Sunday, December 20, 2009

Got a Shovel?

About 20 inches of snow fell on us yesterday (I don't know the official number yet), the biggest snowstorm of my life. It was exciting and a little novel to feel like I couldn't go out at all. My roommate, who is both more adventurous than me and in possession of a large SUV, ventured out and returned with reports of seeing cars stuck all over the roads.

It was pretty great to have an excuse to stay in, pool food with our friends next door, and eat, talk, watch movies, and read books the past couple of days. I am feeling well-rested and relaxed, despite having spent a good hour (hour and a half maybe) shoveling our cars out today and 45 minutes shoveling the walk last night. It did take some negotiating to get ourselves a shovel--it turns out none of us had a good one (really bright of us), and shovels were in high demand in our neighborhood today! It was kind of fun to walk outside and see half the neighborhood working on a common task: move the pile behind your car (created by the oh-so-helpful snow plow) and toss the snow in the least obstructive place, such as the lawn or the island in the middle of the parking lot.

At this point, I'm waiting to see if I'll still have to work tomorrow. I'm normally a big fan of snow days, as they seem like a gift: if we only have our pre-scheduled three per year, we never have to make them up. After two days inside and lots of rest, I'm ready to get out again. Who thought I'd ever say that?

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Ward Christmas Party

Last night was our ward Christmas party. For those unfamiliar with Mormon-speak, "ward" is the equivalent of a parish.

For the past few years, I've been attending a singles' congregation. It is only since January that I've reverted to what is called a "family ward" ( i.e. NOT a singles' congregation). My ward is great: lots of young families, many who work for the state department, are highly educated, speak multiple languages, and are genuinely interesting and curious people. People here are friendly and welcoming, and I have enjoyed seeing children, teenagers, and older adults at church again.

The flip side? Our ward has an unusually large number of small kids, and sometimes, it can get CRAZY! Last night was no exception. I walked into the "cultural hall" (i.e.--the gym, with a stage in the back) where the dinner was held, and it was packed with people and extremely loud. The food was already largely picked over by the time we got to the front of the line. Kids were running all over the place.

Not long after we had eaten, it was time for the program to begin. The MC tried to begin several times, then finally had to plead with the group, "Parents, please gather your children to your table so we can begin." The program consisted of a couple of numbers of little girls prancing around the stage, off-time, to various Christmas carols (apparently, this was classified as "ballet") and some choral arrangements.

Does this description seem negative? It shouldn't. What I'm trying to convey is that being in my ward is a macrocosm of growing up in any big mormon family: loud, chaotic, fast-paced, and fun. I feel like I've come home!

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving! I love that you get two days off, I love that the holiday is centered entirely on food and family, and I love that the combination of increased leisure time, food, and family seems to make people universally happy.

I still remember our Thanksgiving program from kindergarten. That would be back in November, 1983. Isn't that amazing? 26 years ago already. What I remember is my statement, "I'm thankful for my family and my dog." And I was! I remember feeling confident that I had included everything important in that statement: all the living, breathing beings that meant so much to me.

And I still feel that way, even though Josh, the dog mentioned, passed away nearly 20 years ago, and while since then I have had three siblings born, gained two great brothers-in-law, and now have two beautiful nephews. What would life be like without the unconditional love and support of families? Besides feeling protected and cherished, I can honestly say that they are my best friends and the people I most love to spend time with.

I am grateful for a job that I love. There are moments of intense frustration and times when I feel overworked and underappreciated (I admit I sometimes have to fight back my inner drama queen), but these are often reminders of how invested I am in my work. I feel privileged to work with students whose lives have so recently been turned upside down by moving to a new country and trying to navigate the perils of adolescence with the added stress of a new culture and language. These students are amazing for their resilience and survival skills, but also their gratitude and compassion.

Finally, I feel enormously blessed by my faith as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The joy I have felt in seeking to become more Christ-like, the refinement I have felt as I have tried to overcome my own faults, and the perspective I have been given on the meaning of life and the relative importance of what happens every day, have molded me and made me who I am.


Sunday, November 8, 2009

On Plagiarism

I heart Malcolm Gladwell. He's not only extremely readable, he's also so original in the angle he takes on a story. I've been reading What the Dog Saw, a collection of his previous publications from The New Yorker. The book takes its title from an article begun as a study of Cesar Millan of "Dog Whisperer" fame; Gladwell realized somewhere in the writing process that writing about what the dog sees and experiences is invariably more interesting than a straightforward biographical piece. As he says himself in his introduction, "Good writing does not succeed or fail on the strength of its ability to persuade. Not the kind of writing that you'll find in this book, anyway. It succeeds or fails on the strength of its ability to engage you, to make you think, to give you a glimpse into someone else's head--even if in the end you conclude that someone else's head is not a place you'd really like to be."

With that shining endorsement, here's a brilliant paragraph from "Something Borrowed," an article examining what we have culturally determined to constitute plagiarism:

"And this is the second problem with plagiarism. It is not merely extremist. It has also become disconnected from the broader question of what does and does not inhibit creativity. We accept the right of one writer to engage in a full-scale knockoff of another--think how many serial-killer novels have been cloned from The Silence of the Lambs. Yet, when Kathy Acker incorporated parts of a Harold Robbins sex scene verbatim in a satiric novel, she was denounced as a plagiarist (and threatened with a lawsuit."

Well said. I would add that, while I certainly understand the need to protect intellectual property to encourage innovation (as does Gladwell), I find the extreme reactions to plagiarism in our culture to be almost puritanical in the scope of their moral condemnation. In the academic world (where, admittedly, plagiarism is contextually more serious than in the example cited above), plagiarism is the highest crime, assuring that the perpetrator wears the equivalent of a large, red "P" for plagiarist. Considering how stringent we are in our definitions of plagiarism and how easy it might be for a scholar immersed in hundreds of articles, without perhaps the best sense of organization, to inadvertently borrow some information, this reaction seems extreme. Is plagiarism really the great evil we make it out to be?

Cate Blanchett at the Kennedy Center

Last night I saw Cate Blanchett as the lead in a traveling production of "A Street Car Named Desire" performed at the Kennedy Center. It was a breathtaking performance and an incredible production. Even after having seen Blanchett perform masterfully in variety of movie roles, I was amazed by the range of her performance, portraying the complex and tormented Blanche with power and abandon, yet never straying into melodrama. The experience was incredibly enjoyable as well, and worth the $68 tickets (front row of the balcony).

Now that I've made my attempt at a review, I feel the need to admit my extremely paltry experience with theater of any kind. In spite of my literary pretensions, I don't believe I have read more than two works by any playwright besides Shakespeare. I have seen even less live performances than I have read, and a significant portion of those were high school productions where I saw my little sisters perform. So as a conclusion to my remarks, I feel the need to quote Homer Simpson's reaction to viewing "Planet of the Apes: The Musical": "Ooh, I just love legitimate theater!"

Friday, November 6, 2009

More Funny Language Errors!

I made a language faux pas (pronounce it "fox paws" and make yourself laugh even more):
I wrote about how teaching perfectly was "illusive" due to the nature of data collection in education in my last post. Oops! I meant "elusive." Hey, I don't have an editor, okay?

Monday, November 2, 2009

In Her Own Words: A Student Tells About Immigration

Unedited student essay on the topic, "What are some reasons that people immigrate to the United States? You can use your own personal experiences in your writing." (When noting her tendency to run-on sentences and fragments, keep in mind that the student had interrupted schooling in her home country, as she alludes to).

