She said..."No comment."

A weird thing happened today.  We were working on vocabulary, and for reasons I can't recall, somebody mentioned Jet Lee (or is it Li?).  I thought it would be a nice time to give a useless bit of trivia, so I told the group about how Jet died as a result of what may or may not be a curse.  Having brought sacred Eastern secrets of martial arts to the Western world, many believe he was cursed and that was why he died.  Maybe it was Bruce Lee who brought the curse upon his family.  Either way, the conversation that followed went like this.

Student: A curse?
Me: Well, that's what they say, yes.
Student: But there's no such thing as curses, because God makes those decisions, right?
Me: It depends on what you believe...  There are some people who do believe in curses.
Student: Do you believe in God?
Me: I don't want to talk about that right here.  It's not something we talk about at school.
Another student: I bet she doesn't.

....That was unexpected.  I didn't know how to react to that.  What I did was assert that we were in a government building and it was not the place to discuss things like religious belief.  But it struck me, because this was maybe the first time in my life that it has ever been suggested that I didn't believe in God.  Let me make this clear before I go on, that I most definitely do believe in God.  But if you asked me my religion, I would answer, "tolerance."  To me it's not about a label or a status, it's about a feeling.  I don't want to sound like a vapid LA model, but I consider myself to be much more spiritual than religious.  I believe there is something there.  But I find too many problems with the organization of the Church to subscribe explicitly to a doctrine.

Anyway, as I spent most of my school years being seen as the goody-goody honor student who listened to Bach in her spare time when not reciting memory verses facing upward, it was strange to hear a student suggest that I am not a believer in the Divine.

Why didn't I answer?  When I was a student, I thought it was silly that teachers weren't allowed to say who they voted for, what their politics were, or what they believed in.  We're together for hours a day; why can't we know what they believe?  But, along with many other mysterious teacher rules, this one was explained in graduate school.  I don't want to risk alienating any of my students.  If a student doesn't believe in anything, I don't want them to feel alone among a sea of bible belters.  I don't want to express my opinions on any of these issues, because I want students to be able to see me as someone they can relate to in as many ways as possible.  I don't want it to just be assumed that in my classroom we are all middle class, we are all Christian, and we are all Republican.  Not everyone is like that, even here in the South -- and I don't want any of my students to feel isolated because of their beliefs or home lives.

Just after the Columbine shootings, a book was released called She Said Yes, about the girl who unashamedly pronounced her love of God at the face of a gun.  I remember asking myself what my answer would be if I were ever met with such a scenario. Would I say yes?  Would I risk dying to answer a simple question?  What if I had kids at home; could I leave them without a mother because of my honesty?  But if I said no, could I forgive myself?  Christianity teaches forgiveness, but does it "count" if you go into the question thinking "I'll just say no, and God will forgive me."  I can't help but think that that's not how the whole process is supposed to work.

Then there are the irritating-as-all-get-out facebook posts.  "98% of people won't stand up for God.  Repost this if you are one of the 2% that will."  Such a post has inspired spin-offs such as "98% of people will not admit their love of dragons.  Repost if you  are one of the 2% who is not ashamed to stand up for what you love," and so on.  Every time I see this, I wonder how much attention we really have to cause to our religious beliefs.  Can't we be quietly religious, and not bombard facebook with it?  Does not reposting mean that I don't love God?  Of course not.  Does posting mean that I do  love Him?  No.  Something like that is between God and myself, and more and more I feel it should stay that way.

So when a student asks me what my politics/religious beliefs are, I pretend I have no idea what we're talking about and redirect the conversation as soon as possible.  It's not a private Christian school, and I don't feel like we should be talking about something so potentially isolating.  It is my job to establish a safe, trusting environment, and we can't do that if anybody feels alone in a class of students who believe something different than they do.

