Ask Me What I Make.

Let the countdown begin.  I have passed the halfway mark of my time here in New York.  It’s strange how time moves while I’m here.  Each day seems so very long, but the weeks go by incredibly quickly.  I have no idea if that makes any sense, but it’s exactly how it feels.  Melvin, one of my students, always says: “Ms. Umezaki! That problem (or reading) is easy and hard at the same time!  I don't know if I can do it.”  He then goes on to tackle the problem (or reading).
 
I wish that I could say the same about my approach to this whole thing – instead, I’m sort of running out of steam.  I think that my loss of momentum has more to do with the fact that I’m not really going to be teaching all that much next week and because I know that I won’t have the same students in my classroom come Monday. 
 
Still, I think that I'm doing much better emotionally-wise than many of my colleagues.  This is measured only by the fact that I have yet to cry because of my kids (I'm not counting the tears of joy when I first realized that I was officially a teacher, nor am I counting the tears of bittersweetness when I saw my kids leaving room 401 for the last time).  I have definitely seen people bawling uncontrollably in hallways, elevators, bathrooms, on the phone, in the lunchline, at a student's desk, and once in the middle of a class (that was bad news). 
 
Maybe the only reason I've managed to get by without any type of breakdown is because I haven't had a 2nd grader tell me to "Fuck off or [I'll] punch your momma in the babymaker" yet.  Time will tell.  But, as inspiration to those who have cried in the bathroom after a horrendous class, I offer this poem by Taylor Mali  called What Teachers Make, or You Can Always Go To Law School If Things Don't Work Out (this is supposed to be spoken word...use your imagination):

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a
kid going to learn from someone who decided his
best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true
what they say about teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his and
resist the temptation to remind the dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor," he says."Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?
 
I make kids work harder than they ever thought
they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal
of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in
groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy
said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry
sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write.
I make them read, read, read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful over and over and over again until they will never misspell either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart)
and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference!
What about you?