are keywords that show your growth:
Childhood - Figuring out, Finding
Adolescents - Manipulation
Young Adulthood - Realizing
Adulthood - Learning, Changing, Growing
I am a thankful person for my life.
Friday, March 23, 2012
a star is a star.
Debbie said a boy that she used to teach called her. He said he would sing at my dad's funeral. His name did sound familiar but was a common name, so I didn't think much about it. We sit in the front pew, the microphone is set up, and it is time. This young man steps up and begins to sing the sweetest and most beautiful rendition of Ave Maria that my ears have ever witnessed. It was intense, it was soft, his voice... angellic. He is amazing. My thoughts of my father have evaporated and we are in his world for a few, beautiful, heavenly, minutes.
I did know this boy's father. His father was an essential part of my childhood. He was a teacher, a teacher I never had. He was a coach, but never coached me. He coached volleyball at Watertown, I played volleyball for Carthage. I hate to toot my own horn, but, at 4 foot 11, I was a great volleyball player. I didn't know my potential, I just knew my passion. I had an intense love for volleyball because it was a sport that I excelled at. On the court, I was needed, I was a contributor, I was strong. In the ninth grade, we had a match against Watertown. It was junior varsity, I played hard. During game, my mantra was to do anything and everything to make the unimaginable happen, go the extra step, get the balls that others wouldn't even try for. I never had fear, I threw myself in front of anything and made things happen. After the game, I was sitting on the floor watching Varsity, drinking my water, and the coach from Watertown came over and went out of his way to tell me how well I played. I acted nonchalant and thanked him, but inside it validated something for me.
Now what I am telling you here is this... I, by default, was lacking something that I relied on others to provide to me. I did not believe in myself. I could sing, but I didn't believe in myself enough to do it. I could play this sport, but still lacked the confidence that assured me that I wouldn't fail. I always looked forward to the Watertown matches because I knew that he was there, and he believed in me and it made me believe in me.
As a Senior I was chosen to play on the all-star team. The schools each contributed two players to be on two teams that would compete against each other. The Watertown coach was the coach for my all-star team. The match ends at 15 points, but our team had to win by two, so if it was 14-14, the game would have to go to 16 for a win. We are playing our 5th match, the tie breaker. It is 11-14, our team is down. I am on the sidelines and the coach is putting me in, he winks, I can barely contain myself. I'm like Mike Tyson before a fight, i'm pumped, hopping from foot to foot. I go in, it's my serve. First serve...ace. 12-14, second, third, fourth, it is now 15-14, we are up. I serve one more...ace. We win.
I want to tell the coach how much he taught me. I want to tell him that a short conversation between us 4 years earlier kept me going so many times when I felt like nothing. I want to tell him...he is responsible for so much more than he would ever know...but I don't. I say nothing.
He is Mark Taylor. His son, also Mark Taylor. I could not imagine having a dad like that. It is no surprise that his son is so amazing. It has been three years since my father's funeral and tonight I get to witness that voice of angel once again. A beautiful rendition of "The Phantom of the Opera", he sings, I cry. I cannot wait to see where this person goes in his life, the possibilities are endless.
I did know this boy's father. His father was an essential part of my childhood. He was a teacher, a teacher I never had. He was a coach, but never coached me. He coached volleyball at Watertown, I played volleyball for Carthage. I hate to toot my own horn, but, at 4 foot 11, I was a great volleyball player. I didn't know my potential, I just knew my passion. I had an intense love for volleyball because it was a sport that I excelled at. On the court, I was needed, I was a contributor, I was strong. In the ninth grade, we had a match against Watertown. It was junior varsity, I played hard. During game, my mantra was to do anything and everything to make the unimaginable happen, go the extra step, get the balls that others wouldn't even try for. I never had fear, I threw myself in front of anything and made things happen. After the game, I was sitting on the floor watching Varsity, drinking my water, and the coach from Watertown came over and went out of his way to tell me how well I played. I acted nonchalant and thanked him, but inside it validated something for me.
Now what I am telling you here is this... I, by default, was lacking something that I relied on others to provide to me. I did not believe in myself. I could sing, but I didn't believe in myself enough to do it. I could play this sport, but still lacked the confidence that assured me that I wouldn't fail. I always looked forward to the Watertown matches because I knew that he was there, and he believed in me and it made me believe in me.
