Sunday Musings: Love and Covenants

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Today we had a special meeting at church called a ward conference. During one of the interactive lessons, the gentleman teaching brought up the topic of covenants, which are two-way promises we make with God. He asked us how keeping covenants affects our relationship with our Heavenly Father.

As I pondered this question, I thought about the things that make a big difference in my relationship with my own parents. One of the factors that made the biggest difference in our relationship was my moving back home for a few months. Coming home, and while here, choosing to be home instead of always going out are the ways I show my parents that I love them, that I choose them over other people's company. I have activites virtually every night of the week and on those rare occasions when I do not go out, they express being overjoyed.

I thought about that in relation to covenants. Our Heavenly Father asks us to make covenants because He knows that they are exactly what we need to make it home to Him, to survive the wear and tear of this life. By choosing to keep these covenants, we are showing Him that we want to go home, that we are striving to make it back to His presence so that we can live as a family once more.

By maintaining this attitude when it comes to covenants, I think it will be easier for us to transcend mere duty and make love our motivating factor for following our Heavenly Father's commandments.

Mwahahahaha, I am finals' week, hear me roar!

It's Finals Week, and can I just say- writing finals for other people to take is so much more fun than taking them yourself. There is this sadistic little joy in it, which I tried really, really hard not to enjoy ... too much.

I had my kids write a paragraph about a topic of their choice and wouldn't you know it, some of the kids that I thought didn't know how to write at all actually gave me fabulous paragraphs. Now I just have to figure out how to convince them to write that well all the time, and they'll be golden.

I was pleasantly surprised and often amused by some of the responses I got. Here are a few of my favorites.

Prompt about your favorite person:

"If you think I'm crazy by myself, well then just wait until you see me and my couzin together. Were wild monkeys going crazy over their bananas."

"When I left I started to cry so much, I made a swimming pool in the room."


Prompt about how to teach someone to play a sport:

"When you throw a football, you flick your arm like you were flicking a booger."


Prompt about a favorite trip:

"After about four rides I threw up. I had a blast!" (I don't think he was meaning to be puny, but I absolutely love how this one turned out)

I love grading my students' paragraphs, because they show a depth and a sincerity that often does not show through their hardened, high school facade. It gives me hope that they are diamonds in the rough, and with a little polishing they will turn out well in the end.

Music Mania

I have read numerous articles in past years expressing concern that kids just aren't learning musical instruments as much anymore. Money, opportunity and interest all play a factor in the decrease in musicality in the modern generation.

I was chatting with some of my students today and I asked them what instruments they played.

"Aw, Ms. Warren, my parents made me learn violin," complained one student.

"I studied cello for years," explained another.

"My parents spent a lot of money to get me Rock Bank," stated a student. "I have been really practicing for the last few years and I think I'm getting really good."

Hey, why bother learning real guitar when you can just bust out your skills in a video game?

A polychromatic day

One of my school kids told a funny joke to me today. "Ms. Warren, where would gangsters live in a jacket?" he asked.

"I don't know, the pocket?" I responded.

"Nope, in da hood!" he quipped.

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Although it's only been eight short years since I graduated from high school, I can still see a drastic changes in the social scene from when I went.

I went to a high school in northern California that had students from 28 different countries. The demographics were broken down roughly into a third caucasian, a third Hispanic and a third of everything else mixed together. There wasn't much contention between the different groups. In fact, there was hardly mixing of the groups at all. Everyone kind of kept to themselves.

At lunch, your race generally determined where you would ate- Hispanics munched in the cafeteria, Polynesians and African Americans dominated the quad, Asians lived it up in the AP classrooms and the white people ate pretty much everywhere else. That division of races was often reflected in every aspect of the social scene.

One day in the 11th grade, I went to the cafeteria because my Latina friend from church had invited me to sit with her during lunch. I still remember my feeling of discomfort as I walked across that seemingly endless cafeteria to where she sat, with a hundred pairs of eyes boring into me. While no one seemed angry about my presence in the room, it seemed like they couldn't figure out why I was there. I felt so awkward that I never attempted to cross that boundary again.

