Dear Class of 2009,
This would be a love-letter to Brent if it had not been an assigned post. But instead I would like to thank all of you, and some especially, for a few blessings passed on over the summer and this past school year.
(1) During summer school I wrestled terribly with a renaissance of my obsessive-compulsive traits. Maria and Golda in the eighth-grade math class, and others, helped me decide what is and what is not important when preparing lessons, writing worksheets, teaching a class. I was extremely tired and stressed out all summer, but the few moments of rest that I did catch were largely thanks to those who told me to go to bed, stop fretting, and “just print the damn worksheet.”
(2) Josh, John, and others associated with the Mississippi Preacher Corps were a great encouragement for my own faith and mission in the Delta.
(3) Elise, Jen, and Sharon, who were always sharing tips and tricks, helped to make my first year teaching English II a nearly enjoyable challenge. There were many evenings when I was planning a lesson for the next day with a worksheet in hand but not a clue how to use it, and often Elise was online and available to share some wonderful technique, some revolutionary system that I wish I had been using all year, some simple advice for managing the class during an activity. The index-card system that she passed along to me prevented the development of severe psychoses this past winter.
(4) All the second-years in Indianola and thereabouts—though I expressly avoided spending time with just about all of them,—I love them.
(5) Brent was the best mentor ever, mostly because he paid for lunch several times. Beyond that, he did not do much of anything. He did not pretend to know what my classroom was like, or what I was like as a teacher, or what I needed to work on; was unwilling to listen to me whine about anything; refused to let me go through lunch without honestly confessing the exact measure of my feelings of wretchedness (without whining); and was more or less kind to me. I list these things as benefits of his mentorship, not criticisms. I did not want someone who was going to coach me from a distance bimonthly over a lamb gyro at Volta. I wanted someone who was going to make me laugh and who could, by bizarre conversation, mitigate the murderous thoughts that enter my mind when I am attending classes at Ole Miss. And his greatest benefit to me has come very recently, for I have used him as an excuse to add another 192 words on this blog assignment, and for that I am truly grateful. Maybe this has become a love-letter after all.
(6) Conor was the strangest housemate I could have ever hoped for. I never did get around to calling him the nicknames I devised in my quiet times, but they were all endearing. Anyway, I am grateful to have had his down-to-earth commentary in the living room on those nights when I was just “not finna do no work.”
(7.a.) Stacy Filocco made me laugh at least twelve times.
(7.b.) Dan is sometimes funny.
(7.c.) Trevor's name should be put somewhere around here.
(8) In each conversation we had, Ashton and I spent 4.5 minutes, on average, reminiscing about our days together as interns. That was mostly fun. Our relationship has come a long way since then. Now I talk to people, and now she does not throw sticks. The two of us have grown so much together. In all seriousness, she did teach me a lot about how to deal with “negative” feelings toward kids, and was always there to remind me (through speech or through an account of her own struggles and failures) that we who have received grace ought to be gracious toward others, to wit our worrisome students.
I love you all, but some of you I did not put in this letter because I do not love you as much.
Yours,
Philip.
You can't thank me for giving you 192 words when I'm technically the reason for the 400 word requirement on blogs.
Rédigé par : Bhbonds | lundi 18 avril 2011 à 20:15