Walking Around House Naked
This framed card hangs right by my school desk.
It’s a reminder that I once would rather scrub toilets for a living than teach unruly teenagers.
My fourth year. Around late September. On a Friday, end of school day. Principal’s office.
Me: I’m not coming back. I’m done.
Principal: What’s wrong?
M: I can’t teach these kids. I hate it here.
P: You just need some time off.
M: Like the next nine months off. I’m sorry. I’m a lousy teacher. I don’t know how to do this.
P: Fawn, I’m not letting you leave. Take a week off. We’ll get you a sub. No worries.
M: You don’t understand. My mind is made up.
P: I understand that you’re really stressed. I see it all the time. You’re working too hard.
M: You don’t know that I cry every Sunday night because I dread the upcoming week. And when I’m driving to school Monday morning, I actually wish to hear news that the school had burned down over the weekend.
P: I’m sorry.
M: Me too. What kind of sick teacher wishes that, right?
P: Is this about a particular kid or group of kids? A parent?
M: No. I just hate them all.
P: I’m still not letting you just quit. Do I have to remind you your husband is still in medical school? You can’t afford to quit, Fawn.
M: I’ll scrub toilets. At least I’ll feel accomplished when I’m done with them. I love the smell of bleach. We’ll manage somehow.
P: Take a week off. Call me next Friday.
M: Fine. I’ll do that. But next Friday I’ll call to remind you to hire someone for the rest of the year.
The following Friday. I waited until school was out to call. I had the whole scene played out in my head: one of our two school secretaries would pick up the phone, I’d ask to speak with the principal, then I’d tell my principal exactly this: Thank you for the week off. Now, I quit.
Me: Hi! This is Fawn. May I speak with [principal] please?
Counselor: Hi Fawn. She was just here. Let me try to find her.
(A good 5 minutes went by.)
C: Sorry, I can’t find her. Can I take a message? Were you absent today?
M: I was absent all week. I really need to talk with her. Can I just wait or call back?
C: I didn’t know you weren’t here last week! Is everything okay?
M: Yeah.
C: Sure, you can wait for her. Oh, hey, I almost forgot. I actually need to talk with you anyway.
M: Yeah?
C: We have to let [a math/science teacher] go at the end of next week. Budget cuts.
M: That sucks!
C: I know. So I had to re-do our whole schedule. Your classes will change quite a bit. Want me to tell you what they are while we wait?
The whole chain of events still befuddles me:
Where were our two school secretaries that Friday afternoon that made our counselor pick up the phone instead? (Her office was across the hallway.)
Where was my principal?
We had to lay off that nice new teacher? After the school year had already started?
Any other staff member could have answered the phone — so why the counselor who apparently had to talk with me anyway because of all the changes to my schedule?
I didn’t have fewer kids, actually had more due to losing one teacher. I didn’t have a different set of kids, they just got shuffled around in my schedule.
Counselor: So, Fawn, sorry for all the changes.
Me: I know. Sad to lose the new teacher. Great guy.
C: Do you just want to leave a message for [principal]?
M: Yes, please. Just tell her thank you and I’ll see her Monday.
I bought the card during that one-week hiatus. It’s more funnier now. I once gave up. This teaching thing was once too hard for me. I sucked that badly at it.
If you ever think that you suck at something, like teaching, then it’s quite likely that you do suck at it. But if your heart is in it, like 100% in it, then you’ll suck less as time goes on. Kindly let your “sense of humor” and “pride in work” and “ability to explain” expand and occupy larger spaces in your teacher brain. Don’t completely do away with “walking around house naked” though — just keep the curtains drawn.
My Gratitude and One Share
I sat down wanting to share a lesson I did in Algebra on Friday, but I’m weepy because it’s Veterans Day. Please allow me to share this first.
I love this country. I love the America that welcomed me and my brothers and sisters with open arms 36 years ago. I love Mrs. Schnettler for patiently teaching me English, Mr. Hoon for making me feel visible in math even though I couldn’t speak the language.
I was too young and stupid to understand the nuances of war. Can’t say I understand it now. But I knew what life was like without freedom. I understood when my mom told me I couldn’t repeat what was said at the family dinner. I heard the bombings at night. I was aware that my teachers had to teach from a curriculum laden with Communist propaganda. Fear weaved itself into my blanket of insecurity. Hunger — and the shame of it — marked my days.
For the generations of servicemen and women, on behalf of my three spoiled teenagers, I thank you with all my heart. You give me and my family this privileged life that I know was my childhood dream when I stared at the black sky in Saigon.
Another great lesson from MARS is Interpreting Distance-Time Graphs. You really need to do this lesson if you want to hear kids spend full periods sharing their thinking on graphs.
