like drowning every day

It was yesterday and it was a million years ago that I started this blog to chronicle the immense changes I was about to undertake.

Change was what I wanted (thus the name) and I got it. Pretty much the only aspect of my life I recognize lately is the smell of my shampoo (which I now buy online because no place in the Delta sells it). I wanted a challenge, and I certainly got that, too. But how do my expectations match up to the reality?

I'm not sure at this point I even know what "the reality" is. Using the single article assumes there is, indeed, only one reality. And of course there isn't. When I read over the anticipatory entries, I realize that I had no idea how all-encompassing the experience would be.

It's like drowning every day.

Every day I am completely immersed in the reality of the Delta, the reality of teaching, the reality of what my life (oh, it was so nice just a little while ago) has become. I thought the year without an actual job would be a challenge. It was, and I suppose that by meeting it, and by learning to live with a lot of uncertainty I was preparing myself for the challenge of teaching in the Delta. Surely getting up at 4 a.m. to unload a truck gave me the physical stamina I've needed to get up and teach every day. I had never before appreciated how physically demanding teaching would be.

Other expectations -- cultural, professional, social -- were also shaken. The Delta culture is even more extreme  than I'd anticipated. I remember being fascinated by the way the powder-fine soil worked its way into my skin the first time I visited here. I wrote about it, trying to get my head around it, but even then I didn't understand the full power of that metaphor and how completely the Delta would become a part of every piece of my life. From the nightly pesticide-spraying trucks in the summer, to the damp barren fields of the winter, I know I'm in the Delta by the smell and weight of the air. I'm drowning in it.

Professionally, I'm still struggling with whether it was wise to make a move like this, but I do think I'm succeeding as a teacher. What has amazed me most is how quickly I feel like I've been doing it a long time. I remember those days in summer school (remember those lesson plans with every second stage-directed and planned?) thinking I'd never be comfortable and confident in front of a class. How would I remember where I had set things down? How would I know everyone's name? And now, I'm completely at ease. It seems so natural to be there. And I know, it's a cliche, but really love those moments when my students "get it" -- even if it's only a few. In a way, that makes it all the better.

Students have told me, directly and indirectly, that I'm different from other teachers; that I make them work but in a good way that helps them learn. OK, some hate me, but if none did I wouldn't be doing my job.

 

Several others in this program have written about the shock of realizing the enormity of the challenge. I think I had a head start on that having been a parent and knowing what it means to have a daily challenge that doesn't end when a given hurdle is cleared. I've expereinced the false horizons and learned to continue to put one foot in front of the other.

 

What I did underestimate, I think, was the depth to which some of my students don't care about school or about anything, for that matter. I remember thinking I didn't care about school, and I remember hearing other kids say they didn't care. But what we really meant what that we didn't care at that moment about school more than we cared about some other urgent adolescent matter. So many of my students truely don't care a lick about school or anything that happens here -- except, perhaps, the free meals and socializing. There is simply no way to make any curriculum relevant to someone who doesn't care about his or her own life.

 

The hardest realization has been that I will, in the end, leave some behind. But not without a struggle.

And once again, I'm drowning in it. Every day. Weeks go by when virtually every conversation I have is about teaching. With one welcome exception, every person I interact with on a regular basis here is a teacher or somehow affiliated with a school. I know, or I hope, that at some point my life will begin to have some balance again. Workin' on that. But it's hard. I'm immersed. I have to force myself to leave school and teaching behind occasionally for a few hours.

Can I extend this metaphor? Can I tell you how the cycle of planning, teaching, adjusting, planning, grading, adjusting is like the waves that simply never let up?

Can I tell you I don't actually know how to swim?