Voodoo Child v. 17: Welcome to the One Woman Show

In another world, I teach a class called Ethics. Someone cheats in my class. I call him on it. He tells me he desperately needs an A. A cheat means an F. He emails me asking for a chance. I teach Ethics, I tell him. To give you a F now would mean you have literally learned nothing. No-fucking-thing.

I hit delete and sink into my chair. I hate failing people. I hate telling people they are royal failures. It's not because I'm a softhearted person who doesn't like to hurt people's feeling, it's because I'm a person, in a suit, who cannot say, "Jeez man, you totally fucked up and you don't get it, do it? It's called ethics, and I cannot do this. Not even for you."

It breaks my heart, to be a teacher for those who don't want to be taught, or at the very least, don't want to deal. I know as a person who's been to college and then some, the value of it all. I have seen lives change. But to see people not take it for what it is literally makes me wretch. At least give it a go.

It's different being on this side of the podium, in a classroom that seats 150. To look into everyone's eyes and to know that someone in this room really doesn't give a shit about what you bust your ass doing is like someone farting in the corner during a dinner party. A stench besides it all. There are days when I feel like oh man, this is some serious payback because my friends I was a total ass in class at times. I told one of my high school teachers I was teaching, and he said, "Ah! There is justice in the world!"

Shit, it's true!

One of the requirements of my course is that the students have to meet with me at some point. We sit down, in my office, chit chat. That's all. We don't talk about goals, we don't talk about where they are in the class, we talk about interesting things. The siblings. The high school. The schools you chose and why you chose Big School over them. We talk about parents, challenges, issues. Sometimes people cry. Sometimes people stay 5 minutes. Sometimes they stay an hour.

Why bother? Well, it's like this; it's a requirement, but I don't harp on people to come. If they come, they come. I'm more than happy to talk to them. If they don't, their bad. You're in college now, Mr. 18 year old. I don't hold hands, but if you extend yours I might help you out. And more often than not, they do reach out. And I respect that. To see that a student wanted something for doing nothing was definitely one of those things that make me sad about being a teacher. Meet me halfway, bro. I'm already here. Where you at?

He wanted an A. shit.

Voodoo 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I was in class today, administering the final exam for my class. I feel kind of bad about it now that I think of it...perhaps I was being rough. The hint was that it was a 68 question final exam, to be completed in 90 minutes. Also, maybe it was hardcore when someone turned it in and said, "are you trying to kill us?"

I half-smirked. No. But yes.

The other day I was doing a lecture on diversity and relationships, and it was really hard for them to comprehend how to use I statements. In other words, instead of saying "you're a dick" you would say, "I don't agree with you." Someone wanted to argue with me and say, it's still offensive. I said, no, it's not offensive. It's about YOU and not about them. This went on for a few minutes. Back and forth. Fine, it'll be on the final exam.

Don't piss of your teacher.

I made it open book too, just to be fair for giving them so much stuff to work on. Surprisingly enough, if you get a special helpy helperson for your test, guess what, it's harder. Truth be told, it's an open book test, so you should technically have the answers at your fingertips.

Oh yah, it's worth half your grade.

Rough. Don't take my class.

But I will tell you this:  more often than not, 4 years after I've taught the class, when my kids are graduating and I'm helping them go up to receive their diploma, they have all come up to me and said thank you. Thanks for kicking my butt, for helping me out, and for giving me some insane ass final exam.

Like all things in education,  the process is one that doesn't pay off right away. It'll come to you when it's ready. Or if you let it.

Now off to correct those fuckers. Did I tell you they were 17 pages each?

Voodoo 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 09:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

you probably don't look anything like these guys.

vdc 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 09:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

When the horse dies, you need to move the fuck on.

But what I see more often than not are the following:

1. Buy a stronger whip.
2. Try new bit/bridle.
3. Move horse to new location.
4. Ride horse for longer period of time.
5. Arrange to visit more sites where they ride dead horses more efficiently.
6. Inicrerase standards for riding a dead horse.
7. Blame horses' parents.
8. Say, "this is the way that we've always ridden the horse.

Enough already.

Voodoo 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 08:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Congratulations to the new Mr. and Mrs. Pterodactyl. May your lives be filled with joy and laughter, such as that found here, on this video.

 Thanks Puppet Master for the link!

VDC 

 PS: I love my BRLers!!!

Posted by Voodoo Child at 12:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I really wanted to sit down and write something down about my thoughts on the events of 9/11. I walked through campus today and I thought about that day, not so long ago. I was teaching then, as I am now, and I found myself in a class lecturing and stopping to look into the eyes of my students, hollow and empty. I put my lecture aside and stood in front of the 30 students and asked how they were all doing.

Earlier that day, we went to mass as a community. We filled the church to capacity, students, staff, faculty and others. Just earlier this week I went to that same mass, and it was barely one-fifth full. Same mass. Same tradition every year. We were struggling to get a grip and understand the ramification of such action. Some were angry, some were jumpy, and many were scared. The presiding priest furrowed his brow and spoke gently about the struggles of coming to terms with our reality, shattered and changed:

Today violence has rocked this country in ways previously unknown by us, and sent shock waves around the world. What is a one-time occurrence for us is woven into the fabric of daily life for our
brothers and sisters in Africa, Northern Ireland, Palestine, Iraq and the former Yugoslavia.

