This teaching gig

I have avoided writing about teaching in L.A. -- with the rather memorable exception of the day I saw cops with shotguns -- for two reasons:

1. It's surreal roller coaster. And I hate roller coasters.
2. I don't know where to begin.

Every day is a blur of emotions and images that leave me feeling inadequate and utterly spent. I wake up about 20 minutes before the alarm goes off, and I spend every second of that time praying that I don't have to teach ever again. By the time I get to school, I'm in a busy panic. Fifteen minutes into my first class, I'm relaxed and confident. At least once a day, I get the strong sensation that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, like angels are standing behind me and my students, and they are cheering.  But about an hour before school lets out for the day, I'm back to panic, this time because I realize I have to do this again tomorrow (plus I'm now mentally replaying every mistake I made -- and there are many to choose from). During the afternoon, a student or two will stop by to chat, ask questions, or bring me a cupcake (yes, this happens), and a peace comes over me. I start grading papers, making photocopies, and saying nice things to myself.

I go home and have dinner with Matt. I manage keep thoughts of school at what feels like a safe distance, even as I continue to lesson plan and grade. All feels well in my corner of Pasadena.

That is, until the alarm goes off the next morning.

Here's the thing: on my best, best, BEST days of teaching at Apopka High School, firing on all cylinders and doing a bang-up job challenging young minds, I wasn't good enough for this school. Not by a mile. Even though the hours were excruciating and the work load never-ending, my APK kids spoke English as their first language, lived above the poverty line, had not lost a friend to gang violence or deportation, had social security numbers, and (mostly) did not have drug- or alcohol-addicted parents.

One of the things I do at this school -- a lot -- is cry.

I'm getting the hang of it. Kids don't hate me, but they do hate feeling unsuccessful at school (and they've had bellyfuls of that). Sometimes their anger and what looks like illogical choices gets fired in my direction. I'm learning to live with that.  On good days, I even understand it. I'm learning to make the material accessible without dumbing it down. I'm learning to use data and standards to drive my instruction. I'm learning to work super, super closely with colleagues who are smart, young, and dedicated. And I'm learning that when I'm inadequate, God is not.

Most of all, I'm learning to love these kids.