Am I overthinking this, like everything else in my life?  Should I just answer honestly?  I would really rather have a discussion about how the Lee family shared sacred secrets with Westerners, thus bringing upon their house a curse that took their lives.  It reminds me of the story of Atreus, which is a seriously messed up Greek tale (of course it's messed up; it's an ancient Greek tale).

I'm not sure how to wrap this up.  I'm not saying we shouldn't stand up for what we believe in.  But I don't want to wear a sign that says "I believe _________," either.  I feel our actions should show what we believe, and we shouldn't force people into discussions that they are uncomfortable in.  I don't like labels.  I don't like isolating people.  I like love.  I like tolerance.

Great Expectations

Okay, I'll admit that I have never read that book.  I started to... No, that was Wuthering Heights.  I was on page one for literally days before I gave up and moved on to another book.  That is NOT what this post set out to be about.  FOCUS.  You haven't done anything productive all day, no laundry, dishes, grading, dinner isn't even made.  At least commit to maintaining an idea through written expression.

An interesting thing happened today.  I said when I started this gig that I was not going to immediately believe the word of an honor student over a troublemaker.  Not that the honor student shouldn't be believed, but, if I was not there for the ordeal, it's not fair to take sides.  Sure, the troublemaker has a lifetime of crying wolf behind him, but if nobody EVER believes him, it won't inspire him to start telling the truth, it will inspire him to give up.  And back to the story.

A few weeks ago, a student who...... is not necessarily known for his achievement, in the classroom or in behavior.... scored a 94 on his vocabulary test.  I was so incredibly proud of him, because I knew he had been trying hard, and it feels so good when that much effort pays off.  The class applauded and he smiled, but a small voice in the class muttered something about how he had copied someone's test.  This didn't make sense, as he sits in the back corner and the students sit in rows (or did, at that time).  Plus, the muttering wasn't becoming an angry mob, so I let it go.

Yesterday, when I was passing back tests, a student did not receive his.  He immediately jumped to "It was stolen!"  Now, I'm a logical person.  I know that, usually "stolen" means "it fell of my desk, rolled under a chair, and I'm too lazy to look for it" or "I forgot that I put it in my locker a week ago" or "My friend borrowed it and I wasn't paying attention when he asked."  These "stolen" things almost always turn up.  But, as I had just spent the evening GRADING ALL THE THINGS, I knew that, if he had no test, there WAS no test.  I had kept them all together, and all tests were accounted for.  Maybe it really was stolen.  He then told me, free of mutters, that he suspected the aforementioned troublemaker, because he had stolen his test the previous week and had made a 94.  So it was true.  Or it was at least supported by present circumstances.  I told the test-less honor student that I would figure something out, but that I didn't think it was stolen by this particular troublemaker this particular time, because he hadn't gotten the kind of grade you cheat to get.  If you catch my drift.  He demanded a solution, and I panicked and gave him a 100 out of sympathy.  I couldn't make him re-take the test, I didn't know where it was, and even if Trouble had stolen it, it's not like he would give it back.

A few class periods later, I found his test hiding under obscure papers on my desk.  He had missed two questions.  Oops.

Today, I sequestered Trouble and told him that it had been suggested that he had not earned that 94.  I said that I had been disappointed to hear this, because I knew he had been working hard, and I wanted to believe he had earned it.  As I had not witnessed the ordeal myself, I asked him once if this was true.  He said absolutely not.  He said he thinks he knows who started the rumor and why, but that he had studied hard and earned the grade fair and square.  I probably should have re-tested him, but the hippie side of me screamed that if he was never trusted he would never do anything trustworthy.  If he had cheated this time, maybe our brief talk was what he needed to feel guilty about it.