"The people come to United States to find a good job because maybe in their country there are not works and the people can not buy food because each day is more expensive and they decide to come on here to work hard and send money for their families because with one day that they work here is how if worked one week in their country.

"Also, the people come to find a better education for their childrens, because in his country the children do not have a better education because his family do not have money to buy the books shoes or them uniform to go to school, and also they do not have money, to give them, to buy food in the school. And the childrens do not want to go to school. They want that his childrens are here. because this country is the country of the oportunities. For the immigrants to be someone in the life."

Sunday, November 1, 2009

October 25, 2009--Great Falls





Lest I Should Become Too Arrogant

There's really little chance of that happening! I have a firm enough grip on reality--and enough of a sense of humor--to realize how weak I am in terms of self-discipline and how ridiculous I can be sometimes! However, just in case I should veer too far in the direction of self-promotion, I like to share stories celebrating my latest foibles.

Enough of an introduction: here's the story. I like to use a wide vocabulary, although I like to flatter myself that it isn't because of any pretension on my part but rather due to a taste for precision in language. So yesterday I had a verbal mishap (which actually isn't all that rare on my part, like the time I mixed "somnolent" and "soporific" to coin the new term "somnorific").

It's not really even a rare word, but I was using "incongruous" to describe something to friends the other day in the car. I pronounced it with the heaviest accent on the "u" (penultimate) syllable. My friend Jessi immediately answered, "I thought it was inCONgruous."

"Really?" I said neutrally. "I thought it was "incongrUous, but I could be wrong." The whole time, I felt pretty smug, certain that I was actually right, but taking the moral high ground and deciding not to insist on my correctness. "I'd love to look it up," I added, thinking, "so I could prove how right I really am."

"Well, Paul [her fiance in the front seat] has an iPhone. He can check."

He did, and passed the phone back to me. The first source listed "inCONGruous." I checked another one. "inCONgruous." A third source: "inCONgruous."

"Well, it looks like you're right," I said, grateful I had been so "gracious" in declining to insist on the way I thought it was pronounced.

Later that day I saw another friend, and asked, "How do you pronounce the word spelled 'I-N-C-O-N-G-R-U-O-U-S?"

"In CONgruous," she answered, without skipping a beat.

So that's what you get for relishing Bush-isms, Palin-isms, and any other malapropisms: an unwelcome reminder that, if you had the fame and the camera time, you could easily coin some "isms" of your own.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Un-quantifiable

My job is great. I wake up excited and challenged: how can I teach my students, all learning English as another language, as much as possible during the coming day? They need, in varying degrees, extensive vocabulary, instruction in English syntax, exposure to English written and spoken text, practice writing and speaking, background knowledge in academic subjects, support in study skills, and perhaps even a basic literacy, which is sometimes lacking in their first language. There is so much to do every day, and I almost feel like new techniques, research, and ideas have been crammed down my throat since I entered this field. There is no question that all these ideas and creative ways of helping kids learn is exciting and keeps things interesting--but I often finish a class and ask myself, "Was that really the best way to do that? Would X, Y, or Z work better?" And the frustrating part is that I'll never know: education being what it is, I will never have the same number of students from the same backgrounds with the same interests and the same proficiency. There is no way to control for all of that, and so truly quantifying what works best is elusive. On occasion I have a hunch that I should have done something differently, or sometimes I'll think what I tried worked out just great, but beyond my intuition, I have little to go on.

For example, I have read repeated reports that reading aloud to students is beneficial. But it takes a significant chunk of class time, and if I also implement independent reading, paired reading, reading strategies instruction, process writing, writing conferences, various models of vocabulary instruction, group presentations, and critical-thinking seminars, how can I possibly make it all fit together in any way that does not seem totally frenetic? I do what I can, but I am constantly wondering if the activities are in the right proportions and presented at the right moment.

At times I think perhaps the answer is meta-analysis: taking huge numbers of data from schools teaching every imaginable type of student, dumping the data into a computer with advanced logarithms (can you tell I have no stats background and have no clue what I'm talking about?) and then coming up with incontrovertible evidence about certain practices that work best based on the sheer breadth of the data.

One of the most compelling arguments I have ever had presented to me in education was a huge meta-analysis of studies investigating the best method of instructing English Language Learners. The researchers compiled every study they could find that met certain conditions of size and quality, then did a statistical analysis on the data to conclude, quite powerfully in my mind, that a program promoting a true bilingual education--that is, instruction in students' L1 and L2s--was always more effective than English only immersion. I was astounded: if this was the case, WHY is this not more widely shared? I am amazed at both how the political machinery can cloud the results and how the academic world has done such a poor job of sharing this result with the general public.

Anyway, back to my point: while it would be a slow, tedious process to determine how to analyze all the components of a well-rounded ESOL program in such a way as to find out what works best in which increments, would it be worth it to have more effective instruction? And then I wonder, how boring would THAT be if all my instructional decisions were obliterated and all I had to do was read a script?

Monday, October 19, 2009

$174 million

$174 million--that's how short my school district will be from last year's budget. Here's the best case scenario (still leaving us far short of the deficit):
  • No raises or cost of living increase for teachers (2nd year in a row)
  • Elimination of freshmen sports
  • Class size increases
  • Elimination of foreign languages in elementary school
  • Elimination of full day kindergarten
  • Cuts in school counseling (again), custodial staff (again)
  • Elimination of summer school--this is major for ESOL kids who depend on summer school to catch up on their English credits
  • Elimination of alternative high schools--this is also major for ESOL students: many are older and use these alternative programs to work during the day and study at night
  • Elimination of elementary school music programs
It makes me want to make a career change. With all these disadvantages, schools will still press for improved test scores, with the onus being placed on teachers: work harder, work longer, with no increase in pay and in worse conditions.

I recognize the hardships on every one, including tax payers, but I truly believe, when it comes to education, you pay now, or you pay later. What will it mean for the future of these students if we cut out foreign language and music? What opportunities and talents will be missed? How much will the federal government have to shell out later in essential language training? What will happen to students who drop out because the loss of summer school opportunities or alternative high schools makes graduating from high school in the allotted time totally impossible? How much income will they bring back into the system?

Friday, October 9, 2009

Nobel Peace Prize

I realize Obama's receipt of the Nobel Peace Prize is controversial. Opinions seem to fall neatly into polar camps: those who approve of Obama seem to be at least open to the justification behind the award, while those who disapprove are eager to express their scorn. See? Even that sentence was revealing: I clearly belong to the former camp.

While altruistic, compassionate acts are the very lifeblood of peace, I believe strongly in the power of words both to pacify and to incite, especially the words of those who are in the position to speak to the world. The act of speaking diplomatically is surely difficult to measure, but by the very choice of such a person the committee is making a statement about the importance of language in forming relationships and creating understanding. Yes, no lasting effects have been seen yet, but by the time they have, the impact of those original words may be untraceable.

That's not to say that I don't recognize the controversy. I don't necessarily even agree with the choice. But I find it appealing how unexpected the Nobel Committee's decision was, and how by it's very "huh?" factor it gets people thinking about what peace means and how one's impact on peace can be measured. The choice is provoking, right? And being provoked into thinking about the meaning of peace may not be such a bad thing these days.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Saturday, October 3, 2009

A Few of My Favorite Things

  • Strawberry/Banana/Nutella Crepes
  • Crisp, clear fall days
  • Relaxing in jeans and a sweatshirt with a good book
  • Spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen
  • Dinner with friends
All of the above happened today. It was a good one!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Jared Diamond's "Collapse"

I'm currently reading Jared Diamond's Collapse. He has great prose and is remarkably clear and creative in his arguments. Regarding the environmental damage wreaked by mining companies, then ignored by the government and taxpayers, he says, "Only when the public pressures its politicians into passing laws demanding different behavior from mining companies will the companies behave differently: otherwise, the companies would be operating as charities and would be violating their responsibilities to their shareholders."