My first day of my teaching position at a local high school in Nevada, I felt taken aback by how those boundaries and barriers of race were being torn down. I noticed dozens of mixed-race couples strolling hand-in-hand down the halls. I observed groups of friends that were like kaleidoscopes of different colors.

Of course, I still see evidence of those walls on a daily basis. I hear more racial slurs uttered in a single class period than in an episode of the George Lopez show. One day at lunch, we had a school-wide brawl between "the Rednecks and the Mexicans." The entire school turned out for the fight and the administration had to ring the bell 15 minutes early to break it up.

I am excited for the changes I am seeing as I see those racial boundaries coming down. I only hope that we can keep moving in a direction that pulls us together instead of further wedging us apart.

More good in the hood

Today my students wrote a prompt about what they would do in the case of a natural disaster. I told them I expected a strong first sentence and some really good details. My favorite response: "I would knock over a 7-11 and get some munchies. I would get RC Cola and some chips. Then I would steal a car and head for Mexico." The prompt was decorated with lovely drawing of 'shrooms.

Ah, our future is in good hands.

Musings of a high school teacher

In October of last year, I took over a literacy class for freshmen at a local high school. The previous teacher had something of a nervous breakdown caysed by the behavioral issues in the class. Every teacher or adminstrator I ran into before starting the job gave me this look that said, "poor thing, it was nice knowing you" accompanied by an affectionate parting pat on the arm. One person even went so far as to say, "doom doom!" I had just watched the fabulous film "Freedom Writers" and was confident that I, too, could make all the kids like me, solve all their personal problems, and look as good as Hillary Swank in the process. Ah, the sweet naivete of one about to be thrown into a den of lions.

I inherited a naturally wild bunch who were used to free reign and disrespecting ... well, everything and everyone.

As I have acquired the skills and learned the plans for fighting in that great battlefield known as teaching, I have had some interesting experiences. Here are some of my favorites:

I have to explain to my kids, down to the minutest of details, exactly what I expect of them. "Yes, I DO expect you to fill out your workbook." "No, I DO NOT want you to pick your nose and wipe it on the girl next to you." "Yes, coming is required to pass the class."

Each day, they are required to put their books and folders into a hanging file in a metal cabinet. And every day, I have to threaten, plead, beg and bribe them to do it properly. At the end of the day, all my labors are usually rewarded with a drawer stuffed full of chaos- folders mixed up, books jammed into the back, things ripped apart.

One day, I opened up the drawer for fourth period and could only stare with my mouth gaping open. It was unbelievable- it was neat, orderly and every folder was in alphabetical order. I swore that for just a moment, I could hear choirs of angels singing. (although, it might have just been my Pandora playing in the background) I quickly sent up some thoughts of gratitude to heaven, for I knew that only higher powers could produce such a miracle.

One of my more difficult students has trouble keeping things from dropping- his grades, his test scores, his pants. One day he received notice to go to the office post haste to have his picture taken for the yearbook. As he sauntered out of the classroom, I asked him to make sure to pull up his pants, and then I closed the door behind him. A minute passed, then the student surprised all of us by flinging open the door, mooning the classroom, then running down the hall like a bat out of heck.

I'll admit it- I burst out laughing. What else could I do? I tried in vain to get the class back on task for the last fifteen minutes of class, but after having "the incident" it was really hard to go back to thinking about double negatives. So I let them have some free time and went back to my desk, giggling to myself about my interesting life.

My fourth period class is often pretty rowdy and it takes forever for them to get settled down for our ten minutes of reading time every day. Even after we get things settled, there is always that one kid that becomes fascinated with his own ability to make convincing cat noises, the student performing a STOMP audition with a pencil on his desk, or my personal favorite- the ever-flatulent boy doing a tuba impression in the back of the room. (I make sure in every seating change that he stays right where he is- on the opposite end of the room.)

