Back On Air
Last week, the college of teachers had a workshop on language: what should the medium of instruction be, what really is the ideal foreign language (we have German and Arabic at present), how do students express themselves, how do teachers teach language, etc. During these days, I found myself all the more confused and even doubtful of my own capacities as a teacher and well, let me just say it--as a writer.
The issue on language gave birth to so many other little questions, like babies crying: do they want to be fed? to be changed? to be carried? to be lulled?
And then the release of the students' newsletter, of which I am the adviser, also came out last week. We had very little time preparing for it--my fault, in a way. I wanted to beat the deadline. Then there was also a hazy reason of the faculty that I was not clear about, as to why we had to release it at the said date. But then my students worked hard on their articles. They were excited. They started planning for the next issue. For me, that is what's important. There were still revisions that could make their work much much better, yes, but the impulse behind it is the significant thing.
Why am I ranting now? I feel tired. I feel like no matter how hard I work or try my best to make things work, it would be futile in the end because I work so differently from my colleagues. I sound like my students now, don't I? Whining like an adolescent who thinks adults are the ultimate villains in life. Well, in a way, there's the rub...
Back to school again tomorrow. I'll be wrapping up my block on Dickens' "Oliver Twist" and we'll practice my eighth grade's musical presentation. For my ninth graders, we'll have to deal with sentence diagramming again and begin "To Kill a Mockingbird". My eleventh graders (my advisory class and the school's most "notorious"--I love them to bits anyhow) and I will end "A Separate Peace" and plan our mock trial. I need to write students' reports for Thursday's PTC, check papers, write an article for this week's parents bulletin, write an article for the Star's K.O., prepare for a nerve-wracking meeting with the parents of my most belligerent male student, stay sane and worry about many other things--the question, now, is "do I still like my work?"
With a sigh, "yes."
The issue on language gave birth to so many other little questions, like babies crying: do they want to be fed? to be changed? to be carried? to be lulled?
And then the release of the students' newsletter, of which I am the adviser, also came out last week. We had very little time preparing for it--my fault, in a way. I wanted to beat the deadline. Then there was also a hazy reason of the faculty that I was not clear about, as to why we had to release it at the said date. But then my students worked hard on their articles. They were excited. They started planning for the next issue. For me, that is what's important. There were still revisions that could make their work much much better, yes, but the impulse behind it is the significant thing.
Why am I ranting now? I feel tired. I feel like no matter how hard I work or try my best to make things work, it would be futile in the end because I work so differently from my colleagues. I sound like my students now, don't I? Whining like an adolescent who thinks adults are the ultimate villains in life. Well, in a way, there's the rub...
Back to school again tomorrow. I'll be wrapping up my block on Dickens' "Oliver Twist" and we'll practice my eighth grade's musical presentation. For my ninth graders, we'll have to deal with sentence diagramming again and begin "To Kill a Mockingbird". My eleventh graders (my advisory class and the school's most "notorious"--I love them to bits anyhow) and I will end "A Separate Peace" and plan our mock trial. I need to write students' reports for Thursday's PTC, check papers, write an article for this week's parents bulletin, write an article for the Star's K.O., prepare for a nerve-wracking meeting with the parents of my most belligerent male student, stay sane and worry about many other things--the question, now, is "do I still like my work?"
With a sigh, "yes."
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