Amen! I look for a day when an honest politician could possibly get elected, even when telling us truths that may not be what we want to hear. May the public be wise enough to see beyond the lies of the pundits and the spin-doctors!

Saturday, September 12, 2009

How to Get What You Want--Observations from Someone Not So Good At It

I have a colleague who I admire greatly for all she accomplishes. The number of activities she is able to balance is astonishing: she coaches two sports, heads the debate team, takes part in at least three ESOL professional development committees, volunteers for a girls' after school program, cooks fantastic food, regularly teaches an evening college course, and is a dedicated teacher. I can't even imagine trying to keep up with her!

Whenever I meet someone who I admire, I do something I am decidedly good at: I overanalyze like crazy! So over the past few years as I've known this colleague, I have hypothesized that her success, while partially dependent on her intelligence and energy, is largely owed to a perspective that sees beyond obstacles to the desired result.

Here goes more analysis: she is completely unafraid. She's been going for what she wants for so long that she expects success and has dealt with failure enough times to feel able to cope with it. She doesn't allow excuses or "what ifs" to keep her from what she wants. I am constantly finding reasons why something isn't feasible, from feelings of inadequacy to concerns about being overscheduled, or a sheer lack of drive.

There are certainly cases where what we want is out of reach. But in my current situation, opportunities abound. Why not take what I want?


The High School Switcheroo

In April, I had to choose between staying at my current high school with a schedule split between ESOL and French and going to a new school and staying with ESOL. It was a difficult decision because of the great ESOL department we had (good friends and fantastic teachers who had developed a highly efficient curriculum), but I finally decided that making the move would allow me to better progress in the job I valued most.

After two weeks at my new school (one week prep, one week with students), I keep making obnoxious comparisons between the two, saying things like "At my last school, we . . . ". So as a means of moving beyond such thoughts and comments, I made a comprehensive comparison of the two schools. I am fairly certain this will be unbearably dull to just about everyone, so feel free to skip over it and hope for more interesting posts soon to come!

Old School

New School

Building

More recently renovated,one story means many windowless classrooms. I was stuck on a cart! Hallways are extremely narrow, resulting in crazy human gridlock (which is bad news when you’re on a cart).


More natural light, slightly more run-down. Fewer faculty bathrooms. I HAVE MY OWN CLASSROOM!!! THIS IS HUGE!

Technology

Interactive white-boards, at least on copy machine for each department, numerous lap-top carts.

No interactive white boards, only three fully functioning copy machines on the first floor, laptop carts seem sparse.


IT guys

Won’t speak to you without a formal online tech request, but highly organized and efficient.

Less formal, but they have already forgotten to set my passwords and issued me a laptop with a dead battery.


Security/Building Use Coordinator

Obnoxiously self-important at times; efficient to the point of being OCD.


Seems pretty lax. No attendance forms required during fire drills.

ESOL department

Young, motivated, well-informed group of 7. Larger department means everyone has three preps.

2 of us! I’m department chair, which means new responsibilities. Smaller department means four preps, significantly more work.


ESOL within the school

Most of the faculty is well-informed; principal and assistant principal over ESOL highly aware of ESOL issues.

No one seems to know (or care much) what is going on with ESOL, BUT we do have total autonomy. Counselors seem a bit clueless.


Student body

Highly diverse in terms of race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and language background.


Largely white and higher income.

Potential for influence

Small. ESOL department already ran efficiently and the Biology team, who could have used some ESOL strategies, was not interested.

Larger. While the ESOL department is small, I see the level 1 kids for three periods. Some issues which were perhaps handled inefficiently before can be re-evaluated. Looking to develop relationships with other departments.

Updates!

I'm going to start posting again. First, I thought I'd link to my blog in China. While I was there blogger was blocked, so I had to use another blog site which unfortunately had a less pleasing layout:

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Power of Tests

The above is actually the title of a book written by my Language Testing professor in grad school, Elana Shohamy. Angered by the way our culture bows down to horrible tests, I actually bought a copy of the book on Amazon today. I say "actually" because at the time I was in her course I thought she was brilliant, but a little over the top.

Then I started to write an angry blog about all the flaws in the No Child Left Behind law. Fortunately, before I had wasted too much time, I found an article that expresses many of the same frustrations I feel. While I don't agree with every point the author makes (I fail to see the logic as to how she equates fewer articles on teacher morale, number 14, with lower morale in general), I appreciate how she manages to be both succinct and thorough.

Here it is:

http://nochildleft.com/2006/sept06killing.html


Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Reflections on a Ruined Day

Contrary to popular belief, teaching, at least in my own experience, is not a thankless job. Especially since it's known that I'll be leaving next year, I've been getting a disproportionate amount of praise lately. Students, colleagues, administrators seem to be going out of their way with kind thanks and appreciation.

That background puts bad days like today into perspective. How can you ruin a teacher's day? Ask a student we'll call Jose from my teamed Biology class who succeeded royally in making me feel rotten today. It began as I was looking at Jose's recent exam grades and noting with some satisfaction that he had improved his grade by quite a bit from the last exam. Flipping through the other scantrons, I noticed that the student seated next to him had received an identical grade. I looked more closely: they had missed the same items. I still held some hope that it might be a coincidence--perhaps they were the most difficult items? Unfortunately, they missed the same items with the same wrong responses.

I still felt hesitant about making an accusation of cheating without more than circumstantial proof, so I informed Jose of what I had discovered and told him he would need to retake the test. I explained that both students would need to redo it and that I did not even know if one person had copied without the other's knowledge or who had copied from whom. His reaction? "Why? You don't believe that it is my grade unless I get an F because I am Latino? I don't want to take it again. I did a good job the first time."

I tried to explain to him my rationale, and of course it didn't work. I left in a very bad mood and feeling like a failure. Here we were at the end of the school year, and not only had my student not notably improved, but he was resorting to cheating to get ahead AND refused to take responsibility for it. Worse, his stinging accusation was hard to shake. I began to think of some other Latino students struggling in my classes and had to ask myself: was I unconsciously racist? Were my Latino students doing poorly because I had somehow stacked the odds against them? Images of studies I have read about flashed through my head, such as one mentioned by Malcolm Gladwell in Blink, where people struggle to match positive terms with African American faces as quickly as they can with negative words like "steal" and "bad." How horrifying to feel that you lived free of prejudice, only to discover that in your gut, at the most basic level, your racism overcame your conscious will! I began to understand how damaging reinforcing stereotypes really can be. Every episode you watch of "Law and Order" that portrays petty thugs and gangsters as belonging to a certain race reinforces that stereotype until it takes on a life of its own, overpowering your professed open-mindedness by sheer, mind-numbing repetition.

Still, when I thought through the steps that had led to this confrontation, I had to admit that the evidence was so strong against him that I could not in good conscience have ignored it. But I did not really start feeling better until my last class of the day as I taught my beginning level students. Here my Latino students were universally thriving, and they were also defying stereotypes. There was the student with a limited educational background who had received a surprisingly high reading test score, the polite girl whose vocabulary and grammar had improved so quickly I could not understand where the new words and structures came from, and the class clown whose writing revealed an astonishing depth and sensitivity. I cherish these students because as I have come to know them they become real as people, not Latinos, not even as ESOL students.

