glutton for...something

*grrr*

A few weeks ago I felt I was getting too detached from life, spending too many days in the house going nuts. So I decided to get back into school stuff. Being around school & students is very grounding—even relaxing in a way, if challenging—because it helps me remember what I'm trying to do and why.

It was easy to head back to the "alternative" high school, which is big on "adults from the community" being tutors etc., and where I volunteered for two years before I was a student teacher; in fact, when I called my old cooperating teacher, she said she had been just about to call me and could I please come help some of "my girls" who were having issues. (And they are, one in particular, but that's a whole 'nother story).

On the other hand, I dreaded returning to the middle school where I student-taught last fall. (You can read a few screams of anguish here and here). I didn't want to face my old cooperating teacher there, who used to continuously put me down. Perhaps worse, whenever I tried to voice an idea, she would look at me either as though I was a child speaking out of turn at a grown-up dinner party, or as though I was an alien from another planet suggesting that we vivisect the students.

Anyway, school's almost over for the year and I really did want to see all my former students, so I gathered my courage, did some deep breathing, and went there.

It was as awful as ever, including "reading" period, where the white kids read "Beowulf" while the Black kids slept (I am not making this up, although I should note that Beowulf was "retold" in semi-modern language, and one Black student was not sleeping but rather chewing on his shirt).

At the end of the day I went up to the teacher—who looked slightly less pleased to see me than if I had been Grendel (the monster in Beowulf, as I now know)—and eagerly but nervously told her that I had decided she was right, that I wasn't ready for my own class (her exact words were, "It's scary to think that you could have your own class in the fall"), and that I'd decided to sub for a year. "I didn't want you to worry," I said, stupidly.

Her answer, like so many of her comments, sounded fine on the surface but when you broke it down (you know, like on the menu when you realize that "plump breasts of organic grain-fed cornish game hens lightly robed in sourdough bread crumbs and sauteed to golden-brown perfection" essentially means "fried chicken") she essentially said, "I wasn't worried, I figured you wouldn't last more than a year or two anyway."

I was totally thrown. I got in my car feeling stupid and calling myself stupid and not quite knowing what had hit me.

Finally I understood what had happened. Without realizing what I was doing, I had slunk back there for one last desperate attempt to win her approval.

I had wanted her to smile approvingly and say, "Oh, I think that's a very wise decision; good for you. Another year of preparation will be just what you need, and then you'll be all set to go out and be a very fine teacher indeed."

Mind you, this is the woman who, on my last day of teaching, when I said, "Sorry if I've been difficult for you," said, "Oh, well, I've had worse." And when my supervisor asked her what my best qualities are, she said, "She knows her own weaknesses and she takes criticism well," which, in "fried chicken" language, means, "At least she knows she's inept and doesn't mind me telling her so."

In other words, there was no way on earth that any rational being could have thought she would ever throw me the tiniest bone.

I'm trying not to be mad at myself for hoping she would. But I am frustrated because I wish, wish, wish, WISH that I did not give a flying fuck what she thought, or anyone else for that matter, instead of being someone who is so thoroughly undone by disapproval and criticism, even minor annoyance.

*sigh*

and *grrr* too.

Well, off to see "Revenge of the Nerds," I mean the Sith. I'll let you know how it goes.