He went back to his table, but he didn't do any work for the rest of the class.  I watched him sit there as he stared at the library wall.  He didn't even talk to his friends around him until it was time to leave.  What was the message behind that blank face?  Was it I can't believe that little goodie-two-shoes snitched on me!  Or was it I can't believe someone said I cheated when I got a good grade!  As he left, I overheard him talking to his friends.  I caught snippets of "Do you know who it was?" and "I can't believe someone would say that!"  The cynical part of me told the hippie part of me that he knew I was watching and was dutifully reciting the lines of Startled, Confused, Wrongfully-Accused Teenager.  But the hippie side of me told the cynical side to chill her grill and give him a chance.  Maybe he had earned the A.  Maybe not.  Maybe my believing him him will inspire him to turn around.  Maybe not.  Maybe he stared at the wall and plotted how to cheat more efficiently next time, and maybe he was wondering what was for lunch tomorrow and who to ask to tomorrow's February dance.

Fighting the Good Fight?

Ugh.  I am still at school, because I can't bring myself to muster the motivation to get out of the chair and go home.  There sits beside me a pile of papers, some turned in late, some just located, some not counted and re-submitted, but I can't make the pile of papers any smaller.  I'm listening to the ticking of the clock (that only sometimes reads the correct time) and the teacher talking in the room next to me.  I have a write-up slip to turn in, behavior letters to respond to, and extra credit papers to grade and record.  I discovered today that other teachers have been printing and sending home grade reports.  The floor is littered with paper and bent, torn workbooks.  I yelled at almost every one of my classes today.

I feel like a failure.

I don't understand why, when I show respect to the students, they act like they don't care what I have to say.  It seems to me that you would behave better for the nicer teacher, rather than hear that as some kind of thinly-veiled code for "do whatever you want."  When did that message get so lost in translation?  Should I have come in hard and strong and said "If you set one toe out of line, I will write you up, no questions asked?"  That's not my style.  I want to give every student the benefit of the doubt.  I don't want to believe every story I hear, every tattle I hear told.  These kids are good.  I believe that, when given the opportunity, they will rise the occasion.  

So why aren't they?  It's been said for the past several days now, by different students and well-meaning teachers, "Oh, they're just acting like this because you are a sub.  They wouldn't act like this for their real teacher.  They're usually so much more respectful..." etc.  Even students have admitted to me that they act differently around me because I am a sub.  First off - let me correct that terminology.  Because I hate being referred to as "a sub," as though my job title is barely worthy of syllables.  I am a TEACHER.  I am a Long-Term Substitute Teacher, but one of those words is TEACHER.  I am certified in three separate areas, and I have two degrees.  The only reason I don't have my own class, my own desk with apple and name plate is because of the job market and my own pickiness.  So to hear that they are behaving like this because I am a "sub" really stings.  Because what I really hear is "You're not our real teacher.  You don't matter.  We don't have to do what you say."  And maybe it's because I'm the youngest, or maybe because I paid attention when I learned about those certain inalienable rights -- but I feel I DO matter.  Call me crazy. 

Instead of conduct cuts, which I feel ultimately amount to nothing other than a personal, mutual vendetta  between student and teacher, I ask my students to rate their behavior in my class.  I ask them to make goals for themselves and talk honestly with me about how they are acting.  For some, this apparently means "Nice teacher doesn't punish me as long as I slap down some crap about trying hard, potential, maybe throw in a half-meant apology."  And that is disheartening to me.  I can't make these kids care.  I can't make them behave.  But I thought I would be the difference, that I would help them to see that they CAN be better, that they ARE capable of being "good."  But, from so many students, I receive barely more than "IDK."  Some just throw away my response, in much the same way they throw away my teaching, or any memory of my presence in their lives.  That is not what I set out to do -- to be forgotten.  I set out to make a difference, to be a strong, adult role model in my students' lives.  And, sorry, but I take their apathy a little personally.

But then there are the other students.  The ones who say that they really understand the lesson when I teach them.  The ones who suggest activities for class, the ones who ask me if I like working here and what I think of their behavior.  The student who is starting to improve in how he treats those around him, after two letters back and forth to each other.  The student who says that she sees these letters and my honesty with them as an advantage, and that she really appreciates having someone tell her exactly how it is.  It's a small, barely-burning match in the fog, but it's something.

