Cliff Notes from Grad School: Week One

- It’s a little cold in Seattle, I mean, maybe I was talking up summers in the Northwest a little too much, but seriously? In the 50’s at night and a high of 70 degrees – I am ready for a little something more.
- I have been riding my bike to school and each day seems to be a new adventure. I have some getting into shape to do – the 4.5 mile fairly flat ride should not make my legs as tired as they have beenJ As a hear “On your left” over and over I try to make excuses for myself – I don’t have a fancy bike or but I am carrying a 20 pound bag, but really I just need to dig in and get stronger. For now all I feel is the wind of the bikes flying by and the view of these old men with white hair and tan skin. Maybe by the end of the summer I will have as nice of calves as they do.
- On the way home on Tuesday a rat ran in front of my bike. I was less disturbed by the fact that a rat had actually just crossed the path in front of me and more distracted by the fact that this rat seemed to have a very kinked tail. Do rats play chicken with the bikes? And if they do, this one needs some practice.
- So far my all of the professors, directors, guest speakers, and fellow-students have been great. How inspiring and productive it can be to have such a diverse group of ages, backgrounds, and experiences come together with a common passion. NFL players, Olympic medalists, DI athletes, athletics directors, academic service advisors…AWESOME, but a bit intimidating.
- Now back to work – a paper to write then 5 articles and 7 chapters in my textbook to read, better start crossing something off that list.
- So, I wrote this originally entry on Friday, but because I don’t have internet at my place yet I never posted it. The thing is, now it is Monday morning and I have to pull back on my weather comments – this weekend was wonderful! The sun was out, clouds were gone, and the words “I love this place” continued to slip out.
- Friday night our IAL (intercollegiate athletic leadership) cohort had a happy hour then I went over to the Whalen’s for a nice family birthday for Tom. Saturday morning Carlo and I went rollerblading at Aliki, maybe the most beautiful place to view the city. The rest of the afternoon was spent reading and napping (maybe a little too much of the napping…) I met up with Carlo again at a hockey BBQ and was introduced to a bunch of the guys he plays with – good and fun people. After that I went to see the Hangover with Tom, Cory, and Zach. Sunday I woke up early, wrote my paper, went to church, met with my new prof, did some reading, talked to friends, and made some pizzas that I ate with Linda (my mama housemate) and Jessie (a new friend from IAL). The point is, it was a great weekend…
- Week Two, accounting – now this will be interesting.

Questioning Love and Hate.

How do I teach love? Do you love because you have been loved? Do you hate because that is what you know? If you know both hate and love, which will prevail? And why do hate-filled words and actions show easiest to those you love the most? What is the magic recipe for those kids who do know so much hate, but break through the cycle using their hurt as motivation to spread love and joy and encouragement? Do my students know how much love I have for them? Do they know how much it breaks my heart when they say such ugly things to each other? How can I ever know? How can I be a model of love, unconditionally? Just as I wish the words would be carefully spoken from student to student, I must be careful to speak only with love. For when the patients dwindles and the temper heats up my words fill quickly with hate just the same. I bite my tongue and change my tone. I forget my ego and remember all we can accomplish comes in baby steps. I speak to the love I have and the love that will carry me though. And even when chaos muffles my words I will keep speaking because that is simply the only way anyone can ever hear me.

“If you mess up, don’t stop dancing”

I am listening to the chattering and giggling of hundreds of little girls and a few wonderfully brave boys. From age 5 to 18, the kids are smiling. They are happy and nervous - all starting to feel the butterflies in their stomachs. I hear no cursing, I see no pushing, I am filled with joy. Brianna peeks back to make sure I am still here. A quick wink and smile comforts her fears. I wave to some of the other kids’ mom’s across the auditorium and hear a tiny dancer ask Brianna if she is adopted. Maybe not, but my pride for my little girl is beaming as bright as all the other moms. She now knows what it feels like to truly dedicate her self to something. She did not get a prize, money or candy, but the smile that she can’t hold in as she dances across the stage lets me know that this is far better than all that. She gets it.

Our Fears.

I want my students to see how far they have come throughout the year. I want my students to be respectful to me, but more importantly to eachother. I want my classroom to be safe. I am reflecting upon the vision I created for my classroom and it does mot mirror the reality. Instead, these days are becoming more and more frustrating. They are fighting. They are talking. They are doing what they want, when they want. I request something as simple as sitting quietly and half of the class could care less that any words came out of my mouth at all. They will respond when I yell, as many of the other teachers who are facing the same end of the year struggle have resorted to. But I refuse. I have finally come to see that while it may be fulfilling in that very moment, in the long run it does nothing, but swiftly break down the respect that took so long to build up. I always regret it. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. Frustration is high and productivity has hit an all time low. How can I be strong so that my students will want to finish up the year doing whatever they can to prepare themselves for 4th grade? How can I give them that final push to take pride in themselves and what they are creating? I wish they could understand how much I care for them. I try to tell them, but I don't think they understand. I love them by pushing them to be their best. I love them by making them read everyday. I love them by forcing them to face the consequences when they make bad choices. Unfortunatly, in their minds these statements of love are actually acts of hatred. My heat breaks. I don't want to count away the days because I want each of them to be worth something. I have worked too hard to end this on such a bad note. As I write, I am beginning to realize this is all a self-centered battle. I am afraid to be finished. I am afraid to leave here feeling as though I have failed.