The first part of the lesson was like a pre-assessment, a peek into their current knowledge. They described what may have happened in this graph.
What they wrote blew me away because I learned so much about what they know and do not know. Here are a few:
Tom walked at a constant speed for the first 50 seconds. Then he began to slow down. At 70 seconds he began to speed up. He stayed at this speed up to 100 seconds. Then he stopped.
Tom must of tooken a different road. That had more curves or he simply took the long way.
First he kept at a constant speed. Next he went back 60 m. He went at a constant rate. Finally he got to the bus stop and waited for 20 sec.
While he was walking he was speeding up so he was probly running. However when he got to 100 meters he slowed down, so he probly began walking then he sped up again, and once he reached 160 meters he traveled at a constent speed.
In the second part, they were asked to choose which story best matched the graph. Two-thirds — two-thirds! — of my 8th graders picked choice B!
We had a lot of work to do! In pairs, students worked on matching 10 graphs with 10 stories (one story was intentionally missing, so they had to write one in). After they got a good start with this, I then passed out the set of table of values for them to add to their matching. I wish you could hear all the conversations in the room!
Teaching American kids — what a privilege and an honor for me.
[Updated 11/12/13]
I have this great book called A Visual Approach to Functions that I will use to follow up the lesson above. While I can’t share the book here, I found a section of it — the section that fits perfectly with this lesson! — online that you can download here.]
I Really Needed to Read This Note Tonight
Only 9 hours until the first class bell of 2012-2013. I still need to shower and get some sleep. I need to wake up early enough to make my kids’ lunches also. They’re seniors, for crying out loud, can’t they make their own lunches? Oh, but they might forget to pack fruits and water. Do I have any clean clothes to wear and what am I wearing as it’ll be warm again tomorrow? What am I forgetting?
Shoot, I need to clean out my school bag.
I turn my bag upside down to literally dump everything out. A small blue envelope drops out along with two paper clips, a napkin, some papers, a bag of hot cocoa mix. I tear into the envelope not even guessing whom it’s from. I’m really tired.
Oh no, it’s from J. He wrote this back in June! I’m so sorry I’m just reading this now.
Dear Mrs. Nguyen
You have been an awesome, amazing teacher this year! Learning Algebra was fun, but you really brought it to a whole new level! My favorite project we did was the Barbie Bungee jumping, and I also really liked how you brought up the idea of doing an online e-portfolio! I will always remember how excited you got when you told us stories or shared pictures, and you’ve made the class crack up so hard to a point where I was crying! I will also be crying because once I’ve left Mesa, and all your classroom’s memories will stay in my heart. But of course I will move on to Geometry in High School, with a different teacher and a different class and still have fun. I hope to see you again Mrs. Nguyen!
From,
J.D.
Although it’s a 3-month old note card, the timing is perfectly serendipitous for me to read this the night before classes begin. Maybe no nightmares tonight — that would be a first. Maybe I’ll have a good first day. Maybe tomorrow’s school lunch will be yummy. Maybe I really love to teach.
May we all have a wonderful school year.
One More Thought Before Classes Begin
My neck snapped as I quickly turned toward the homophobic comment that just came from one of my students. I stared at the small group of students. Who said that? Why would you say that?! I wanted to say something but nothing came out. My mouth went dry as my eyes pooled up with tears. Their eyes softly settled on me, others looked down at their desks.
Then someone said, “I’m sorry. I was just joking around.” A different someone said, “He didn’t mean it. I’m okay… I didn’t take it personally.”
On February 12, 2008, Brian McInerney shot Larry King twice in the back of the head in the middle of class. Brian was 15, Larry 14. Both went to a middle school only 10 miles from where I teach. Larry died two days later. On November 21, 2011, Brian pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter. He’ll be 38 years old when he gets out. Both my sons played baseball with Brian’s cousin whose father was the coach.
It must have been late 1992 (I remember being heavily pregnant with my first child) when I attended a conference in Portland, Oregon. Then Portland was already my home for 13 years. I can’t recall the exact conference title, but it was a rather major two-day event, and the topics centered on educational awareness on the harm of bullying and discrimination against gay and lesbian youth. I had no idea there would be demonstrators and wide media coverage at the conference. My next-door teacher went with me, but apparently she was surprised that I had signed up to go because — and I didn’t realize this either — most of the conference attendees were gay. She turned to me right before the first speaker came on and asked, “Fawn, is there someone in your family who is gay?” I replied, “No. I don’t think so. I’m just here for my students.”
That same year, 1992, Oregon’s anti-gay Measure 9 drew vast national attention. I wore all kinds of NO ON MEASURE 9 buttons. It was entirely possible that I would pack up my young family and move away if the measure passed. On November 3, it was defeated.