What a delicate balance it is between protecting ourselves from being wronged, taken advantage of, and abused, and facing up to constructive criticism and correction. To Jose and all my students I would say never let yourselves be degraded, but always be ready for an opportunity to better yourself, to take correction, and to become refined.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Job Drama

I dislike change. I have always steered away from risks, whether they be physical (no crazy skiing maneuvers), social (I hate throwing parties for fear they'll come out poorly), or professional. And as the known is always less unsettling than the unknown, which of necessity requires some risk, I tend to stick things out until I get shoved out of a situation or it becomes glaringly obvious that it is time to move on. The latter happened when I lived in Prague: after almost two years, I realized I had no savings and had made little professional headway and needed to move on.


I recently found out what it feels like to be forced into a new situation, as I got booted from my job. Allow me to provide some background. I have been teaching at the same school now for three years. There are some less than desirable parts of my job: as the newest ESOL teacher, I often get stuck teaching classes that no one else wants, like team-taught Biology or World History for beginning ESOL students (a ton of work but actually a joy to teach). I do not have my own classroom but am relegated to a traveling cart. I somehow allowed myself to become an indentured servant to the track team. But the job is still fantastic in many ways, largely because the school itself is such a great place. We have an unusually supportive administration who values ESOL, a department filled with hard-working and bright people, and what I believe is the best population of students you could possibly imagine: a mix of well-educated kids, students with limited first language literacy who can really benefit from care and attention, and a wide range of nationalities and backgrounds. I have been really happy and often find myself pleasantly surprised that I enjoy my job so much.

A few weeks ago, my assistant principal called me into her office. I knew the news was bad from the tone of her "hi" and her body language: she was clearly prepared to give bad news and wanted to convey her own disappointment. Our ESOL numbers dropped significantly this year, with the result that I, again as the lowest man on the totem pole, have been destaffed. She was kindness personified, letting me know that she regretted losing me and wished I hadn't been forced to leave. She expressed some hope that I would be able to stay on through teaching a combination of French and perhaps another subject, but acknowledged that it was not certain that it would work out.

I was devastated. While I knew that there would be a likely drop in numbers, last year they somehow managed to find the funding for me to keep my position. I think I hoped it would be possible again this year. I went back to my office and told my two favorite co-workers and then lost it a little bit (I could not completely hold back a few tears--which I completely, utterly hate doing). I barely made it through my last class of the day. Then I emailed the Fairfax County ESOL specialist and let her know my situation. She promptly replied and gave me the name of the department chair at a nearby school and told me to apply for an opening. I spent the weekend updating my resume and applied on Monday.

That same day, my boss called me back in to let me know there would still be a full-time position for me, but teaching half French, half AVID, a study skills class to help kids from disadvantaged backgrounds prepare for college. While both would be interesting, neither is my passion. She said she'd see what she could do about getting ESOL for me, and I let her know I was looking elsewhere. On Tuesday, she called me in again to tell me that my colleague had offered to teach the AVID classes so I could keep at least a bit of ESOL. I was thrilled.

What next? I had heard from the other school and was planning an interview. I figured it didn't hurt to keep my options open, and my boss knew I was looking other places. At this point I felt like staying at Fairfax was a relief and I would just see what the other school offered. Then the night before the interview, the science department chair sent out the schedule for Biology next year. Contrary to my request and the request of my team teacher, he had not placed us together for next year. Instead, my period of Biology was the rogue class, the extra period left for whoever was willing to take on an extra class. I loved teaching Biology with my team teacher, and I have hated it with anyone else. I am a complete control freak when it comes to teaching and am miserable working with anyone who is less than fantastic. So my schedule for next year now was: three sections of French, one section of Biology with someone I probably would not enjoy teaching with, and one bona fide section of ESOL. Suddenly, the position at the other school was looking much better.

I went for the interview and felt great about the school. I could tell I had the right answers to their questions and felt they were responding well. By the end of the interview, I felt fairly confident that the job would be mine. My only concern now was that I worried about my assistant principal: she had worked with multiple departments to rearrange things and keep my job for me, and I worried that she would be frustrated when I left after all her work. When I spoke to her, her response was, "That's a great opportunity. I wouldn't blame you at all for taking it." And that was that. When they offered it to me a few days later, I said yes.

I am grateful I found a good position and that life goes on. I am having a hard time imagining what it will be like not to see my colleagues or the students that I have come to care so much about, and I cannot help feeling bitter that I could not stay at a place I loved, where my work was appreciated, because of an antiquated tenure law. I say out with tenure! Let the best teachers remain--not the oldest.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Illiterate

I have been studying Chinese since September. The class is relatively low-key: we meet once a week for two hours, most of us are working professionals with limited time to devote to language study, and our teacher has virtually no expectations for us to study outside of class.

Even with my slacker study habits, I have really enjoyed myself and learned a little bit, although how functional I would be in an authentic context is another story. Feeling that the new vocabulary demands and tones were enough to take on, I made no effort for months at learning any characters. Our teacher writes everything in pinyin and that seemed like enough.

A few weeks ago, however, I learned I would have the opportunity to travel to China for a month this summer. Suddenly, Chinese class has taken on a new urgency and relevance. I am more diligent in my studies, and I also see the need to learn characters if I am to be of any use in reading signs, menus, etc. in China.

To my chagrin, what I have found is that characters are every bit as difficult as I had feared. I am finally able to recognize a few of the most common characters, but I can only reproduce a very few without cheating and glancing in my textbook. Even then, I am not at all sure that what I write would be decipherable to a Chinese person. And so my Chinese, weak as it is in any case, is basically the Chinese of an illiterate person!

I have now spent a few good hours staring at these symbols, and I am fascinated by what a different experience it is from studying an alphabetic language. I have always been visually weak: I draw poorly because I am not a good judge of perspective or relative size, I make a poor observer, I am utterly uncreative in fashion or design. Trying to learn characters requires me to analyze visual patterns, whereas before, the shape of the word on the page would be inextricably linked to its sound when I tried to recall it later. For example, if you said "Nemocnice Krc" (Krc Hospital) in Czech to me, I would see the written word and hear it in my head.

The experience now is so different. When reading, the process is frustratingly slow: I make a connection to the sound in Chinese, and then its meaning. Writing is even worse! While in reading, at least at this rudimentary level, I can grasp what the word is based on only a basic idea of a character's shape, writing requires more precision: what radical is used in this character? At what angle do lines intersect? How many horizontal lines are there? How does this character relate to another with a similar sound or meaning? While similar questions must occur to anyone studying an unfamiliar alphabet, the difference is in sheet size: 26 letters in the alphabet (give or take a few, depending on the language) versus tens of thousands of characters. I haven't yet figured out a good mnemonic system for remembering them, but have just been trying to commit new characters to memory through dogged repetition.

In my language experience thus far, I have been relatively successful. I wonder if this will change because this new system requires talent in an area where I am so weak? The pinyin and oral come to me quickly, it seems, compared to other students. I am sure I would not compare so well in characters.

Still, I can't say I don't enjoy the challenge. It is a totally new experience, which is what I was looking for when I decided to take Chinese and not go the practical route of improving my very poor Spanish!

Belize!

I recently got back from a spring break trip to Belize. Aside from the mild annoyance of a delayed bag on the return trip, the experience was everything I had anticipated!

