Post #1

To start with:

My sincere apologies for not keeping in touch with any of you, and I mean that without exaggeration. I've hardly spoken to my parents, let alone friends from camp, home, school, etc. When I say I have time I don't mean that I'm working from the moment I wake up to the moment my head hits the pillow (though this does occur at least once a week). More so, in the hour or two of free time I'm lucky to find or make each day, I can't bring myself to talk on the phone. Part of it might be a lack of desire to speak based on being in front of a class all day; another just in the fact that I've so much to tell each and every one of you that I just don't have the time catch you up. So consider this blog my attempts at the two hour long phone conversation that would necessarily preface any relaying of any of my even remotely current news. 

But let me start with this: I came home Friday night, ready to plop down on the couch and read the new book that I bought, when I realized I'd forgotten it at school. It's surprising how much this annoyed me, to the extent that I debated between going out and buying a brand new one, or driving the twenty minutes back to school through dusty heat and heaving traffic. In the end, I biked back to school, despite being so physically beat. Something about the prospects of not having the book for this weekend just bothered me; it might be that, given my lack of recent travel or free time, that book represents my one and only chance at escapism, however brief it might be. 

My school: West Denver Preparatory Charter School, or West Denver Prep for short. If you want more than the brief rundown, history statistics, etc. are listed on the website. For those in desire of abbreviation: opened in 2006, achieves really extraordinary test results, serves a mostly poor, mostly Hispanic middle school population, and is a remarkably exciting place to be working at. In shorter, it's probably one of the more exemplary charter school models in the United States, and I can't tell you how lucky I am to be working there. 

I teach 6th grade reading. It's fun. And not at all fun at times. As a school focused on the skills that students need for college, teaching can sometimes come at the detriment of intellectual exploration, or even discussion. It's this crucial piece I find myself missing so much, particularly coming straight from English and anthropology degrees. At the same time, I feel lucky to be in a classroom with virtually no behavior management issues, with kids who really want to learn. We get to do awesome stuff. We get to have a lot of fun. We get to make Justin Bieber jokes and eat Hot Cheetos. 

Things so far have been terrific. My students averaged a 90% on their first RAP (regular assessment period, essentially a mini-final held six times a year). Outside of the classroom I've been able to start interesting discussions, and a majority of the kids seem to really love reading. But I suppose as I reflect on the past six weeks, I realize I've yet to ask myself what I want my kids to get out of reading class. High standardized test scores? A's on all of their exams? Acceptance into good public high schools and better colleges and universities? All of these, of course. But what I'd love to see more than anything else, is ten years down the line, one of my students biking from their house to work in 90 degree heat and stifling traffic just because they forgot the book they happen to be reading at the time. 

Speaking of which, it doesn't rain in Denver. I feel like I'm in Kenya again - the consistency of the forecast (high-80s and sunny) reminds me of Nietzsche: "How, if some day or night a demon were to sneak after you...and say to you, 'This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it...' If this thought were to gain possession of you, it would change you, as you are, or perhaps crush you. The question in each and every thing, 'Do you want this once more and innumerable times more' would weigh upon your actions as the greatest stress. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal." The answer: more disposed than I am, and I'm applying this to weather. The two days (!!!) that it's been overcast for more than half an hour have been true breaths of fresh (cool) air, and I find myself craving winter weather so intensely. Perhaps it's just the guilt of not being able to go outside and actually enjoy the sunshine; I've gone from the college student looking up in pity at the people in big office buildings to the teacher in a big school/his house looking out at the people with 9-5 jobs and craving nothing more than a straight 8 hour work day. Which is indeed my only complaint of the job. My regular hours: 6:20-5:30 or 6. Saturdays off. Work all Sunday. Coupled with random Teach for America training for 3 hours at night. And while the work is true and good, it grows to be scary when you wake up continuing mid sentence the thought you were thinking as you fell asleep, and even scarier when that thought (How can I invest this kid? How can I teach this term? etc.) is the same every night. The blurring of days on vacation is a sweet privilege of free time. The blurring of days during the workweek is how one finds oneself so suddenly be two years older with little recollection of how much or what nature of time has passed. Which is my resolution to myself: enjoying things more, leaving the house more, wanting to do something other than sleep and sit in my free time more (my apologies, makers of the my 500 missed phone calls).

Too pressed on time for coherence, I will end quite simply like this: I may not ever have twenty minutes in which to write again, in which case if you do not hear from me over this blog again, you may try to reach me over cell, where I can guarantee nothing at all.