Am I being impatient?  Can I really expect a student who has built up 13 years of apathy tho turn it around with just three little notes?  Will they catch up to the others one day?  Should I have silent class tomorrow, where the next person who talks gets a conduct cut?  I know the answer is probably to straddle that line between authoritarian and warm, caring hippie.  But I'm so new that the line is hard to see.  I WANT to be caring all the time.  And I want them to care all the time too.   I don't want to hear "it's because you're a sub," ever again, though I know I will.  I want all of the student responses to eventually be "I get it now!  I understand now why we do this, how I act, what I can do better, and I honestly care!"  But I know that's impossible.  I want to feel like I've made a difference.

I want the energy to get up and go home.

Am I smarter than a 5th grader?

I'm trying something new with some of my classes.  In two of the classes, I had the students take out a sheet of paper and give themselves a grade for their behavior today.  I asked them, on a scale of 1-5, how did you do today?  Be honest; this isn't for a grade, it's to see how well you reflect on your own behavior.  I feel like too many students just show up, throw down some kind of action, do some amount of work, and leave, without really thinking about what they're doing, how they look to others, or how hard they make anyone else's lives.  So I had two classes think about it.  I asked them to think about how they are acting.  I asked them to explain their score.  I then asked them to make a plan for what to do tomorrow to be better.

Some students confessed to cheating on their worksheets today (Oh, great...).  One said that it was I who had gotten mad at her when she had just been asking a question.  One said that the students would behave better if I punished them more.  I am so tempted to ask to see his Master's degree.

I'm not a big punisher.  It's not that I want to add a bunch of twelve-year-olds to my circle of friends, it's that I want students to think about why they do the things they do.  I don't want fear of punishment to be the main motivator in someone's behavior.  Plus, let's say I do punish someone.  I give them enough of whatever kind demerit it takes for them to get detention.  Then what?  they get written up, they can't go on field trips or participate in activities.  Okay?  To a student who has been punished their whole life, none of that matters.  None of that really makes them want to be better.

But what does?

I feel a bit hypocritical at times, because there are some things I do in life just to avoid punishment.  I don't speed for the sole reason that I don't want a ticket.  I think that, as long as you aren't going too fast, you would be able to stop should anything too important come about.  But I don't have the money to pay for a ticket, and so I don't speed.

I do, however, try to leave public places nicer than how I found them.  If I drop something in Wal Mart, I put it back.  Nobody gives me a demerit or a fine for not doing this, but I know that it is someone's job to tidy the store.  But, just because it's someone's job to clean a place does not mean I have permission to leave it in chaos, as though their job is beneath mine.

In the first scenario, I let punishment be my motivator, because I do not have any other motivator to follow this role.  I do not personally see the big deal with going a few miles over the speed limit.  But I do personally see the problem with acting like a princess for someone else to clean up after in stores and public places.  Everyone in the work force matters.

The problem is that, in some ways, the student who thinks I need to punish more does have a point. The rest of the students just don't see a personal reason why they should behave.  There's nothing at stake for them, they don't care how hard my life is or whether or not their classmate can concentrate.  They're just waiting for me to yell at them, demerit them, and send them out -- because it's all they know.

Is it possible for this to change?  Is it possible to inspire a student to find some reason to behave, other than "I don't want to get in trouble?"

This is one of my favorite videos in the world.  Watch it: here.

The thing is, as an adult I don't follow this all the way.  We've already discussed why I don't speed.  My reason for not trashing a place is concern for other people -- and most of my life has been spent being good to make other people happy. There are a few teachers in particular that I wanted so badly to impress.  I would even wear certain things just hoping they would notice and comment about it (never anything inappropriate of course).  I didn't work hard "because I did," I worked hard because my brother was a genius and I wanted to be good at something.  I worked hard so teachers, parents, elders would recognize me.  I didn't want a reward, per-se, but I suppose recognition is its own reward in a way.