As a Senior I was chosen to play on the all-star team. The schools each contributed two players to be on two teams that would compete against each other. The Watertown coach was the coach for my all-star team. The match ends at 15 points, but our team had to win by two, so if it was 14-14, the game would have to go to 16 for a win. We are playing our 5th match, the tie breaker. It is 11-14, our team is down. I am on the sidelines and the coach is putting me in, he winks, I can barely contain myself. I'm like Mike Tyson before a fight, i'm pumped, hopping from foot to foot. I go in, it's my serve. First serve...ace. 12-14, second, third, fourth, it is now 15-14, we are up. I serve one more...ace. We win.
I want to tell the coach how much he taught me. I want to tell him that a short conversation between us 4 years earlier kept me going so many times when I felt like nothing. I want to tell him...he is responsible for so much more than he would ever know...but I don't. I say nothing.
He is Mark Taylor. His son, also Mark Taylor. I could not imagine having a dad like that. It is no surprise that his son is so amazing. It has been three years since my father's funeral and tonight I get to witness that voice of angel once again. A beautiful rendition of "The Phantom of the Opera", he sings, I cry. I cannot wait to see where this person goes in his life, the possibilities are endless.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Music to sooth the soul.
My whole life was woven in musical fabric. It all started with my father, he was the musician's musician. He had this unbelievable talent and his instrument of choice was a piano. He had soul, he had passion, he was my icon as a child. It was a wonderful, blissful feeling when the sweets sounds of the piano keys would fill our house with his bluesy, jazzy, piano riffs. He didn't play very often at home, but was in a few bands when I was a child. Matter of fact, I thought my dad was Paul McCartney, simply because he resembled him so much. We had a music room, it was filled with records, a stereo, piano, shag rug..... everything you are picturing at this moment. In the middle of a room was a big round papasan chair. You could snuggle, put on the big puffy headphones, and go off into your own world.
I liked to sing. That was my thing. People noticed here and there. My grandfather noticed. He sat me down and taught me an Irish tune called "Dear Old Donegal" He wanted me to sing it at an Irish Festival, and I did.... after getting horribly cold feet and crying first. After I began to sing, all the fears I had evaporated, and I was able to perform the way he wanted. I was ten.
I sang in chorus in high school, but was still quite shy and never really showed my true potential to anyone. I had one of the best chorus teachers I have ever met, his name is Melvin Chalker. He still teaches at Carthage Central School. I know this because I had the pleasure of running into him last month, and was so excited to have a chance to tell him how good he was at what he did.
After high school, I had a chance to sing again when I moved to Boulder, Colorado. I sang in a folk duo with a fellow I had met up with who was much older than myself. We practiced a few tunes and he taught me alot about being myself and just letting it out. We played frequently at an open mic night at a coffee house called 'Penny Lane'.
A few years later, I found myself living in Boston, MA. I sang with a band there that required many train rides out on the commuter rail to Framingham, but we never played anywhere. The band dissolved, and I found myself on my own. I decided that I wanted to try being a solo performer. I purchased a Yamaha guitar at a small music store in Allston, MA. At night I would teach myself from any book I could get my hands on. My poor sister would be stuck listening to me plucking away late into the evening hours, until it started to sound like a cohesive rhythm. I hadn't been playing very long before I started to go out and see how I sounded in public. There was an open mic night at the Kendall Cafe in Cambridge. I had two or three songs that I had written, tested out on my sister, and off I went. After performing that evening, I had so much positive feedback, it inspired me to keep it going. After my third open mic night, the Kendall Cafe offered me a residency on Thursday Nights....6pm - 10pm. Four hours??!!! I was like.. "ok, I can handle this.". I would play, play, play....make songs up as I was going. Unbelievably it worked, I started to have a following, I was amazed. I loved ballads and folk songs. Songs that told stories. After I gave birth to Luke, the music life was slowed down quite a bit.
After moving home to Watertown, I did start to play and find venues that would hire me to play a few sets. Over the years, I have had summers where I have played alot, and summers where I didn't pick up a guitar at all. The music happens with my mood. After finishing my college work and beginning work as a teacher, I found myself with a new audience...my students.
My first year teaching, I had a rough group of kids. They were fun people, don't get me wrong, but getting them settled and in a learning frame of mind was challenging. I found myself having a goal of my students not killing each other, rather than passing the regents at the end of the year. One day, I brought in my guitar. I asked them if they would make a deal with me. We get to work for 35 minutes...35 minute of uninterrupted lesson and I would play a song on my guitar. I guess they were curious, because it was the first time I had their undivided attention for 35 straight minutes. Then... I did it. It was scary, they were brutally honest. I picked up the guitar and began to play. You could hear a pin drop. I sang my tune, and when I finished, it was completely silent. Then my classroom, my crazy classroom, became a chorus of cheering and clapping that I had never thought possible. I had them. Everyday after that came the requests for more, but I had to make sure that there was a wonderful balance between learning and music to get my message through.