I sat still in church and felt that resonate in my core being...to live in terror and in fear of what is to be on a daily basis...this brought me to my knees and I couldn't even begin to fathom that saying I throw around a lot: your blues ain't like mine. After mass, I went to class and stood before staring eyes. What could I possibly give them in this moment and in this time?

I spoke to the students as I always do, straightforwardly and with what humor I feel necessary, and we went on with the lecture afterwards. And one student followed me to my office, and she could only sit in my chair and ask me questions. Questions I still ask myself: what is going on in this world? am I ever going to be safe? why do people have to do this? what are we going to do?

I have rage, to be certain, about how the world is, and how naivete shattered makes you want to reach out and strangle someone for bringing the world crashing down. I have rage over unjustified deaths, both American and otherwise. I have rage over stupid decisions. I have rage over promises long forgotten. Over leaders who have seized this moment for personal gain and spinning reality into a bizarro us and them world. I have so much rage.

I've lived with these thoughts over the years trying to make sense of them and the place and space I'm currently in. And what sticks in my head the most is the look on the faces of the youth in that room: distant, scared, shocked, fearful.  But what sticks in my head even more is that this is how many parts of the world live every freaking DAY. As a counselor I know that living in this persistent state creates a  way of being  that is short on hope and high on fear and that  is no way to live. And that's not okay.

I asked God, "What is the answer?"

And God said, "I can't give you that answer."

Can't or won't?

You have everything you need to know the answer.

You're not answering my question.   

Since when have I ever given you a straight answer.

No shit.

Mos def, no shit.

I pondered that. So I would know the answer, right?

Sure. You're smart.

The world-

Yes?

-is full of people who think they're right, but in their own sort of way.

Right...

And too right to listen...

And too right to want to give up.

Katrina didn't teach us anything. The war isn't teaching us anything. The way the world hates us isn't teaching us anything. The leadership isn't teaching us anything. I struggle with all of this, and it's making me frustrated.

The thing is, you can't get frustrated about this.

I know I can't. But there is one thing I'm doing -

Is there now, I have got to hear this. God laughs.

It's like this - I can change the world one person at a time, and give them reason to hope, to see the future, to feel that they are positive parts of the world. It takes a very simple steps, nothing complicated. But the hard thing is that I have to fight those feelings of hopelessness myself.

Because you know as well as I do that your people will see through you if you don't.

No shit. They know.

And that's what has kept me going these last five years in the face of despair, in moments of doubt, and in the asking of questions that don't have answers. Hope. Hope that helps me wake up in the morning, hope that gets me out of bed, hope that gets me looking dead square in the eye of my students and asking them what they world is going to be like when they get out there. Because I'll help them get there if only because someone has to make this world right. Right now it ain't that way.

Good luck.

Thanks, I need it.

Voodoo 

PS: Btw, G says Hi.

Sup, G. don't trip off what others say.

What's that supposed to mean?

That was for her, not you.

Shit. 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Oops. I thought my sidebar was feeling a bit lonely! I added on the rest of the BRL click! Sorry kids. Send 'em my love and go visit them.

VDC 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 09:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

A friend and I were sitting around having a discussion about blogging. Metablogging, I guess you can call it. Time after time, I've asked myself what I think about the way in which I as a blogger have revealed certain things about myself (or certain things *not* about myself, but that's fiction for you). The truth is, I can't trip over certain things or certain people because yes I did put it out there. And truthfully, I have allowed myself to be "out there."

A few posts back I was chatting about naked people at Bay to Breakers. Sort of out there like that. Bam.

And with other bloggers, someone asked me, "what should I do when there is someone I want to block from reading my blog?" You can't do anything, homegirl, I said to her. You put it out there, you can't take it back. When I'm teaching my students, I tell them the first day, think about what you put out there, because once it's out, it's out. With websites, you can guarantee that it's out there for a damn good long time, and chances are it's even cached somewhere unless you've got brains enough to actually remove the page and all.

I'm not thrilled that i have certain readers. But what can I do? Stop blogging? The thought has crossed my mind. Lock it away from certain prying eyes? Sure, I can do that too, but why bother. I have taken a huge chance to put it out there, and it's done. Maybe there's something about being older that has allowed me to even stop and look in the mirror before I go buck wild naked at the Bay to Breakers. I used to just, for lack of a better analogy, run out there, past the mirror. Past the world. Do I regret it? Not really, I just know to at the very least check myself.

And checking myself has been interesting because I'm not as interesting (I think) as I used to be. Seriously. It's laughable, at best, but that's just life, isn't it. Or maybe there's another blog you don't know about where I can just handle my bidness? Maybe. Just maybe.

Shit, put it out there again. Good luck finding it, dill pickle.

VDC 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 08:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It's not really using a Mac at work and at home. That's not too geeky. But what's uber geeky is installing Ubuntu Linux on my laptop...all by myself! And also installing it in my student's computers too! And tweaking it so it does all my stuff. Word up. I think I really like this interface!

I love it! This is a lot of fun :-)  

/nerd moment over.

VDC 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 03:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)