Not until college did I honestly pursue knowledge for the love of knowledge.  Not until college did I revel in literary devices just for fun.  Yet, even in college, I wanted approval of teachers, of friends, of everyone.  Would I be different now, had I been Rafe's class (the teacher from the video) in 5th grade?  Can I give to my students a value that I am still working to develop myself?  Is it possible for these students to be motivated inwardly, or do I need to start writing cuts?  I've given four since I arrived in my long-term placement, and I genuinely believe that one of them might have gotten through.  But who knows, really.  I'm pretty sure that, as a middle-schooler, I would have taken the cut, rolled my eyes, and left without another thought.

School: It only makes sense in hindsight

At times, it is hard to connect with the other teachers, because I'm actually closer to the students' age than to their age. I hear things like, "Last night, my husband cooked this great meal for my kids and me..." and I can only respond with "My boyfriend works nights, so I had hamburger helper and watched game shows with my cat." So usually I just don't say anything. I'm done pretending I'm older than I am. And being close in age to my students comes with its benefits, too.

For one, it wasn't long ago that I was in class. Actually, it was last year. I sat there, tired, bored, squirmy, and not completely focused on what I was doing. I had stuff going on my life that I couldn't 100% leave at home, and so focusing on work was not always easy. And I was going to school for my career. How can I expect a student to sit quietly for eight hours, in classes that he or she does not even care about? It is, of course, my job to inspire students and lead them to igniting their own fires for learning. But if I can't be expected to be perfect, in a class based around my very passion, Can I expect students to do the same in a subject they don't even like?

No. Of course not. Not that I don't have high expectations, but I do think this is something we have to keep in mind. It helps me with that whole "not taking things personally" that I am constantly working on.

What's interesting is that school is one of those things that you don't fully understand until almost ten years later. I was an honor student. But I wasn't a good student. I rarely read for class. If you're a former teacher reading this, I probably didn't read everything I was supposed to. And I am very sorry, because years later, I read those things for the first time -- and regretted my own childish ignorance. The first time I was assigned The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, I blew it off. I had been out of town the week we read it, so that meant I didn't have to read it. Duh. But then, in a college Romanticism class, I had to read the poem again -- even if it was really the first time. It was incredible. I wanted to go back to that high school student and smack her for depriving herself of such an amazing piece.

I remember sitting in seventh grade as the teacher drilled into our heads that CALL OF THE WILD IS ABOUT CAPITALISM AND "PASS THE BUCK" IS A THING AND THIS IS IMPORTANT AND PAY ATTENTION ALREADY!!! And I hated every Jack London moment of it. Symbolism was so stupid. Why not just say what you mean? And what if the author didn't want it to mean anything? And why do I need to know this, it's not like I'm going to be an English major or anything (Oh, the irony).

And writing the question. Oh, God the torture. Are teachers crazy? Do they actually think this works? I swear they just like to watch us write for no reason (and I liked to write!)! I hear my students saying this today, and I can almost see little middle-school me, awkward, insecure, bored, and so so frustrated at the tediousness of it all. Does this even matter?!

Yes. Yes, childhood me. Yes, students of mine (until Monday, that is). Yes it matters. The sad thing is that you won't realize this for years. I wish there was some way to communicate this to students, that we are not making this up, that you really do have the potential and you really can do better, and that writing the questions actually helps you to remember and study your work, and that literature is beautiful, and Coleridge is a genius and symbolism and metaphors are sometimes the only way we can communicate. But there is no way to show a person their future. I also wish I could tell past-me to learn to balance a checkbook, to stop leaving her stuff everywhere, to clean her room and practice maintaining a space. But regrets are pointless, and all we can do is work with the present. All I can do is insist to my students that this does matter and hope that they can find this out for themselves one day. All I can do is hope that one day they will re-read what they missed or find within themselves an insatiable curiosity for something.

I've always been one to tackle the impossible, to chase horizons, to push boulders up hills all day, even if they're just going to come back down at night.

