I am tired. That’s a statement about physically feeling a dearth of energy at the end of each and every day. Likely it’s due to trying to cram as much as I can into a 24-hour span. Having a new job and also working at another part-time gig, while taking a class at USM probably has something to do with feeling “wrung-out.” Continue reading
Tag Archives: Youth
Choosing My Religion
Two weeks ago, the phone rang at 5:00 a.m. It was the automated call system that school districts now use in assigning substitute teachers when there are staff vacancies. I was being directed to report to a nearby junior high. I’d be covering 7th grade math. 90 minutes later, I was dressed and driving to my assignment.
I found out last year that tutoring was an amenable fit. It was more than that—I actually enjoyed working with youth and the assortment of experiences across my life allowed me to bring some breadth to my nightly tasks at the private school located 10 minutes away.
Last spring, I initiated an inquiry to my local school district about the possibility of subbing. It was near the end of the school year so getting started was impractical at the time. I made a note to follow-up during the summer. Then, I was off on my road trip and returned with issues related to my SI joint. Substitute teaching ended up on the back burner.
Summers now have morphed into completing my CMS/AHIP certification for Medicare, at least that’s what most of August is now about for me. I did manage to complete the required paperwork for the municipal school district and turned it in. Just prior to the first day of school, I received a call to complete my final payroll forms. I made an executive decision to do the same at a neighboring RSU. Now I’m on the roster for two school systems. I have the option of working daily if I want.
I am busy again and have been since the beginning of the school year. So far, my high water mark has been three sub assignments in a week. Not once have I regretted my decision or any assignment. Inevitably, there will always be a student or two who is determined to challenge a substitute. Somewhere along the line I must have picked-up some classroom management skills.
I’m enjoying being a substitute teacher.
In Praise of Short Stories
The short story has been a neglected writing style in my reading. This summer, I made a point of addressing it when I read Ottessa Moshfegh’s excellent collection, Homesick For Another World. After I finished, I vowed to read more similar collections.
A perk of working with high school-age youth is having the chance to revisit writers and writing that you were equally clueless about when you were the same age as these young charges assigned to you.
Of course, being a tutor, sometimes you must scramble in reacquainting yourself with said writing from the past. A few of those writers? Try James Thurber, J.D. Salinger, George Orwell, and Shirley Jackson. Orwell and Salinger haven’t been tough. I read The Catcher in the Rye last year and have read it several times over the last decade. Ditto for Orwell, and in fact, I made a habit of annually rereading 1984 during the 2000s and the Bush presidency. Thurber and Jackson are less familiar.
A week ago, I was time-traveling back to Thurber’s “The Catbird Seat,” and dull little (or so we think!) Mr. Martin. Admittedly, I have never loved Thurber like some literary types have.
On Sunday, I was co-reading Shirley Jackson’s short story, “Charles,” and helping a student craft a paragraph about parents not recognizing flaws in a child. The discussion that ensued was meaningful to me on several levels.
Shirley Jackson, American writer (seen in this April 16, 1951 AP photo)
Save for “The Lottery,” few people who travel in non-literary circles know Jackson’s work. This New Yorker article is worth reading if you’d like to know more about a wonderfully (weird) and “haunted” writer.
“Charles” wasn’t particularly strange or odd. It was a story that had humor and was what might be called an “unsentimental” look at life as a mother during a particular time in America. In Jackson’s case, this would be the 1940s, a very different time period than our own. As a writer, Jackson shaped it with sly parental incredulity and humor, too.
Apparently, the story was published in Mademoiselle and later, was included in her collection, The Lottery/The Adventures of James Harris.
It begins thus:
The day my son Laurie started kindergarten he renounced corduroy overalls with bibs and began wearing blue jeans with a belt; I watched him go off the first morning with the older girl next door, seeing clearly that an era of my life was ended, my sweet-voiced nursery-school tot replaced by a long-trousered, swaggering character who forgot to stop at the corner and wave good-bye to me. . . .
Like the parents Jackson is writing about, most think their child is the best. Love compels you to want to feel this way. This also opens the door to the possibility that you’ll overreach and have unrealistic expectations, too.
Of course, it’s special when parents of a child get to witness an adult who validates the faith they had in him or her.