As I was typing up some assignments during their reading time one day, I noticed that there was something amiss and I couldn't quite figure out what it was. Finally, it dawned on me- they were quiet. As I looked around in amazement, I realized that every single student was completely absorbed in reading their book. For some of these kids, it might be the longest uninterrupted period of time they have ever read a book.

It is moments like these that keep me from screaming "Adios muchachos!" flinging away my badge, and running down the hall, cackling maniacally at my joy of never again having to deal with another obnoxious teenager.

I told one my kids today that I used to have a twin, but that she was evil and I killed her. The student looked at me in horror and didn't seem to believe it when I told her I was kidding. I guess I need to keep the sarcasm on the DL until I have older, or more cynical students.

I often wonder if my school kids like me at all. My mother, a veteran in the teaching trenches, told me not to worry about it. She explained that fear is more essential in classroom management than friendliness and being liked. But I can't help but wonder all the same.

There is a good chance I will be replaced by a more certified teacher in two weeks. One of my students asked me if I knew whether I would be staying around next semester and I told him my chances looked bleak. I half expected him to jump on the desk, yell "woo hoo!" and do a victory dance. Much to my surprise, however, he actually looked crestfallen and declared they they would stage a protest if I was not rehired. That made me grin the rest of the day. And it didn't hurt his chances of getting a decent grade either.

I wish there was an "Overheard in the Classroom" Web site for all of the funny things that are said at school. Today I attended a weekly meeting for the English department of our high school and all of the teachers were comparing funny stories. One comment in particular really stood out. "This has actually been a pretty calm, uninteresting year. I mean, no one has even tried to light my desk on fire yet!" If that is truly the standard for a boring year, then I think perhaps teachers are more hardcore than we give them credit for.

I am truly grateful for all of the experiences I have had thus far as a high school teacher. While the first words that come to mind about this job are exhausting, frustrating, demanding, and exhausting, there is also a satisfaction that I have rarely known in my work. And I stand in awe of the amazing teachers and staff who give their lives in educating these great kids.

Bob the Wal*mart employee- A character sketch

I generally find that Wal-mart employees* fit into one of three categories. First, there's Polite-Smile, who is friendly in a detached sort of way and who smiles big while serving you, only to let their face slide back into a blank stare the moment you turn away. Then there's Blatantly-Irritated, the employee that doesn't even hide the fact that they hate you and would rather shove bamboo shoots up their fingernails than help you find a new microwave. Finally, there Just-Plain-Crazy, the type that looks at you with large, bloodshot eyes before hightailing it in the opposite direction. If I worked at Wal-mart, I would probably be the last one.
As I was sitting in Wallie World for four hours today, waiting for my tires to be changed, I had the chance to meet an odd fellow that didn't really fit into any of my previously noted categories. I will call him Bob (I don't really think Bob would read my blog, but you never really know. Heck, for all I know, we could be facebook friends... )
I was sitting on a bench in the tire section, staring into the distance, thinking profound thoughts (probably about which Harry Potter movie is the best) when I was suddenly pulled from my reverie by a high-pitched peal of nervous giggling. I had never heard such a noise before and quickly scanned the aisles for the source. That's when I noticed Bob. With a profound resemblance to a hobbit, Bob boasts about five feet of height, a rotund belly and hairy arms. Everything about him screams "uncontained!" from his wild, unkempt hair, his hyper gait and a speaking voice most akin to a nervous scream.
Bob loved to chat. He chatted with me about the book I was reading. He chatted with the rather stern-looking gentleman about why Ritz crackers are better than Saltines in Oyster stew. And he chatted with the teenage gal with the "I <3 Italia" sweatshirt about why she should love Sicilians instead. (A particularly long conversation that made everyone, including her humongous boyfriend, feel a little uncomfortable.)
I'll admit it- Bob made me nervous with his unconventional social skills. But he also made for a delightful conversation counterpart, was a dedicated and friendly employee, and he livened up my waiting time immensely. So, cheers to Bob.


*This post is in no way meant as a critique of Wal-mart employees. I think that anybody working at such a stressful job would exhibit similar traits. Thank you for all your hard work and your low, low prices.