-----

Also, I made a decision about yesterday's crisis. I got a text message from the teacher whose class I had been chosen to cover, the one I worked so hard to get all year. She's being put on bed rest and needs me to start next week. I can't in good conscience leave a pregnant woman, on the verge of delivering her first babies (yes, babies) just because more money came along. I know I need the money. But I talked all last year about the snake-like classmates I had, who, if told that getting a job meant cutting off someone's head, would pause only to locate the nearest hardware store and axe-handling gloves. I'm not a cut-throat person. I have to cling to my morals; I want my students (current and future) to be able to see an example of compassion. I tell students every day to never make another person's life harder than it is already. This value means nothing if I'm not willing to demonstrate it myself. Plus, I've wanted this all year. It seems stupid to walk away from it.

Well, crap.

I don't want to write this post. I don't want to write it because I don't want this problem to exist; I just want to pretend I didn't know about it and continue with my original plan. But apparently that's impossible. Apparently I, unlike everyone else from my class have to be dragged through hell and back before I get a freaking job. Which is unfair, because -- and maybe this influenced by how much America's Next Top Model I've been watching, but -- I feel like I wanted this job more than almost anybody in that class. But whatever. It's not going to be easy, sure. But does it have to be impossible?

Alright. I'll back up. I'll humor you, remind myself that you, the three or four people who read this have no idea what I'm talking about.

Remember this? Remember that whole "two schools have a long-term sub position at the same time, and I'm in a crisis about which one to go after, because I can't pick both?" Well, turns out that the jobs weren't at the same time. In fact, one was, and is, right after the other. I have two days left in my long-term job at one school, and guess who the second school picked? No, not her. Me! Hooray, and stuff!

Except that it would be a celebration. If not for what I learned today. This morning, I was told that there was an opening at the school where I am now. An opening that starts...yesterday. And that it's full-time, that it will last through the year and on into next year. I'd be the "reading connections" teacher, which sounds like a lot of fun! When I found out, I was all squirmy with excitement and squirmy with guilt at the idea of bailing on the second school, especially since I worked (and nagged) so hard all year to get there.

So then I talked to the principal of the current school. Found out that the job is NOT full-time; it's just an other long-term sub. Buttttt there are two important things to consider, and the two reasons I didn't immediately say "Forget it." One: The job is for the rest of the year. So guaranteed pay, every day, until May. I did not even try to make that rhyme. And Two: The current school pays so much more. I know it's not about money. I'd do this for free if I could pay my bills, get married, travel, and start an adult life somehow. I love teaching. It's not about the money. But when I'm guaranteed not to be working all summer, when I have no idea how to pay back my student loans, when I want to not be so freaking stuck in advancing to a Real Adult Life -- yeah, it does kinda matter.

But it's not like I can take this job and just tell the other school to find someone else. I'm supposed to start in as little as two weeks. And that job would be guaranteed until April. So not as much, but still nice. And if an opening comes up at the second school (Which is, for the record, not even a mile from my house), I want to be number one on their list. I don't even want there to be debate about where my loyalties are -- and if I bail on a pregnant lady that will definitely cause debate.

But can I just walk away from that much more money? This upcoming long-term job is all I've wanted all year. I've been campaigning and lobbying and reminding and poking and prodding every chance I've gotten, just to make sure that they knew I wanted it. Yes that other candidate had the kids last year, and yes that other-other candidate had those same kids earlier this year, but you should pick me, because I WANT IT MORE! And I did. Do. Still do.

I can't decide if this is one of those instances of "you get what you want but still want more, when are you ever going to be happy, just take what you get" or if it's more like "ooh look! A better opportunity!"

If it was an easy decision, I would have made it already.

IS it an easy decision?

What I wish I could say in my Cover Letter

It's January and I still don't have a job. Actually, right now I am long-term subbing, so I can't really interview for anything (and all the jobs are starting...yesterday. Awesome.). But that aside, I have been on a lot of interviews. A lot. And still nothing. In a way I'm not bothered, because that means that the people who haven't called me have felt that I would not be a good fit for them (or them for me). And I guess that means they save me from being miserable at a job where I don't fit. But when will I find the Cinderella Job? The right fit?