Holding on to what is good:

Where I am.

I have lived in a bubble my entire life. I never realized it before,
and now that I am out, I hope I never go back. It's much harder
outside the bubble. Its raw, it is rough. It is truth. I am a better
person outside the bubble. I understand the world and the density
of the problems we face a little better. I am aware of different
cultures, different ideas and different lifestyles. I am positive that
most things are neither black nor white, but gray. And no matter
how frustrated and fatigued I get, I have to thank God for guiding
me here, outside the bubble. This is where I belong.

Words.

Words. I am tough with sticks and stones,
but when it comes to words I break. We don't
think enough about choosing our words, they
fly from our mouths like fire from a dragon.
Hurtful words. Damaging words. Words that
will be remembered far longer than the
uplifting words. They break hearts and ruin
confidence. We should choose the loving
words, the simple encouragement - treating
each other with respect. Or silence, the gift
of knowing when to hold our words in.

Down on the Bayou.

We pulled up to the “Bayou Barn” and the gravel parking lot was full. Cars parked in all the parking spots plus all the grassy areas around. “This many people are canoeing?” I wondered if there would be any canoes left for us to rent. But then I noticed that the people seemed to be a little too dressed up for a day canoeing in the swamps. “Is that woman wearing a wedding dress?” KJ questioned. Sure enough, these people were not at the Bayou Barn for canoeing, but for a wedding – Louisiana style.

After awkwardly walking around the building in search of a front office we got back in the car. We were about ready to leave when we spotted a self-conscious teenager hanging his head as he fumbled around with the canoes on the rack. We got out of the car and sure enough it was his first day as an employee of the Bayou Barn. He led us right through the wedding reception, past the keg, excused our way by the boogying bridesmaids and made it into the office where Ms. Linda was there to help us out. Well, maybe I shouldn’t call it ‘help’. I asked her if we would see alligators, she said, “Oh, yeah, bay-bay, they be all out in that swamp.” I was satisfied. She asked KJ and I to sign on the line. She took our money, held my ID, and handed us a map that looked like a blurry ink splatter with sharpie arrows on it because it had been copied so many times. Then she turned and said, “Have fun.” There was no, “Have you ever been in a canoe before?” or “Don’t stand up in the boat” or “This is what you should do if you get bitten by a venomous Water Moccasin.” Nor did she advise us not to feed the wildlife, or pick the flowers, or go for a swim. She didn’t tell us that the swamp would be covered in plants that are very hard to row through or even a time that we should be back.

We walked over to the canoe, sat down, the awkward teen handed us some life jackets that were made in 1971 and would surely sink to the bottom of the swamp. Then he pushed us into the swamp. Moments later as we tried to get some rhythm my heart started to pound. I finally realized that while it was super exciting to have our freedom, I was not prepared to have an alligator swim passed our little canoe. Eventually we both got more comfortable or maybe just distracted by the fact that we were rowing through thick swamp plants that made it seem like we were actually on land. Two hours of that and we were worn out.

It was a beautiful day and we had such an amazing time. We saw some snakes, lots of frogs, but were disappointed that the only gators we did see were far off swimming ahead of us. We headed back the way we came to check out the other end of the swamp. To get there we had to pass by the Bayou Barn and the reception had really gotten started by then. The music was blaring and all we could do was laugh. So just about 50 yards later we really get stuck in the plants. We rowed and rowed until we finally broke loose and picked up some speed through the water. Just then there was a splash just a few feet in front of the boat and KJ says, “Uh, we really shouldn’t run into this one.” I thought she was talking about the little gator that was swimming away from us, but when she very sternly said “GET OUT YOUR CAMERA”, I took a second look. About 15 feet off to the left side of the boat was the largest alligator I have ever seen taking a nap on a small island. I felt about the same as last summer when we crossed paths with a huge grizzly bear in Glacier National Park. The gator was probably about 200 pounds, significantly smaller than the grizzly, but this time we were drifting towards the beast instead of backing away. The alligator had it’s inner eye lids closed and what seemed like a million very sharp teeth glistening in the sun. The gator was so still that KJ asked, “Is that real”. “Why would there be a fake gator out here?” I questioned. Our eyes never left that powerful animal as we continued to drift closer. Suddenly, in a flash the brute opened its eyes and dove into the water disappearing under the duckweed. Now this was the point that said my prayers. We had no idea where it went.

I had my ore sticking straight into the air, legs crossed, arms wrapped around my body in attempt to stay as far as possible away from the edges of that rickety old canoe. I thought I was going to pee in my pants. We spent a minute silently looking around in the water hoping for some sign that the gator was gone. Finally, when our heart rates evened out we finished up our adventure. And what an adventure it turned out to be. Anyone up for a trip to the bayou?