I traveled with Diedra, one of those friends who I see rarely but would always like to see more of. Having extensive travel experience and a practical, quick mind, she was an ideal travel companion. Most of the smoothness and well-planned efficiency of our trip can be attributed to her.

We arrived in Belize on Friday afternoon. We walked off the plane, onto the tarmac, and into the airport. I have vague recollections of having done this at American airports as a child, but that would have to be more than 25 years ago. I assume the change is security-related in the U.S., but the simplicity of simply walking into the airport made me feel that our American "improvement" was not much of one at all.

The air was heavy and hot, the sun was bright, and the Belize City airport was surprisingly small and crowded. As we exited the airport we spotted Manny, a driver for our all-purpose tourist needs company, MayaWalk, bearing a sign with our names. Manny's task was to drive us from Belize City, a place widely panned by guide books and Manny himself as a "slum", to San Ignacio, a town in the hills near the Guatemala border and a perfect point of departure for the Mayan ruins we planned to see.

The car Manny was driving was a dusty 1980's mini-van, missing its stereo and without air-conditioning, but as we drove with the windows down, the heat was not as oppressive as I had expected. The 90 minute drive was a great way to get introduced to Belize. The countryside was flat and swampy with tropical-looking trees and shrubs in clusters at irregular intervals. The houses lining the two-lane highway were mostly on stilts (to protect from flood damage, according to Manny), and often brightly colored, although many had faded, peeling paint and looked in poor repair. Laundry hung from lines and most houses had outhouses and no visible pipes under their stilted floors, although many had a car or two parked in the dirt driveway. We saw children and women walking along the dusty road, but also crowded, ancient-looking buses (including converted American school buses) headed in the opposited direction.

San Ignacio itself is located just across the river from its "twin town", Santa Elena. The streets of Santa Elena were dusty, brightly painted, crowded with brightly painted, peeling signs and buildings. The river itself was full of children playing, women bathing babies, and even cars being washed. San Ignacio seemed a slightly cleaner and less crowded version of Santa Elena. Manny drove us up a steep hill to our hotel, Cahal Pech, named after a nearby site of Mayan ruins. We were thrilled to arrive and discover the spectacular views from our hill-top location, overlooking the city and farmland below and receiving a gentle breeze. The open-deck restaurant and bar faced a beautiful pool and tropical garden, including palms and banana trees. Best, we chose to stay in one of the one-room cabanas instead of a traditional hotel room. Our cabana had a fantastic view and included a screened in porch area with a hammock. Heaven! After unpacking, we had a delicious and relatively cheap dinner from the hotel restaurant, and then ordered virgin strawberry daiquiris in what became a daily routine. The hint of lime made them delicious!

On Saturday, we had an early breakfast (tropical fruit, locally produced granola, and delicious yogurt, yum!) and then were picked up by MayaWalk for a trip to Guatemala to see Tikal. We stopped at the MayaWalk office to pick up another traveler and switch drivers, then drove the 10 miles or so to the Guatemala border. To pass into Guatemala from Belize you must pay a $30 "exit fee", so our tour guides let us walk through customs to be met on the other side with a Guatemalan driver. Unlike Manny's mini-van, both cars this day were air-conditioned. This was especially nice during the Guatemalan portion of our trip, as the roads were sometimes paved, but often just dirt where we drove through clouds of dust. The vegetation on the western border of Belize and this part of Guatemala was much lusher and denser than on our journey from the airport, and the terrain was hilly rather than flat. I felt a little nauseated in the car as we bumped over the potholes and rough roads.

As we neared Tikal, we stopped in a town called El Remate to pick up Ismael, our guide. The town is on a large lake. I would love to explore it more someday! We stopped only to use the restrooms (more likely also to encourage us to buy souvenirs) at a shop filled with European and American tourists.

As we neared Tikal, we saw signs for various animal crossings, including jaguars and strange turkey shaped birds. We finally arrived at Tikal. There were a surprising number of Guatemalans there, as entry to the park is many times more expensive for foreigners. We could immediately feel the heat and humidity of the jungle. As we entered, Ismael pointed out an enormous ceiba tree, sacred to the ancient Maya, with large above-ground roots that a later guide described as "elephant ears." The trunk of the tree stretches to the sky, where the branches begin very high and are covered in a furry-looking vine.

As we neared the acropolis, Ismael led us up a steep path to the back so that we came upon the largest plaza of Tikal from above. The view was spectacular: ruins on all four sides! I often had wondered why such ruins had been re-discovered so late. Our guide pointed out to us certain unexcavated ruins--which looked like unusually steep hills, covered in dirt, vines, and jungle trees. Over the centuries, the rainforest had taken over and regrown. Without knowing what I was looking at, I would have had no idea that I was staring at a rainforest-covered ruin.

Tikal is enormous, and seeing it in its entirety supposedly takes a full three days. We did a sort of "best of" tour, seeing the main acropolis, the building first constructed as the Mayans were still developing construction techniques, and climbing several of the tallest towers. The magnificence of the structures was fantastic, but I also loved seeing the surrounding jungle vegetation and hearing the unfamiliar calls of exotic birds and insects. Walking the paths, we saw a huge shadow and heard a rustling in the leaves above, then looked up and saw what looked like an enormous turkey sitting in the branches just above our heads!

We got back late in the afternoon, hot, sweaty, dusty, and so satisified with what we had seen! We congratulated ourselves many times for our hotel location, at the top of the hill where we received a cool breeze and had such a nice pool and restaurant.

On Sunday, we decided to walk down the hill to what was the nearest church building of any sort to our hotel--and happened to be the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, complete with air-conditioning, flush toilets, and a satellite dish for watching conference! The members were dressed in their Sunday best and greeted each other and us warmly. We watched the English language channel, then headed down the hill for lunch at a restaurant called "Ko-Ox Hannah". The menu boasted of its locally-grown and raised produce and meat, but I wondered if what has become a feel-good/eco-friendly dining experience was the norm in some parts of the world. We had tasty quesadillas, then walked back up the hill to the church for the second session of conference. It was the hottest part of the day and a very steep walk, and though not long by any standard, by the time we arrived, I was absolutely dripping with sweat. Fortunately, the air conditioning was still going strong and I was feeling cool and comfortable again by the time we finished the afternoon session. We walked the rest of the way up the hill to the hotel, where we had strawberry daiquiris again, then swam to cool off and had dinner.

On Monday, we went to Caracol, another Mayan site that took a couple of hours to drive to, this time within Belize. Again we went with a Maya walk guide, this time named Alberto. Like Ismael, he was extremely knowledgeable in local history, botany, and archaeology. As we drove, he explained how one side of the river was drier and had pine vegetation, while the other was wetter and had jungle vegetation. Alberto drove the same beat-up, AC-less mini-van that Manny had picked us up in, with the result that the dirt roads got us very dusty this time around. Alberto did have an ingenious way of avoiding the worst of the dust; as we approached a passing vehicle, he would quickly roll up the windows on the left-hand side, thus avoiding the worst of the approaching dust.

The journey proved fascinating again. We had to stop at the military station to wait for a military escort. Apparently Guatemalan bandits bearing assault rifles had crossed the border and attacked groups traveling to Caracol. While waiting for the other tour groups to arrive, we took a detour to a fantastic cave within the jungle. I spent much of my trip in wonder at such unexpected detours. Isn't that so much of the joy of traveling--to see something so out of our ordinary experience that it fills the mind with new possibilities!