I'm in my fifth year teaching, and now everyone knows. My new students walk in, and the first thing out of their mouth is "When will you play....?" I am able to keep my performances to 1 or 2 per year in the classroom. A treat of sorts. I play at our variety shows and that is where I let go and let them have the best of me, always to a wonderful reception, they make me feel special. I love music. It brings people together in ways that nothing else can. This blog wouldn't be complete if I didn't leave a link to a song... so here it is.
Enjoy.
I liked to sing. That was my thing. People noticed here and there. My grandfather noticed. He sat me down and taught me an Irish tune called "Dear Old Donegal" He wanted me to sing it at an Irish Festival, and I did.... after getting horribly cold feet and crying first. After I began to sing, all the fears I had evaporated, and I was able to perform the way he wanted. I was ten.
I sang in chorus in high school, but was still quite shy and never really showed my true potential to anyone. I had one of the best chorus teachers I have ever met, his name is Melvin Chalker. He still teaches at Carthage Central School. I know this because I had the pleasure of running into him last month, and was so excited to have a chance to tell him how good he was at what he did.
After high school, I had a chance to sing again when I moved to Boulder, Colorado. I sang in a folk duo with a fellow I had met up with who was much older than myself. We practiced a few tunes and he taught me alot about being myself and just letting it out. We played frequently at an open mic night at a coffee house called 'Penny Lane'.
A few years later, I found myself living in Boston, MA. I sang with a band there that required many train rides out on the commuter rail to Framingham, but we never played anywhere. The band dissolved, and I found myself on my own. I decided that I wanted to try being a solo performer. I purchased a Yamaha guitar at a small music store in Allston, MA. At night I would teach myself from any book I could get my hands on. My poor sister would be stuck listening to me plucking away late into the evening hours, until it started to sound like a cohesive rhythm. I hadn't been playing very long before I started to go out and see how I sounded in public. There was an open mic night at the Kendall Cafe in Cambridge. I had two or three songs that I had written, tested out on my sister, and off I went. After performing that evening, I had so much positive feedback, it inspired me to keep it going. After my third open mic night, the Kendall Cafe offered me a residency on Thursday Nights....6pm - 10pm. Four hours??!!! I was like.. "ok, I can handle this.". I would play, play, play....make songs up as I was going. Unbelievably it worked, I started to have a following, I was amazed. I loved ballads and folk songs. Songs that told stories. After I gave birth to Luke, the music life was slowed down quite a bit.
After moving home to Watertown, I did start to play and find venues that would hire me to play a few sets. Over the years, I have had summers where I have played alot, and summers where I didn't pick up a guitar at all. The music happens with my mood. After finishing my college work and beginning work as a teacher, I found myself with a new audience...my students.
My first year teaching, I had a rough group of kids. They were fun people, don't get me wrong, but getting them settled and in a learning frame of mind was challenging. I found myself having a goal of my students not killing each other, rather than passing the regents at the end of the year. One day, I brought in my guitar. I asked them if they would make a deal with me. We get to work for 35 minutes...35 minute of uninterrupted lesson and I would play a song on my guitar. I guess they were curious, because it was the first time I had their undivided attention for 35 straight minutes. Then... I did it. It was scary, they were brutally honest. I picked up the guitar and began to play. You could hear a pin drop. I sang my tune, and when I finished, it was completely silent. Then my classroom, my crazy classroom, became a chorus of cheering and clapping that I had never thought possible. I had them. Everyday after that came the requests for more, but I had to make sure that there was a wonderful balance between learning and music to get my message through.
I'm in my fifth year teaching, and now everyone knows. My new students walk in, and the first thing out of their mouth is "When will you play....?" I am able to keep my performances to 1 or 2 per year in the classroom. A treat of sorts. I play at our variety shows and that is where I let go and let them have the best of me, always to a wonderful reception, they make me feel special. I love music. It brings people together in ways that nothing else can. This blog wouldn't be complete if I didn't leave a link to a song... so here it is.
