Am I a Teacher Yet?

I keep jokingly asking this question when various little things happen:

• The moment I realized I was pondering the adhesive and cohesive properties of water instead of bitching about the rain
• Finding literally hundreds of resources online and sorting through them all
• Going through a store and at least 5 different things trigger the thought of “ooh, I could use this in my classroom…”
• Looking at my desk in the front of the room , realizing that it’s covered in lesson plans, graphic organizers and COFFEE.
• Realizing that this job may in fact turn me into a coffee drinker
• Probably the most important bit… finally having coworkers to commiserate with. Teacher-friends through my Fellows program. It wasn’t until I was watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy that I realized how much I craved professional friends. People who got it. People who shared my dreams and goals and frustrations. People who understand what an accomplishment it really is when you finally get that difficult kid to participate, or the importance of squeaking in a snack on your prep.

But ultimately, it isn’t any of that. It was the moment I realized I’ve taken this huge step to finally do something that makes me happy. To do something bigger than myself. To make the growth of others into my life’s work. 

The moment when I realize that we are all busting our asses and spending time drying each other’s tears because we know how much those kids are counting on us. Because we know that they can’t afford for us to be bad at this. To be in a profession driven by compassion and intelligence…

I am a teacher.

Wait, I’m Latina now?

Because it’s too odd not to share, and because I’m procrastinating…

Sunday at Pride, I was talking with a friend of a friend, who is also a new teacher, but in Newark, NJ. We got to talking about cultural differences and such, and I mentioned a book they told us about in grad school – We Can’t Teach What We Don’t Know – White Teachers in a Multicultural Classroom. She looks at me dumbfounded and finally says “Wait, you’re white?” That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten THAT. I looked at her equally dumbfounded and asked “Well, yeah, what did you think I was?” She thought I was Latina, and her sole reason for this assumption? My curves. Nope, I am not a twig. I am, as a coworker once said “broad where a broad should be broad.” I have an ass, and according to my mother, she has no idea where I get my boobs from but it’s not from her. It’s true – nobody else on my mom’s side has particularly large breasts.

A little while goes by and a float labeled something like “Latina Pride” adorned with drag queens comes by. They are wearing various sashes – Columbia, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic… and Italy. Italy?!?!?! So wait, I AM Latina? I’m confused.

So I shared this hilarity with some coworkers out for drinks the other night. And the response I got from one (before I could even mention the previous comment about my curves) was “Well yeah, it’s cuz you got a booty.”

I. don’t. get. it.

Too Much

How do you deal with it when you feel like everything is happening at the same time, and you can’t possibly please all of your masters? And all of it is actually important.

How do you realistically look at ALL you have to do and make a plan to get it done without losing your mind?

Gratitudes 7/4/13

I’m grateful to my ex, who gave me the idea of keeping this journal. Not only is it a good exercise in and of itself, it’s great to have on days like this when I feel lousy, to remind me just how amazing my life really is.

I’m grateful that I chose to pursue this career via a path that provides helpful mentors and supportive colleagues. Though I think I’m done playing “Never Have I Ever” at the bar. This support network was something I had felt so sorely lacking in my last job, but it took me years to figure out what it was. I guess we really do go through all our experiences for a reason, or else I’m not sure if I’d appreciate this on the same level.

I’m grateful that I continue on my journey to find myself every day, and that I possess the skills and ability for constant reflection, introspection and improvement. It’s a vision that not all have.

Popularity

It’s a funny thing.

For starters, it has taken me a very long time to acknowledge that this was even a thing in my life. I was an outcast as a kid. I was awkward and odd looking and really wasn’t popular. Junior high, cruel as it is, didn’t help any. I can recall thinking of suicide, though thankfully the thought of at least my family missing me put that to a stop.

So it’s weird when I look at myself now, and days like today. I have literally hundreds of friends. A handful of what I would consider close friends. 

Usually my social calendar is obnoxiously busy. I literally have to pencil people in and make plans months in advance if I have any prayer of seeing people. And yet, either nobody is hosting anything today for the holiday (and going elsewhere with people in their other circles I don’t know?) Or do they assume that I’ve already got plans, being the social butterfly that I am?

Whatever. I need sleep anyway.

Pride

Things that made me smile:

• Drag queens with amazing outfits, who can walk better in those shoes than I ever could
• Getting covered in glitter
• Dancing and screaming and singing as the various floats went by
• Being surrounded by thousands of people like me, and thousands more who aren’t, but love us anyway.

Things that made me cry

• Edie Windsor, who brought the landmark lawsuit that ultimately brought down DOMA. She had a huge bouquet of white roses. Maybe it was my imagination, but I’d swear they were for her partner, Thea. I screamed “Thank you, Edie.” I don’t know if she heard me, but I got to say it.
• The kid with the wagon that read “my two mommies are helping me fight cancer”
• The small but proud group of marchers who were there for the very first march, commemorating the one year anniversary of Stonewall.

My first Pride, but certainly not my last. It was a great day.