Thoughts

I sit here in my school's library, serving Saturday school with the students who committed various misdeeds this past week. There is a slight wind outside, but the sun is shining. This school has become familiar to me, and interacting with students has become second nature as I step inside my classroom day to day. Yet I realize, as I sit here seventy-seven months into this experience, just how much a person can miss as he steps into his role as teacher. Like other jobs, teaching is a very social trade, with hundreds of students streaming in and out of a classroom every school day. This offers the opportunity to build community within the walls of that room, and I have grown to see that every class has its unique personality. There are moments during a school year that stand out, however, and for my leadership students, yesterday was one of those days. This was the day of the rap contest. It was an impromptu rap contest, since we had finished making the teacher appreciation poster

Following are responses to recent questions on a journaling site I visit. For the second question, except for one sentence, I tried to create a person completely different than me. Do you prefer beach or forest? I prefer the forest because I like the warmth and comfort of a campfire with friends. I like watching the progress of rivers, listening to the steady and powerful rush of millions of gallons of water, having carved their course to the oceans; and I like the smell of pine trees and the company of unseen birds and animals. I enjoy thinking about the fact that a lake can exist well above sea level, that one can swim high above a valley. I like the variety in scenery offered by forests, with mountains here, grasses there, and patches of sunlight that penetrate the canopy and flood an open plain. In fact, the sun is more pleasant in a forest than elsewhere because the forest is cold, and the fact that you have limited access to the sun makes it the more pleasant when y

It took me several years before my classroom looked anything near respectable. I remember a few colleagues noting calmly before my first year began how barren it looked with its blank walls. More concerned with how to teach, I was content to keep it that way, until a friend and colleague offered to help decorate. My attitude toward that classroom on that hot August day is similar to the one with which I treat my personal space in general. This, perhaps, reflects the sentiment that a person's sense of self is composed mainly in his character rather than his surroundings. Still, some of what a man is made of is visible on his person, the way he carries himself and the way he dresses. Should it be any different with the way he treats his personal space? An acquaintance once called my apartment, before I moved, "spartan." I suppose that comment, and my attitude toward my blank classroom, revealed just how inattentive I can be toward the outside world. This has its benefits an

My joy in writing came from a culmination of experiences from college. I saw myself improving there, and received praise for some of the essays I wrote. These ongoing events, taken together, gave me something to grasp onto in terms of my identity. It's hard to overstate how important it is for a male to feel useful. For me, that usefulness has taken the form of my ability to express myself, to write on behalf of others, and to apprentice others with what little ability I myself have. Since college, in fact, I have become an English teacher; and it is in the realm of writing, more than any other aspect of language, that I feel most able to help my students. While I am no great writer, I feel that others' affirmation of my ability has given me a positive sense of myself. Whether or not I should take that sense as part of who I truly am is not for me to say now. I know that what someone does has no bearing on that person's importance as an individual. I also

Abraham Lincoln said, "Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." Since I began as a teacher, I've tended to compare power to a sword. When I began, I brandished it uselessly for my students to ignore. They scoffed, and did what they pleased. Power, at this time, was novel. As a result, I later overcompensated, swinging it recklessly and punishing any without regard to students' motives or backgrounds. Power, then, was an expression of fear. Learning to use it more carefully, I later became selective in how it was wielded. I became aware, slowly, that the punishment needed to fit the crime, and I learned degrees of consequence. The sword was to be used only when it truly mattered. Power, at this time, became a skill. Finally, the sword became more a symbol for protection, intended to guard others' well-being rather than solely guard the one who wielded it. Power, here, became intentional. The

John Steinbeck took a liking to the common folk of the Great Depression era, and in his stories, demonstrated his skill at expressing life truths through the common man's tongue. In his two most famous, The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men , he gave everyday man the wisdom that he seemed genuinely to believe he possessed. Through characters like Casey the preacher in The Grapes of Wrath , in fact, you find that Steinbeck felt strongly about the potential for salvation-- despite widespread suffering-- to be found within the community. Into this theme, however, that the community was the lifeblood of the family and that the family was the lifeblood of each person, Steinbeck weaves a seemingly contradictory message. His male protagonists expressed fierce independence, and would rather starve than depend on the charity of others. It was from this independence that a man held onto his dignity, even within the depths of poverty. Still, this independence seemed to assume an indepe

I just came back from my brother's renewal of vows. He lives in Wisconsin, and this particular week, they experienced colder-than-average temperatures. I could tell because my hands began to go numb as I attempted to tie down a trailer after last night's reception. As a result, I appreciated the fact that the temperature in Stockton was in the mid-sixties when I came back. It was, however, good to take part in this, a dream of my brother and sister-in-law, after at least two years without seeing them. I saw the incredible support of their friends, who helped set up the day before, took part on the day of the event, and stayed late to help clean up. Aware of how tired everyone was late last night, one of Chris's friends even lent Chris his truck to take the last of the decorations home, a favor that allowed the family to return home before two o'clock in the morning last night. Here are some of the highlights: 1. Hearing on a plane what sounded like a baby's fi