Enjoy.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Smoke Signals
The thin veil between our world and theirs. I have heard that Halloween is a day when the veil is the thinnest, but....is it? I have never even really cared about the supernatural powers of spirits. Supernatural...what a funny word. Super to us? but natural giving indication that this is considered the course that everyone has in past lives and will, in future ones, take. I have bouts of interest in my life...and periods of forgetfulness. One gets caught up living and forgetting about thinking deeper.
In 93, I was in college. I remember having an interest in out of body traveling, I may have read some books. I was aware that it could happen if you were at a point of minimal consciousness. Almost sleeping. At that time, when I was drifting off, my brain would be aware. There was a moment during an afternoon nap that I felt myself leaving my body and I could hear the sound of leaves, millions of leaves crashing in the wind. I was above the trees. I got scared and thought 'body', and I was back in my dorm room. I was afraid of being lost forever. It reminded me of a moment that had happened when I was a Senior in high school, again, I was drifting off....suddenly I found myself in the dark hallways of my high school...floating around. Excited about the lack of gravitational limitation, wondering if I could perform a flip mid air...like I was in a swimming pool. Weightless is enough of a carrot to make me store the memory close enough to the surface where it could be retrieved on demand.
My mother took me to a medium once when we lived in Colorado. The medium said that I had many lines that clogged my mind, she said I didn't know which path I was supposed to take and I was searching for the meaning of me and what I was supposed to do. Man, was she ever correct. She went on to tell me that I was a fat circus boy in a previous life that was bit by a snake that was left unattended by a lazy snake charmer who was taking a nap. They called me rollie pollie. Well that figures.... I do have a horrible, paralyzing fear of snakes.
I took a mental and physical break from meta-physical theory. Have children, go to school, find myself. Then...things happen in life. Things that everyone goes through eventually. My father is taken from me. I can only hope that everything I believe is true. He is happy...he exists somewhere, in spirit, in soul. I actually feel him with me for months after he passes away. I feel my eyes well up with tears and then a calmness come over me that these aren't the feelings I should be feeling. The tears dry on their own, before they even spill. I think, I must be strong because of my sisters, because I have security, because my sons cannot ever feel insecurity because they see or feel me crying. I know he is reaching into my heart and putting himself in my sub conscience, telling me to move on and live the life that I am so lucky to have.
My heart was heavy for quite a while until one day when I realized it wasn't heavy anymore and it hadn't been for a little while. I just didn't notice because I wasn't paying attention, because I was ready to fly solo.
You start to heal and life decides to deal you another blow. Michael dies. Michael, my brother, tortured soul, beautiful man. My ex husband used to accuse me of being in love with him, my sister's and I would laugh over this. It became a long standing joke between Michael and I. I would pretend to lust for him, one time accidentally giving myself a haircut that looks startling like my sister's. I pretend that I did this on purpose to win his love. He tells me I am 'completely out of my mind', then lights his cigarette and contemplates what I would have thought of him if I had seen him years earlier during an interview in Tokyo. I assure him I am only attracted to losers and if he was doing anything besides losing, I wouldn't be attracted to him. To this.. he laughs.
Michael passing has shattered things a bit. My sister is shocking me with her ability to wake up and function on a daily basis. She is beautiful and sad. She thinks of everything to do to prevent her kids from suffering. I contemplate moving to her and becoming her pseudo husband. It isn't the right thing to do right now.
Michael is doing things everyday to grasp her attention, she is aware of it.... It seems that every aspect of his departure was written in the sand. At the rate my sister is going, the puzzle pieces will be picked back up and put in place by the end of the year... some pieces will be missing forever. I am thrust into meta-physical thinking once again, I guess to be closer to the ones I love. I am acutely aware of all subtle feelings. We all are now. Messages are neon signs rather than smoke signals.
In 93, I was in college. I remember having an interest in out of body traveling, I may have read some books. I was aware that it could happen if you were at a point of minimal consciousness. Almost sleeping. At that time, when I was drifting off, my brain would be aware. There was a moment during an afternoon nap that I felt myself leaving my body and I could hear the sound of leaves, millions of leaves crashing in the wind. I was above the trees. I got scared and thought 'body', and I was back in my dorm room. I was afraid of being lost forever. It reminded me of a moment that had happened when I was a Senior in high school, again, I was drifting off....suddenly I found myself in the dark hallways of my high school...floating around. Excited about the lack of gravitational limitation, wondering if I could perform a flip mid air...like I was in a swimming pool. Weightless is enough of a carrot to make me store the memory close enough to the surface where it could be retrieved on demand.
