Inspiration

On paper (or google calendar, rather), this week has looked and felt extremely packed.  Student teaching full time, 3 hour class on Monday night, 3 evenings of parent-teacher conferences, one night of book club, and our first of four 3 hour childbirth classes tonight (wait... it's only Wednesday??), and I'm exhausted.  Physically, I'm not doing all that bad... sure I don't get much sleep at night with my big belly, back aches, heart burn, and a dog who tries to snuggle all night with a cone around his neck (under the covers no less)... but mentally, I am spent.  This is also why the "update blog" bullet point on the top of my to do list is going to sit there for a few more days until I have time to weed through some pictures and catch up on all that fun stuff...

But, I have failed to blog recently about how inspired I am by my students... and this is a disservice to myself and my collection of thoughts and ramblings here on the Larsonland blog.  The past few weeks at school have been filled with so many moments and memories that I hope are not pushed aside in my brain once the year is over.  I regret not writing everything down.  I regret not keeping a journal of the things that remind me that I'm doing exactly what I should be doing right now in life.  I know I'll need those reminders someday (likely sooner than later!) when I'm feeling burnt out and completely worn down.

And so, in a far too quick attempt to capture some of my thoughts, I just want to say (to myself mostly) that I am so glad that I chose to go into teaching to work with diverse, urban students.  I honestly have never felt so challenged (I mean, seriously, it is HARD work), appreciated, encouraged, discouraged, frustrated, hopeful, sad, joyful, or inspired in my life.  Two weeks ago I was working individually with a student who transferred to our school from a tough school district where he was prone to getting into trouble or falling into the routine life of drugs and gangs.  After spending an hour studying for a history test together, sharing thoughts on life, and occasionally having to listen to me lecture him on the importance of being responsible for yourself and your academics, I realized that I was witnessing a strong, tough, weathered, 17 year old boy not only become a bit vulnerable, but mature.  I hope to never forget what he said to me after our time together (after silencing three phone calls he got after class ended, a sign of seriousness if I've ever seen one!): "Mrs. Larson, I've had a lot of teachers, but I've never had anyone who really cares about me doing well the way you do.  I've had teachers call me the N word, put me down, or act like I couldn't do anything well because of who I am.  But I know you'd always have my back, and that you believe in me."

I did my best not to cry until he actually left the classroom.

I'd like to share more stories, but I'm not exactly sure how much I can share since I'm in a public school and all... so to respect my fabulous students, I will simply say that on several occasions I have found myself silently fighting back tears after talking with a student or feeling such a gigantic sense of pride after seeing some of their accomplishments that I want to burst.  It's these moments that make me feel like I am exactly where I should be.

No matter how you feel about race or socioeconomic issues, I hope that most people see how youth in our country suffer from vast injustices that are no fault of their own.  When I get to know my students and hear their stories, my heart breaks for so many of them.  But in some small way, I feel like the smile I can offer, the encouragement I can provide, the hope I want to instill, the confidence I try to build, and the skills I hope I can impart will in some way help these kids realize that life can get better. But don't be fooled, these students inspire me in more ways than I could ever explain.  Students who speak multiple languages to relay information between their parents and their teachers, students who take the public bus for 1.5 hours every morning to come to a school where they can thrive amidst diversity, students who go home every night to apartments without heat, or with neighborhood curfews because of violence, or with siblings raising them, students whose only meals may come from our cafeteria... these students, who show up to school every day, try their hardest, and yes, struggle at it, inspire me.  I see the pain in their faces at times, but I also see the joy of learning and dreaming.  And it's an awesome sight. 

If this is how God wants me to chip away at our broken world, I do it happily (though not without exhaustion and frustration of course).

And now that I have all this off my chest, I can rest well and try to prepare for another crazy, but inspiring, day at school!