Seven years later, in the summer of 1999, I was driving home from Seattle with my niece Jennifer late one evening when she came out to me. Jenny was just starting college. She hadn’t told her parents yet. Jenny was my brother’s only child, thus I felt a strange sadness that her parents may not embrace the news with the same fierce love they’ve always had for their precious girl.
My niece Dominique came out to her mom, my sister, when she was 14. Dom is crazy smart. So levelheaded yet driven. So articulate and funny. She enjoys the simple pleasures and appreciates the tiny luxuries. She smiles easily and lights up a room. I can say the same things about Jenny. They embody happiness. They love their families deeply and surround themselves with generous people who know how to reciprocate unconditional love.
They are my family.
Nothing is more important to me than my family. Nothing is more important to me than my students. I take this personally.
You are a girl. Female.
Nicolai and I had another nice conversation this evening when I drove him back to his dorm. The sun was a giant orange ball sinking near the horizon of Pacific Coast Highway. We talked about girls. I talked about my mistakes, lots of them. I told him the same thing I said at the dinner table two weeks ago when my sister and her two kids visited, “Don’t marry someone you love. Marry someone who loves you.” My sister disagreed.
I settle in to make the one-hour drive back home — Pandora is set to Elton John Radio. I get a whole mix of great nostalgic songs from Journey, The Beatles, Stevie Nicks, CCR, and EJ himself.
A sense of gratefulness envelops me.
I see the waves still slapping against the sandy beaches under the now dark sky. The ocean does not sleep. The dark waters flood me with memories of our escape: our days floating out somewhere in the South China Sea, our boat bobs up and down without a captain because there is no fuel for it to move anyway, all 13 of us on board already know tomorrow was never promised to any of us. But I’m only 11 years old, and I really don’t want to die.
We all see it because it’s the only thing we’ve been looking for — our glimmer of hope. It is a single dot in the canvas of blue sky and blue water. The dot gets bigger. The men wave their dingy white shirts, hollering out for help but only hearing their own voices bounce off each other. My own mouth is dry, I try to yell for help too but no words come out, I’ve been without water for a long time. The bigger dot is now elongated. Then it begins to look very much like part of a ship’s mast. An eternity goes by when the dot has finally morphed into a ship. No one speaks of it being a possible pirate ship —
I’m grateful to the Thai crew of this ship — this large fishing vessel — to feed us and give us water. I still can taste the sweetness of the giant steamed squids from that night. How do you thank people who save your life?
If you put my three kids into three separate rooms and ask each this question, What does your mom want for you? They should all give you the same answer, To be kind and to be happy. It’s a mantra I’ve been repeating since they were little. Nicolai, on his own, ended his 8th grade valedictorian speech with a familiar quote from Mark Twain: Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
I know “be kind and be happy” is vague — like lazy parenting — but life is vague. I want them to define their own happiness. But I don’t want kindness to be a choice for them, I just want them to be kind.
All 13 of us were rescued by the fishermen who reached out with immeasurable kindness. Then this great country welcomed our family with open arms. This is the only America I know — the America that made it all possible for me and my family to go to school, earn a college degree, work, raise a family. How do you thank a country for all this? There has never been a single moment when I hear or sing the American national anthem and not tear up.
I’m now about half way home. But I don’t want to rush the drive. It’s a perfect night, the highway is sparse, I turn up the volume — Stevie Nicks is singing “Landslide.”
I’m overwhelmed by all the kindness that comes in small packages too.
I’m in 6th grade. Carla, tall with brown short curly hair, sits next to me in class. There is a form that we all have to fill out. I write down my first and last name. Then I am stuck because I don’t understand what the form is asking me. I glance over at other kids’ papers and see that they’re already halfway through the form. Carla smiles at me because she always does. She notices that I’m not writing. I’m embarrassed that I don’t know enough English to fill out this form. She leans over and puts a check in the “female” box for me. She says quietly, You are a girl. Female. And she points to Tony across from us, He is a boy. Male. She smiles again. Carla doesn’t know that I still think of her today.
I’m pulling out of the school’s parking lot. It’s the start of winter break and also my three-month maternity leave. I’m really pregnant with my first baby. I see Brian, my 7th grade student, running fast toward my car, he’s out of breath. I turn off the engine and step out of the car. Brian pulls out a blue stuffed animal from under his jacket. He says between breaths, I’m glad you’re still here, Mrs. Nguyen. Here, I want your baby to have my stuffed animal that I got when I was a baby. I want to tell Brian that I can’t accept this precious blue floppy eared stuffed puppy from his childhood. But I can’t get myself to say anything. His kindness breaks my heart.