My mother took me to a medium once when we lived in Colorado. The medium said that I had many lines that clogged my mind, she said I didn't know which path I was supposed to take and I was searching for the meaning of me and what I was supposed to do. Man, was she ever correct. She went on to tell me that I was a fat circus boy in a previous life that was bit by a snake that was left unattended by a lazy snake charmer who was taking a nap. They called me rollie pollie. Well that figures.... I do have a horrible, paralyzing fear of snakes.
I took a mental and physical break from meta-physical theory. Have children, go to school, find myself. Then...things happen in life. Things that everyone goes through eventually. My father is taken from me. I can only hope that everything I believe is true. He is happy...he exists somewhere, in spirit, in soul. I actually feel him with me for months after he passes away. I feel my eyes well up with tears and then a calmness come over me that these aren't the feelings I should be feeling. The tears dry on their own, before they even spill. I think, I must be strong because of my sisters, because I have security, because my sons cannot ever feel insecurity because they see or feel me crying. I know he is reaching into my heart and putting himself in my sub conscience, telling me to move on and live the life that I am so lucky to have.
My heart was heavy for quite a while until one day when I realized it wasn't heavy anymore and it hadn't been for a little while. I just didn't notice because I wasn't paying attention, because I was ready to fly solo.
You start to heal and life decides to deal you another blow. Michael dies. Michael, my brother, tortured soul, beautiful man. My ex husband used to accuse me of being in love with him, my sister's and I would laugh over this. It became a long standing joke between Michael and I. I would pretend to lust for him, one time accidentally giving myself a haircut that looks startling like my sister's. I pretend that I did this on purpose to win his love. He tells me I am 'completely out of my mind', then lights his cigarette and contemplates what I would have thought of him if I had seen him years earlier during an interview in Tokyo. I assure him I am only attracted to losers and if he was doing anything besides losing, I wouldn't be attracted to him. To this.. he laughs.
Michael passing has shattered things a bit. My sister is shocking me with her ability to wake up and function on a daily basis. She is beautiful and sad. She thinks of everything to do to prevent her kids from suffering. I contemplate moving to her and becoming her pseudo husband. It isn't the right thing to do right now.
Michael is doing things everyday to grasp her attention, she is aware of it.... It seems that every aspect of his departure was written in the sand. At the rate my sister is going, the puzzle pieces will be picked back up and put in place by the end of the year... some pieces will be missing forever. I am thrust into meta-physical thinking once again, I guess to be closer to the ones I love. I am acutely aware of all subtle feelings. We all are now. Messages are neon signs rather than smoke signals.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
My perceptions of social media.
Social media was one of the topics at a meeting I attended today with a group of the finest educators in the North Country. It was a short, three minute blip that went a little something like this, "As an educator, be warned that if you are 'friending' students, do this at your own risk. That is all."
I sit there, an educator, with a Master's degree in Instructional Technology and a Facebook account that contains more student 'friends' than any other educator in my school, and I am a believer that nobody is more aware of the risks and gains that are made by lending these students the means to have this closer proximity to my views, my life, and my family. Why do I put myself at risk?
Each morning, when I walk through my classroom door, as a teacher, everything you say and everything you do always has a cost/benefit analysis attached to it. We watch our words, we watch our phrases, the way we dress, the way we smile, and the way we come across from bell one to bell nine. It never ends at bell nine though, it doesn't end on the drive home, for me, it never ends.
Did I know that becoming a teacher was going to define me as a human being on a twenty four hour basis? Nah...Some would argue with that statement. Some would say that they have a private life, and we do, but where is that line? Where is the line between public life and private life?
My school is small, K-12, 600 students or so. My community is small, my connections in this community are limitless. This community is beyond any "seven degrees to Kevin Bacon" game you could ever imagine. Everybody is connected in several ways, which makes it impossible to ever believe that you just go home and take the teacher hat off. It does not happen. They walk by my house, they knock on my door to sell their latest fund raising item, they are here interacting with my children, they are at church, they are at the store, the gas station, the fire department, the post office... we are essentially all forever connected. A little more about my community... a majority of it is poor. We do our best to watch out for each other, help each other, cry for each other, and will do this forever and always, because it is what we do. I am a nurturer and this is not limited to my biological children.
So I am here, arguing that I can handle granting access to my students into my life. Because my life is me, Ms. DeMarse. This all comes down to a social identity and how it is shaped, which has been completely turned upside down when social networking sites, like Facebook, came into existence.