The ruins at Caracol were less extensive than Tikal, but the buildings themselves were equally stunning. There were much fewer tourists and the excavation seemed fresher and less complete. One highlight was peering into a tiny room where the remains of a royal woman were once thought to be found. It was dark and hard to see, so we avoided going in. Alberto later told us that it was a favorite den of a jaguar during the rainy season! Between clambering over many different structures and staring at the vast jungle beyond, we walked through shaded paths while Alberto pointed out trails made by large ants, various edible plants and spices, and even a tree known colloquially as the "tourist tree": the bark was deep red and peeling, much like the skin of European tourists! It was a reminder to me to reapply sunscreen . Diedra and I had an ongoing debate about whether we were "pale" (her word) or "pasty" (mine).

During the return trip, we stopped at a spring with a tiny waterfall to go swimming, though Diedra had a bad blister on her foot from Tikal, and decided to sit out. The water felt amazing on such a hot day!

On Tuesday, Manny drove us back to Belize City to take a water taxi to Ambergris Caye, San Pedro. The water taxi moved very quickly across the water. We were disheartened to see the overcast skies, yet as we headed northwest, the sky became gradually clearer and clearer and was nearly blue again by the time we arrived an hour and a half later. The water was breathtaking: an unspeakable shade of teal or turquoise and so clear! San Pedro itself was clearly a bit of a tourist trap: the town center is very small and filled with restaurants, hotels, and souvenir shops. Like other towns in Belize, it was a bit crowded and dusty. The most popular mode of transport on the narrow streets seemed to be golf carts, which you could rent by the hour or day.

We took a cab the short distance to our hotel, the Tides. The hotel was painted pink with darker pink and white trim and situated right on the beach with a small but inviting pool. The "office" was on the pier, where we checked in and made arrangements to snorkel at Hol Chan the next day. The place is run by a family: the matriarch seems to be in charge, with the girls running the breakfast and housekeeping side of things, and the boys manning the bar and the dive shop. We walked down the beach to explore the town more, and rented bikes from Joe, a friendly, overweight sweaty guy with very cheap bikes. Both bikes had no gears and you braked by back-pedaling. They also had bells that sort of worked. We went north, crossed a bridge, and found ourselves on a path in a much more isolated part of the island that led right along the beach. It was spectactularly beautiful and a marvelous way to explore. Unlike in San Ignacio, the heat was tempered by an ocean breeze and never felt oppressive.

That night, I slept a bit fitfully, terrified at the prospect of sharks. On setting up our snorkeling expedition for the next day, we were informed that we would go to Hol Chan and "Shark Ray Alley." Diedra and I are both terrified of sharks; I grew up having nightmares, refusing to watch "Jaws", and always making sure someone else was further out at the beach than me. But I also felt that I would feel foolish, and worse, miss a great opportunity, if I did not go. We both decided we would go out and see how we felt, and then just not go in if we were feeling too wimpy.

We woke up, had our hotel breakfast on the pier (admittedly more picturesque than delicious), and spent the morning walking through town and sitting on the beach relaxing. We had lunch at a local seafood place. The food was a delicious mixture of Latin American and Caribbean elements: fresh seafood, tropical fruit, beans and salsa.

After lunch we prepared to snorkel. We left with two local guides, who appeared to be Latino in ethnicity but who spoke to each other in the indecipherable Kriol of Belize. We were joined by what seemed to be an extended family of a middle-aged man and his wife, her sister, and their combined children, three young women that seemed to range in age from early to late twenties. Unlike the two of us, everyone had a healthy tan! In some ways, this was encouraging, as both the hotel owner and our guides kept reassuring us that "sharks don't like white meat."

We arrived first at the so-called "Shark-Ray Alley." Our guides threw meat into the water in a bid to attract sharks (and in a practice that my guide book condemned). A nurse shark almost immediately appeared, but then went away. As the guide jumped in, followed by the others in the group, I decided I had to do it. I did not want to live ruled by fear, and I jumped in. While we had traveled out quite a way from the island to the reef, the water was quite shallow--maybe ten feet deep--and clear all the way through. We were surrounded by enormous and beautiful rays, but no sharks, to my relief.

We headed back to Hol Chan, the main part of the reef. As we anchored our boat and prepared to jump out, it was immediately clear in the crystal water that there were several large nurse sharks surrounding our boat. I made sure I was not the first to jump in, but I made myself do it, feeling that, while I knew nurse sharks to be virtually harmless, I had made an incredibly brave move.

We swam over to the reef for what may have been the most extraordinary part of the trip. Belize has the second largest barrier reef in the world, and the marine life did not disappoint. The reef was teeming with fish of the most exotic shades and sizes. In addition to schools of bright green, blue, and yellow fish, we saw barracuda, eagle rays, moray eels, a sea turtle, an enormous black grouper, and of course the varied and beautiful coral reef itself. It was fantastic, but unfortunately became a little overcast and chilly toward the end. The guide was hilarious: he would swim down, point at something, then stick his head above the water and mutter a one-word description: "Angel fish", or "black grouper" or "barracuda" to tell us what we were seeing. He also proceeded to do everything my guide book warned against, by harassing every fish he could. At the end of our swim, as he tried to wrestle a nurse shark, I could understand how these sharks "are not dangerous to humans unless provoked." I made sure to stay far away! When we got back to our hotel, Diedra showered first. Somehow, between her shower and when I went to take mine, the hotel lost all water. It was the first inconvenience of our trip! I figured that's what the pool was for, took a dip, and changed and got dressed. By the time we got back later that night, the water was fine again.

While proud of ourselves for our encounter with sharks, Diedra and I both admitted to ourselves that we felt a little drained from the stress of it, particulary when right before jumping in our guides had mentioned that they often saw "tiger sharks and bull sharks" at the reef. We decided to swim, but not snorkel on Thursday, justifying our cowardice by saying, "well, we really shouldn't support someone who feeds the sharks and touches all the fish." To fill our last day instead, we biked all over the island, stopped to read under shady huts at the end of piers, and walked through shops and along the beach. We lay in the sunshine and read books while watching locals peddle to tourists. To finish the gluttony portion of our trip, we at at the "Blue Water Grill", a great, open-air place right on the beach. We ate a dinner consisting of coconut shrimp, pesto pizza, and flourless chocolate cake as dessert. We also indulged ourselves with strawberry daiquiris. It was delicious, and of course I was totally stuffed and could barely walk back to the hotel. We watched the full moon rise and then sat on our balcony, facing the water, while we read for a while. Then, to complete what Diedra had dubbed our "old person's vacation" we went to bed early. We laughed as we saw the old ladies staying at our hotel leaving to go out for the evening just as we returned!

Friday, we awoke early to watch the sunrise, or rather, I awoke early and Diedra cheered me on from the comfort of her bed. It seemed like a good idea until I realized it was too overcast to see anything and finally went back to bed. We woke again at 6:15 to pack everything up and be at breakfast by 7:00 a.m. so we could catch the water taxi back to Belize City at 8:00. In Belize City, we grabbed a taxi to the airport and headed home. The only hitch in our plans happened when we arrived at Dulles and were greeted by a baggage delay. Not bad for a week-long trip abroad!

Monday, March 2, 2009

My Entertainment: Watching Shallow Movies

There is one episode of David Suchet 's "Poirot" where my sister and I laugh pitilessly at the melodramatic heroine, who explains her love for a man she knows to be no good by claiming that "some things are bigger than happiness." What does that mean? Some things are more important than happiness? Like living out an unhealthy obsession? That happiness is fleeting and a dark, immoral coupling has longer-lasting repercussions? You can see I don't have much sympathy for the underlying sentiment.