You know that moment in movies where the main character stands up in front of a large group of people and delivers a passionate speech (usually in a courtroom... Why are so many main characters being convicted of things)? That's what I want to do. I've been warned against entering an interview room and immediately asserting that I will be their best candidate all day and here's why. And I'm not going to. But I want to. And this is what I would say:

I have wanted to be a teacher since I was in second grade, and I forced the dyslexic boy down the street to learn to read. There was something about this moment -- this sharing of my love for books with somebody else -- that picked me up, shook me, and turned me into a compass pointing due North to my life as a teacher.

It's funny to me that I took so long to answer the question of what to teach. I was a recess reader, a secretive gym class writer, a student who interrupted class once to show the teacher a new story. I was terminally uncool, and I didn't care. The other kids had their makeup and their dances and their premature crushes on twenty-year-old celebrities. I had more. I had anything I wanted. Magic, flight, time travel, talking animals, families similar to mine, families different, worlds both fanciful and futuristic. And what I didn't have within the pages of a book I could create if I wanted it. I lived trapped in another world, but I was anything but a prisoner.

To think that such a job exists that I could share this transcendent joy with someone else -- to teach a student how to find solace in words -- this would be (at the risk of becoming a Disney princess) a dream come true.

In my teaching, I aspire to instill a love of learning in my students -- a drive that makes them into lifelong, voluntary seekers of information, of truth, of beauty. I believe this is possible (though not easy) to do for every one of my students. However, schools today are not set up in a way that is conducive to such inspiration. Large classrooms where the overlooked middle continues to blend and disappear, lesson plans designed around standardized tests, and isolated approaches to things like grammar and vocabulary do not light a fire in students. How can I say this with such certainty? Because I, as a student, was largely a product of such a system -- and I did not have the fire that I value so much today. There were teachers who made a difference -- absolutely -- but always by bucking the system, if ever so slightly. No teacher who recites standards and lives out of a workbook can inspire a student. If you want students who chase after learning, give them something to learn that matters! In my temporary classroom of seventh graders, we are reading The Giver, and every day I love to watch my students fight with their own perceptions of "normal" and "utopia." They are learning. They aren't filling in bubbles, they aren't copying definitions. They are thinking. They are talking. And they are learning.

Can I control a classroom? This is a trick question, as I believe that a true learning community, in a way, can control itself. When students are genuinely pursuing knowledge, chasing that magical spark, hoping to add to their own fire -- it is bound to be chaotic. But I want chaos. I want a discussion that I have to silence because too many students are eager to share their ideas. I want students to love the classroom so much that acting out would be seen as a waste of their precious time. And in what fantasy land would I find such perfect students, I know. Students will need guidance to achieve this level of self-directed learning, but I believe, wholeheartedly, that this is absolutely possible.

I admit that, if you talk to other teacher candidates, you might find someone more experienced than me. Someone who knows how to play the game better, someone who doesn't distribute copies of their cover letter with "Cover Letter" typed in the header. There will be someone more bureaucratic. Someone with kids of their own, who can bring that "seasoned parent" aspect to their discipline. But I promise you, as hard as you look, you will not find somebody who will love what they do as much as me.

Yes, I am young. I am rather small in stature, and occasionally even middle school teachers (when not fully looking) mistake me for a student. But I love this. I love Language. I love writing and reading and teaching and I love working with adolescents. I wish there was a word I could use other than "love," without looking like I discovered a thesaurus for the first time, because I feel redundant. But if I have to be redundant to get my point across, so be it. I have been a temporary teacher for a few weeks, and I practically ache inside to have this life for real.

I know, one day the right school, the right fit, will find me. But you just read my manifesto. Does such a school exist? If so, where? if not, why not?