Social Identity is now a freshly new enigma. It used to be shaped by your character, your choices, the peers you choose as your circle, and how you presented yourself appearance wise. You had complete control of your social identity. Now, we introduce Facebook. Your social identity is no longer as sacred as people would imagine. The social identity is now shaped by the people that are on your friend's list, the people that are on their friend's list, the comments your friends leave on your wall, and the pictures you may be tagged in. Some would say that your social identity is no longer shaped by your own choices, but the choices of your Facebook friends.
Why were we, the educators, warned today? The warning doesn't lie within the social networking sites themselves, but, the choices of the people that hold the accounts. Would I go around advocating to other educators, especially new teachers, to open their Facebook accounts to their students? Definitely not. Educators are human, humans make mistakes, it is our nature. Most humans lack the foresight to manage every curveball that came their way (but wasn't thrown by them). For instance, first mistake.... posting pictures that depict partying, drinking, etc. The photos that would not be desirable on a teacher's Facebook. The teacher may not have posted them, but other's may have the ability to post those pictures and 'tag' the account holder, inadvertently making it a part of your social identity. I never worry about this, because I would rather be with my children than partaking in the scenes where these pictures are taken. If these photos don't and never will exist, you might be able to manage a student accessible Facebook account.
My students know me, they know me well. It is the way it is in our community, and I am a personal person. They sometimes know what I had for dinner the night before because I told them, I guess I don't feel like my life needs to be completely private after bell nine. My personal connection with my students lends so much success to them academically. It truly does. It must sound strange, but, there are no shocking revelations in my classroom, it is me and them. They learn, we laugh, they are honest with me, I am honest with them. I know that some of my students are in desperate need for positive adult interaction, and with me, they get it. Their accessibility to me is something they can count on and although not all of them need it, they have assurance that I am there for them and there is an element of safety in their life that they might not have elsewhere. My Facebook has no curse words, no inappropriate literature, links, etc. It is just me. A happy, loving, mother, teacher, folk singer, and shoulder to cry on. It is my platform because I chose it.
So am I completely safe with my Facebook? Well... Am I completely safe in my classroom, or at the post office, or at the market? To me, it is all the same. I monitor it to make sure that my social identity is not being created for me, I have deleted things that I wouldn't want to be associated with, it is what it is.
I do not go looking for students to 'friend', they find me. They 'friend', I decide whether or not to accept, and most of the time do. I have the foresight to stay out of a sticky situation and believe that this is enough.
I am truly awed and amazed by the strength of Facebook and could not imagine being out of the loop of the people in my growing circle. I hope someday that the unknown risks will be well defined and more easily avoided, the problem is, right now, it is impossible to outline all the risks and have a plan of defense because it is still such a new means of social interaction. Even with Facebook, I still feel that there is an arms length between me and my students. I know what is inappropriate and what is not and I respect all elements that should be respected. I do love a little insight on the lives of the people in my circle and learn new things everyday. I would like to say that I am home, on Facebook, still providing a positive role model to my students on endless levels inside and outside of the classroom. For me, this is how it will be till I am told otherwise.
I sit there, an educator, with a Master's degree in Instructional Technology and a Facebook account that contains more student 'friends' than any other educator in my school, and I am a believer that nobody is more aware of the risks and gains that are made by lending these students the means to have this closer proximity to my views, my life, and my family. Why do I put myself at risk?
Each morning, when I walk through my classroom door, as a teacher, everything you say and everything you do always has a cost/benefit analysis attached to it. We watch our words, we watch our phrases, the way we dress, the way we smile, and the way we come across from bell one to bell nine. It never ends at bell nine though, it doesn't end on the drive home, for me, it never ends.
Did I know that becoming a teacher was going to define me as a human being on a twenty four hour basis? Nah...Some would argue with that statement. Some would say that they have a private life, and we do, but where is that line? Where is the line between public life and private life?
My school is small, K-12, 600 students or so. My community is small, my connections in this community are limitless. This community is beyond any "seven degrees to Kevin Bacon" game you could ever imagine. Everybody is connected in several ways, which makes it impossible to ever believe that you just go home and take the teacher hat off. It does not happen. They walk by my house, they knock on my door to sell their latest fund raising item, they are here interacting with my children, they are at church, they are at the store, the gas station, the fire department, the post office... we are essentially all forever connected. A little more about my community... a majority of it is poor. We do our best to watch out for each other, help each other, cry for each other, and will do this forever and always, because it is what we do. I am a nurturer and this is not limited to my biological children.