My primary objective in watching almost all movies is for entertainment. I have long since determined that, for me, reading is the preferred medium for acquiring information and even appreciating art. Still, some movies do a poor enough job at creating their fictional world that I find myself unable to suspend my disbelief long enough to even enjoy them.

A smattering of other unfortunate movie philosophies:

"Titanic": Cheating on your fiance is okay if you feel like he is a big meany. Especially if your mother is pressuring you into marrying said meany. Your moral and intellectual superiority have been established as you spout unconventional sentiments at the dinner table and support Picasso based merely on your own impeccable taste even before he is famous.

Romantic comedies are almost too easy. There are so many problems I don't know where to begin. They are like watered-down fables, complete with a simplistic moral. Here are a few examples:

"Someone Like You" (terrible, forgettable film with Ashley Judd and Hugh Jackman): Don't be a cynic: men are not all selfish pigs, and as proof, you end up with the guy who has jumped from woman to woman the whole movie without any kind of character development.

"27 Dresses": If you're unsatisfied with your love life, it's because you've been self-sacrificing for too long. Instead, you should lash out at the person nearest to you in a very cruel and public manner. Wait, that's mean. But wait, you finally stood up for yourself. Wait, I'm confused!

"Serendipity": Is luck important? Do you make your own luck? Is life some inscrutable combination of luck and initiative? I don't know what this movie is trying to say, and I don't think it does either. But it's bad.

"Runaway Bride": It is bad to try to meld yourself to be what others expect of you. You should be yourself, and you need this to be revealed to you by a mysogynistic reporter whose purpose is to exploit you.

I'm not saying there's no way to take pleasure in some of these movies. I've obviously seen them all, and the previews don't usually conceal what kind of movie they will be--so mea culpa. It would be nice if writers could venture passed the tried and true and not assume the worst about their audience for once. There are certainly plenty of original, good movies out there, but they are often so full of violence and sex that I decline to see them. As for the usually tamer romantic comedies and action adventure movies, perhaps it is possible to reinvent a genre without disappointing the audience, to try something a bit new and work within the conventions. In the meantime, I'll read my book.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Get Into the (Neural) Groove

Sometimes ideas about how things work get stuck in my head and I'm not sure where they came from--T.V.? a conversation with a friend? A blurb in a newspaper? Not knowing the source makes me suspicious of their veracity. At times I have enough initiative to do some research, but today is not one of those days.

Having given that as an introduction, allow me to share my thoughts on what I've named (or heard somewhere and am now plagiarizing) neural grooves. The idea, based on real science or not, is that we fall into habits of thought and behavior because our neurons, after enough repetitions, become accustomed to a particular path, which becomes the easiest way to do things, or the path of least resistance--a "neural groove." Getting out of that path requires significant energy.

Is this accurate? At the very least, I'm sure I just jumbled things and oversimplified them a bit. I may have confounded some facts and some bits of pop culture. Or it may be complete mumbo-jumbo, the neuroscience equivalent of Christopher Lloyd in "Back to the Future." I guess the underlying idea, though, that change is hard, but can be exhilarating and liberating, is what I really want to emphasize. I've been thinking lately about some of my unhealthy grooves and how hard it is for me to get out of them.

But what if I could? What if I found a way to break out of the groove of constantly worrying about silly things, or tearing myself down over nothing, or coming home and wasting time instead of getting straight to the gym? Besides the inherent satisfaction of overcoming these tendencies, I can imagine that the feeling of change would be so refreshing. It would feel like the world was truly yours for the taking--and spending time doing something that wasn't habit would make each day feel new and full instead of monotonous.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Super Crunchers: Why stats may be the next course I take

I just read Super Crunchers, by Ian Ayres. The author, a law and business professor at Yale, presents dozens of examples of how computerized data crunching is changing business, politics, even teaching. He shows how computerized formulas routinely trump experts in predicting everything from what years will have good vintages to what unemployment policies are the most successful at helping people find jobs quickly.

The argument was compelling: in case after case, he showed how traditional experts were outdone by numbers. Baseball scouts, for instance, attend one game and believe that they can see something special that will identify a stand-out player. Yet Ayres points out that the difference between a .275 hitter and a .300 hitter is one hit every two weeks. This is a traditional stat any baseball fan follows, but then Ayres explains how a number cruncher named Bill James developed a regression formula to find how any given player actually contributed to runs created. He can now show not only how a players' individual stats add up, but how he contributes to the team's success.

Scouts, naturally, are less than enthusiastic about the new technique. Ayres goes on to point out how experts in their respective fields resist data crunching as it infringes on their terrain. If Ayres is right, the role of human expertise is quickly becoming obsolete. Intuition may still be needed, but in a vastly new way: he sees its role as finding explanations behind the numbers, and determining what factors to weight and how to weight them. Human expertise will be in developing new formulas to do the expert thinking for us.

I still have questions. I believe that skepticism, unlike cynicism, is a healthy thing. The book presented so many relevant data and seemed to address most of the immediate concerns or doubts that came to mind. I want to know more; I want to know HOW to do it myself, and not just why data crunching is changing the world. It inspired me into looking into some stats courses because, if Ayres is right, knowing how to crunch numbers grants a certain kind of power--the kind of power I crave--the power of knowing something of significance.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Romney Dilemma

Note: I wrote this almost a year ago but never did anything with it. Since I have become a blog-slacker, I thought I'd stick it on here now. Sorry if the politics grate too much on anyone!

Politically, I fall in a strange place: a public high school teacher, I support the notion that equal expectations in education are not feasible without equal funding; I watch the Bush administration’s foreign policy with increasing horror; I support stricter enforcement of gun laws and I decry Congress’ failure to come to an agreement on the immigration bill. My approach to these issues aligns me with moderate Democrats: Hillary Clinton is most likely the candidate who best aligns with my position. I am also religious, albeit faithful to a religion that I have recently realized is viewed with suspicion by many of my fellow Christians. As a practicing Mormon, I cannot support abortion rights, putting me at odds with virtually every Democrat. In this strange, unrepresented political landscape that I seem to occupy alone, choosing a candidate has never been easy. In some situations, the candidates themselves make the choice easier: in 2004, I voted for John Kerry, confidant that any compromise I was making for the case of abortion was preferable to whatever arrogant and single-minded course Bush would pursue. I feel proven right more than 3 years later.

All of which is why my gut reaction to Mitt Romney is so odd. Politically, we disagree in almost every respect. I am baffled by the way in which he explains his attacks on McCain’s immigration bill two years after being caught on record supporting it. Watching him defend Bush’s war policies in a recent debate made me shudder. Abortion, the major issue where I align with the GOP, is one of the key places where Romney’s record is not consistent with conservatives, giving him the ominous designation as a “flip-flopper.” In short, it would be hard to find a viable candidate whose political views differed more from mine.

So why do I find myself so disappointed to see Romney falling in the polls, losing his edge, being attacked and bashed and questioned as his impressive momentum leading to the primaries seems to gradually be chipped away by his opponents? I publicly avow that McCain is my Republican candidate of choice, and so he is, aligning much more neatly with my political beliefs, seeming more consistent and tried and less likely to shift course for fickle popularity. At the same time, I surprise myself by feeling dismayed when I see that McCain has gained an edge on Romney.

In spite of what many Romney supporters have claimed, I cannot help feeling that votes for or against Romney are a kind of national referendum on Mormonism. Growing up in a mid-sized California town with a visible Mormon population, I felt largely accepted. Besides the occasional attack (always from those who claimed to be Christian, sadly enough, and never from atheists or Jews), I felt like people understood the basics about my faith, and if they did not always respect it, were civil enough to treat us with dignity.

