I want to make a checklist of things never to do as a teacher. The first item on it will be: "End a sentence with 'Right?'" I wonder how obvious is my inspiration.
Never:
- End a sentence with, "Right?"
- Ignore advice or suggestions.
- Think I know everything.
- Think I don't need help doing anything ever.
- Touch a whiteboard with my skin.
- Lie.
- Be half-assed.
- Not have a lesson-plan.
- Use someone else's lesson plan without going over it beforehand.
- Ask if material is either too easy or too hard.
- Talk loudly when frustrated.
- Talking about teaching when students are nearby and still.
- Silencing students--especially when it's not affecting the entire class.
- Treating everything as though within my power.
- Treating everything as though out of my power.
- Talking just outside the classroom door as though it were private.
- Be available.
- Be responsive; quick to respond.
- Be helpful.
- Be enthused (no problem there!)
- Use many methods.
I had a dream this morning
I had a dream this morning, about someone from "long-ago". I've blogged about him all over the place, always trying not to use his real name, so I guess I'll do that again. Let's call him Lexus, because he's luxurious in a sort of way.
Backstory:
When highschool started for us, Lexus came to our school for Grade Nine Math although he was in grade eight; and for the rest of my highschool career, it was that way. In grade nine, though, everyone called him smelly and a grade-eight-er and a show-off; and it was mostly true.
From what I've gathered: he played chess competitively until about two years ago; was a lifeguard; was very athletic, being on volleyball and curling teams; played baseball in the summer; had terrible communication skills; liked to be well-read; had an amazing imagination / ability of imaging; and, of course, was fantastic at Math.
Around grade eleven, he joined the school choir, and this is probably when I first noticed him.
I mean, during the annual Jazz festival, I had taken a photo of him sleeping on the bus; and I had already noticed that he played trumpet in a very precise manner and as though there were something very funny--a sarcastic "inside-joke"--to his precision. But I had never paid much attention to him until he joined the choir.
Being one of the few male voices, his seat was near the back, and it happened that he stood almost directly behind me. His voice had the same sarcastic timbre as his trumpet-playing, and Chris once had to point out to Lexus that it isn't by forcing that you sing lower and better tones!
So, I heard his voice more. And I also saw him more (though I'd seen him in Grade Ten Pre-Calculus), and through this, came to be infatuated.
Then, in my graduating year, there was a slight problem in my schedule. Because of the courses I wanted, I was forced to take Pre-Calc before Calculus. Of course, my previous grades and having a father who teaches Math (badly) once a week quickly convinced Admin that this would not be a problem. It so happened that Lexus had the same happen to him.
We took Calculus together, then; and somehow, the three of us with this scheduling conflict sat mostly alone on the same side of the class (it was a small class, about fifteen).Obviously, he began to mean something to me; I noticed and fell in love with details of him--the way his hair made his eyes sharper; the curve of his nose; the way his facial hair started simply as fuzz on his chin.
I also started a graphic journal, because I wanted to capture details. Fridays were our treat-days, where we all took turns bringing treats. One day, we had chocolate pudding--or maybe Lexus just brought his own, I forget--and he spilled some on his bright yellow shirt. I heard a slight commotion, and turned to see; he and lifted his shirt to his mouth to clean it off; and, lest I be obvious, I had to turn back, when I saw his abs.
I eventually wrote a journal entry, which turned out to be a poem:Math and Symbols
I'll be sitting in class, and you'll
be behind me, where I can't
mentally undress you.
Not
that it stops me from trying, but
it would be so much more satisfying,
I think,
if I could stare at your body. Or
at your face while you
puzzle over a new problem.
I love that expression on your face:
It's not quite "relaxed",
it's not quite "intense",
but it's almost
pouty,
as though all the
muscles in your face just went dead
and limp like
your entire being
is focused on the problem
and you can't spare the energy to look
awake.
You make me want to shout and sing and
write bad poetry,
but I don't feel words can actually
articulate all that I want
to express.
I want
to write it out in large and esoteric
math and symbols:
"YOU ARE THE LIGHT OF MY MIND, YOU INSPIRE
AND CHALLENGE ME, YOU KEEP ME BURNING, AND
ALSO, YOU ARE GOOD-LOOKING."
But I wonder
what you would think of that,
and, if I gave you that
paper with my heart translated
into math and symbols,
would you find me odd,
and then not
be the same person you
were
in my head?
Eventually, I realized someone was going to notice the way I couldn't even look his direction with a straight face.
I wrote him a letter to a similar effect as the journal entry, mostly pointing out that I found him attractive (mentioning a few to show I was serious); that I just had to tell him because I didn't want rumours; that if he had a significant other, I didn't mean to interfere; that if I was being too bold, he should let me know, because, "since when are you afraid of girls?"
This was pretty disastrous, but not at first.
It was entirely my fault, because he didn't send any sort of reply, and I ruined the whole thing a few days later by first giving him a "secret" note telling him I'd phone tonight, and then phoning.
When I'd been put through to him, he said slowly that he was going to tell me that tonight wouldn't be a good night to call. It was then that I learned he had a girlfriend; and my lack of response betrayed my expectations. I think I managed to say, "Oh," and, after a pause, "Have fun with that". I forget what happened immediately after, but we eventually hung up and nothing was much changed, save that I couldn't look his direction for embarrassment instead of infatuation.
I'm not sure what happened after I graduated. In University, I heard short second-hand stories about how he had a girlfriend, and such-and-such happened to them, so now such-and-such took place. I visited the highschool once--a class he took, too. He made a point of announcing something about his girlfriend--but, at this time, I was dating James anyway.
I've heard from someone he used to play chess against, that perhaps he's now in the University of Waterloo, and wouldn't doubt it, with his brain.
The Dream
The dream was confusing, and I remember only to parts. The first part, there was Lexus, James, some others, and me; and we were at some sort of social gathering; and, for some reason, I had to keep it unknown to James that I had a thing for Lexus; and Lexus was making that very difficult, because he flaunted all the things I'd adored. Somehow, the topic turned to hair and sideburns--not quite sideburns, but the hair that grows over top your ears--and I'd called Lexus a hypocrite because he had that, too; and I'd grabbed him by that hair and I think I kissed him.
The other part was after the party, when Lexus and I were alone for some reason. And I remember thinking to myself, "You're not real, and if you kiss me, it won't feel real--I won't be able to feel your lips, your heat, your movement--and I must really stop imagining you." And hen he kissed me, and it felt entirely real--texture, heat, motion and all. And then he asked me if I wanted him to stop being real, and I don't remember what happened next.
Eventually I awoke, very confused because my mind, body, heart and spirit were all pulling in opposing directions so that even inaction fell into one of them.
I'm not sure what to make of the dream. This is the second dream I've had where someone I either love or am in love with has asked me whether it would be okay to be romantic. If anything, this should be a symbol or warning of my own indecision; but it doesn't help that I know not where to go.
I'm not going to let it worry me too much yet. More urgent is:
Adieu!
--Charissa
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