So I am here, arguing that I can handle granting access to my students into my life. Because my life is me, Ms. DeMarse. This all comes down to a social identity and how it is shaped, which has been completely turned upside down when social networking sites, like Facebook, came into existence.
Social Identity is now a freshly new enigma. It used to be shaped by your character, your choices, the peers you choose as your circle, and how you presented yourself appearance wise. You had complete control of your social identity. Now, we introduce Facebook. Your social identity is no longer as sacred as people would imagine. The social identity is now shaped by the people that are on your friend's list, the people that are on their friend's list, the comments your friends leave on your wall, and the pictures you may be tagged in. Some would say that your social identity is no longer shaped by your own choices, but the choices of your Facebook friends.
Why were we, the educators, warned today? The warning doesn't lie within the social networking sites themselves, but, the choices of the people that hold the accounts. Would I go around advocating to other educators, especially new teachers, to open their Facebook accounts to their students? Definitely not. Educators are human, humans make mistakes, it is our nature. Most humans lack the foresight to manage every curveball that came their way (but wasn't thrown by them). For instance, first mistake.... posting pictures that depict partying, drinking, etc. The photos that would not be desirable on a teacher's Facebook. The teacher may not have posted them, but other's may have the ability to post those pictures and 'tag' the account holder, inadvertently making it a part of your social identity. I never worry about this, because I would rather be with my children than partaking in the scenes where these pictures are taken. If these photos don't and never will exist, you might be able to manage a student accessible Facebook account.
My students know me, they know me well. It is the way it is in our community, and I am a personal person. They sometimes know what I had for dinner the night before because I told them, I guess I don't feel like my life needs to be completely private after bell nine. My personal connection with my students lends so much success to them academically. It truly does. It must sound strange, but, there are no shocking revelations in my classroom, it is me and them. They learn, we laugh, they are honest with me, I am honest with them. I know that some of my students are in desperate need for positive adult interaction, and with me, they get it. Their accessibility to me is something they can count on and although not all of them need it, they have assurance that I am there for them and there is an element of safety in their life that they might not have elsewhere. My Facebook has no curse words, no inappropriate literature, links, etc. It is just me. A happy, loving, mother, teacher, folk singer, and shoulder to cry on. It is my platform because I chose it.
So am I completely safe with my Facebook? Well... Am I completely safe in my classroom, or at the post office, or at the market? To me, it is all the same. I monitor it to make sure that my social identity is not being created for me, I have deleted things that I wouldn't want to be associated with, it is what it is.
I do not go looking for students to 'friend', they find me. They 'friend', I decide whether or not to accept, and most of the time do. I have the foresight to stay out of a sticky situation and believe that this is enough.
I am truly awed and amazed by the strength of Facebook and could not imagine being out of the loop of the people in my growing circle. I hope someday that the unknown risks will be well defined and more easily avoided, the problem is, right now, it is impossible to outline all the risks and have a plan of defense because it is still such a new means of social interaction. Even with Facebook, I still feel that there is an arms length between me and my students. I know what is inappropriate and what is not and I respect all elements that should be respected. I do love a little insight on the lives of the people in my circle and learn new things everyday. I would like to say that I am home, on Facebook, still providing a positive role model to my students on endless levels inside and outside of the classroom. For me, this is how it will be till I am told otherwise.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
angels among us.
Luke and I had an apartment on Holcomb Street. I loved this apartment. It had cathedral ceilings, a brick fireplace, and windows from floor to ceiling. It was going to take a natural disaster to get me to ever leave this place. We were living beautiful but also in poverty. It was me and Luke, I was a full-time student, waitressed part-time at Pizza Hut, and had every benefit the state could offer. We got by but if anything unexpected happened, we were screwed.
Tracy moved in with me in 2002. Tracy and a little one-year old Charisma who lit up every room with the brightest happiest smile and an unbelievable laugh. Life's crap held nothing to Charisma, she was a beacon for everybody. I could not wait to get home and do things with her. We got into this ritual of my daily water bottle. I had a big yellow wheelie backpack with a side pocket for a water bottle. I would get a bottle of water, take a few sips and leave it in the pocket. When I got home, Charisma would run for my bag to claim the rest of the water bottle. I would buy one even if I wasn't thirsty so it would be there for Charisma when I got home.