Recent polls showing that Americans are less likely to vote for any Mormon candidate, sound bites from evangelical Iowans claiming their concern in voting for Romney, a professed Christian, who might not believe in “our God” (whatever that means), and ignorant and dismissive comments by renowned religious leaders on national television have left me feeling like I have been duped into feeling accepted. Does this mean that the friends, co-workers, classmates who I thought had granted me their respect were laughing, deriding, or railing against my beliefs while openly treating me with respect? Am I less likely to get a promotion, win an award, be elected to a position of leadership in the teaching profession, because of my faith? If I have children, will other parents whisper behind their backs and eye our family with suspicion?

The lack of tolerance makes me initially want to vote for Romney out of defiance, as a way to neutralize the vote of at least one person who liked him best on policy but was afraid of “his God” or the Book of Mormon or Mormon theology on temples. But then I stop and consider: do I believe that a candidate’s religion should be relevant in the political sphere? I cannot help but feel that a subtle (or not so subtle, depending on how you look at Huckabee’s infamous “bookcase ad”) avowal of religious belief on the candidates’ part has become a new sort of obnoxious flag-waving, a safe way to win votes without actually having to do anything or develop any sort of policy. And perhaps precisely because the idea of measuring one’s religious devotion is so very laughable, it makes sense that this subject should be left out of the political arena. Mitt Romney has many admirable qualities and laudable accomplishments behind him. He is Mormon, which means it is most likely that his religious views align with mine more closely than any other candidate. But I will not vote for him. Politically, we simply differ too much.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Snow Days

I dislike D.C. weather. It's no secret. Whenever I'm engaged in the quintessential D.C. small-talk conversation and someone asks me the obligatory question about how I like the area, I answer, "I love how it draws interesting, ambitious, and informed people. I like the city. I hate the weather." It must be admitted that April can be lovely: a good day can have a fresh coolness and a perfect blue sky, and cherry blossom season is a tourist trap in D.C. for a reason. October can also be pleasant--cool and crisp but filled with sunny days--and I admit that this year's fall colors seemed even more breathtaking than usual.

Unfortunately, the other months--and that means January, February, March, May, June, July, August, September, November, and December--are either hot and humid and sticky, rainy, or cold and damp. D.C. temperatures don't dip dangerously low compared to some other cities, but the swampy dampness that makes the summer so intolerable sends a chill to your spine in winter (I know that's a cliche, but it is so descriptively accurate--it actually does make your spine ache as you feel an instinctive urge to hunch over into a ball), and a brittle wind can make the temperature feel much colder than weather.com or my car's thermometer will admit.

D.C.'s unique blend of temperatures hovering near freezing and dampness cause another phenomenon--ice storms. This past week, we got a few inches of snow on Tuesday. For an area composed of people from all over the United States, that's enough to snarl traffic. What happened later that night was that temperatures rose slightly and the snow turned to freezing rain. In the morning, as it got cold again, there now was a thin layer of shimmering, glassy ice on top of all the snow, the cars, the parking lots, and the roads. What does this mean? Snow day for us teachers!

Much as I hate winter, I am very appreciative of the ice and it's resulting unexpected holiday. First, I should explain that my school district schedules 183 school days per year under the assumption that we may waste three of them on snow days. So if we DON'T get our snow days, we're working an extra three days for free. I should also explain that, while teachers get a larger than average chunk of time off, they have no control of the dates. Sick days are a joke: they take more work than skulking into work and giving the kids busy work yourself. And there is something so psychologically rewarding about waking up for work, planning to be at it 10 hours, and then checking the district website to read the message, "All Fairfax County Public Schools are closed today." It is a gift! Suddenly, the hours stretch before you, rife with possibilities: sleep, reading, watching a movie, making pancakes in your pajamas, catching up on bills, going out to lunch with your teacher buddies . . . whatever it is, it wasn't there moments before when you thought you would have to work. Wasting time is not an issue, because the time simply wasn't there before. You can slack guilt-free!

Wednesday was the year's first snow day. After checking the website, I gleefully got back into bed. I slept until 9:30! I'm not really sure how I did it. If that doesn't seem ridiculously late, I should add that that's four hours after I normally wake up. I did work for a few hours on catching up on some grading. I watched a few episodes of "Veronica Mars" on DVD, my newest guilty pleasure. I read. I emailed. I went to the gym. It was a beautiful day!

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Source of Rebellion

One thing I've noticed as a teacher and coach is that many teachers/coaches practice the mantra: "Do as I say, not as I do." I have taught with teachers who chastize students for their disorganized backpacks and lost homework, willfully ignoring the hypocrisy of piles of mis-matched, months-old projects and papers strewed about their own classrooms. I have coached with coaches who scream at kids for lack of communication and discipline, only to cancel practices at the last minute and show up late for meets. So much of the rebellion of youth is directed at this hypocrisy, I believe.

As adults, we expect imperfection from one another. We're adults, after all, and we recognize that we ourselves are flawed. So perhaps part of the adolescent reaction is disappointed idealism. As adults, we are also generally on the same footing--even in hierarchical relationships, such as those between boss and employees, there is at least an appearance of equality. All bosses in the modern western world at least attempt to convey openness and approachability, even if all they really want is complete dominance and servile employees. Teenagers, however, are expected to live by the same rules that have been around for generations: they must obey and respect authority without complaint. All this at a time when they are finally becoming aware that the world is not the rosy picture of story books and sitcoms, that reaching the age of accountability doesn't equate to instant wisdom, and that even the finest people and the most inspiring leaders have glaring inconsistencies of character.

Isn't the least we can do to ease this transition keeping up with our piles of grading and showing up on time for meets? And when we inevitably do fall short, why is it so difficult to apologize and acknowledge what went wrong? I'm with the teenagers on this one.

Friday, January 2, 2009

A New Party Hobby

You know how in Jane Austen novels characters sit around at social gatherings for what seems like hours? Accepted activities include playing the piano and cards, but there are also books out on display for people to read. In Pride and Prejudice, Bingley's sister chides Elizabeth for preferring reading to cards; it is, however, perfectly socially acceptable for her to be sitting on the sofa reading while Darcy writes a letter to his sister and the others play cards.

I mention this because my mother recently teased me for reading my book while we were at my sister's house after dinner. I completely understand why it was considered rude and felt correspondingly sheepish: it is like signaling that the company is too boring for me to bother with conversation.

I have to confess that I am often tempted to read in the middle of social gatherings. Maybe it is because I am an introvert with mild social anxiety. I was recently at a party where I found myself alone in the living room perusing the host's shelves; what I really wanted to be doing was just sitting on the couch and reading. It is not that I dislike conversation or social interaction, but when it gets overwhelming or I feel like I have nothing to contribute it seems harmless enough--at my sister's house, she and her husband were putting the kids to bed while my parents talked and I felt I was out of the loop and wouldn't be missed.

Why is it acceptable to watch T.V. or a play video games in a group but not read? Presumably because watching T.V. is at least a shared activity, while reading is a solitary experience. Something I love to do however, is read my book while other people are scooting around doing other things--cooking, checking work email, or reading themselves--and then make them listen to my favorite excerpts. How annoying am I? I confess I wouldn't mind reverting to Austen's time when you could have your cake and eat it (or have your book and read it, har, har) by sitting in a social environment and reading away: converse when it pleases you, read when you need distraction or to have something of substance to converse about. The perfect marriage of activities for both introverts and extroverts!