My grandfather passed away early on in the year. It was freezing temperatures out at this time, a string of -30 degrees Fahrenheit every night. The apartment didn't heat well, so it was prudent that we kept the door shut tight and blankets handy at all times. Jaime was flying in from North Carolina for Grandpa's funeral and we were all excited. She was staying with us. Danielle was on her way from Vermont with her new husband that no one has met yet. We had plans to go to Syracuse to pick up Jaime from the airport. I get home from school to unsettling news. Luke had broken a window in the living room and the entire place was so cold we could see our breath. We had an hour before we needed to leave to get Jaime so my idea was to get plastic for the window to seal it. Using a hairdryer to heat the window sill to get the adhesive to work, we were able to get the window sealed and it worked.
We picked up Jaime and came home to settle in. The next day was calling hours, we were expected to spend the day at the funeral home. My Aunts had called to say that they planned to come spend the day watching our children at my apartment. They are always thinking of these things before we do. They meet us at the house the next day and promise our kids will be in good care.
12 hours of meeting people, shaking hands, crying.... We arrive home around 9:30pm. The house has been cleaned from top to bottom, the window had been fixed, and the cupboards have been filled with food. I forget that this is what they do... they are angels. You do not have to be a spirit to be angel, you can be an angel present. It was an emotional homecoming for me because they were making ends meet for us and relieving stress in any way that they could. I remember a time when they showed up at my Mother's home when I was very young, possibly 5 or 6. My mom struggled and they showed up with a trunk of groceries. Loads and loads of groceries. I remember when I first moved home from Boston and found a little house for me and Luke. I couldn't move in till I cleaned the house from top to bottom. I arrived to the empty house after a long day at work to find my Aunt Linda finishing her long day of cleaning my house. If there is a crisis and we need to drive out of state, they show up with gas money and a shoulder to cry on.
I don't think it is as much as they unexpected relief, but the knowledge that someone has your back. My mother is the same way... she blindly hands out anything she has (and sometimes what she doesn't have). What do you say to someone who gives you and your children security? Thank you never seems like enough. I hope I can someday compare to that kind of love.
Tracy moved in with me in 2002. Tracy and a little one-year old Charisma who lit up every room with the brightest happiest smile and an unbelievable laugh. Life's crap held nothing to Charisma, she was a beacon for everybody. I could not wait to get home and do things with her. We got into this ritual of my daily water bottle. I had a big yellow wheelie backpack with a side pocket for a water bottle. I would get a bottle of water, take a few sips and leave it in the pocket. When I got home, Charisma would run for my bag to claim the rest of the water bottle. I would buy one even if I wasn't thirsty so it would be there for Charisma when I got home.
My grandfather passed away early on in the year. It was freezing temperatures out at this time, a string of -30 degrees Fahrenheit every night. The apartment didn't heat well, so it was prudent that we kept the door shut tight and blankets handy at all times. Jaime was flying in from North Carolina for Grandpa's funeral and we were all excited. She was staying with us. Danielle was on her way from Vermont with her new husband that no one has met yet. We had plans to go to Syracuse to pick up Jaime from the airport. I get home from school to unsettling news. Luke had broken a window in the living room and the entire place was so cold we could see our breath. We had an hour before we needed to leave to get Jaime so my idea was to get plastic for the window to seal it. Using a hairdryer to heat the window sill to get the adhesive to work, we were able to get the window sealed and it worked.
We picked up Jaime and came home to settle in. The next day was calling hours, we were expected to spend the day at the funeral home. My Aunts had called to say that they planned to come spend the day watching our children at my apartment. They are always thinking of these things before we do. They meet us at the house the next day and promise our kids will be in good care.
12 hours of meeting people, shaking hands, crying.... We arrive home around 9:30pm. The house has been cleaned from top to bottom, the window had been fixed, and the cupboards have been filled with food. I forget that this is what they do... they are angels. You do not have to be a spirit to be angel, you can be an angel present. It was an emotional homecoming for me because they were making ends meet for us and relieving stress in any way that they could. I remember a time when they showed up at my Mother's home when I was very young, possibly 5 or 6. My mom struggled and they showed up with a trunk of groceries. Loads and loads of groceries. I remember when I first moved home from Boston and found a little house for me and Luke. I couldn't move in till I cleaned the house from top to bottom. I arrived to the empty house after a long day at work to find my Aunt Linda finishing her long day of cleaning my house. If there is a crisis and we need to drive out of state, they show up with gas money and a shoulder to cry on.
I don't think it is as much as they unexpected relief, but the knowledge that someone has your back. My mother is the same way... she blindly hands out anything she has (and sometimes what she doesn't have). What do you say to someone who gives you and your children security? Thank you never seems like enough. I hope I can someday compare to that kind of love.
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