Two years

For those of you who still keep up with my blog and do not know, I am leaving Raymondville to move home and teach. Teach For America is a two year program--I finished the program. Had it been a five year program, I would have stayed five years and who knows then. Is TFA the reason I'm not staying to teach in Raymondville? No. However, because my commitment to the program was over, I had the opportunity to leave if I wished. A couple of months ago I received a call from home about a job at my hometown high school asking if I would be interested in coming home--my answer was, absolutely.


After living in the community while teaching and coaching for the schools, I can tell you that my experience was nothing like what I thought it would be. My experience here was everything I had hoped it would be and more. I have spent the majority of my time at the school, gym, and softball field.

In that school are caring administrators who are always willing to sit down and have a conversation with me. In that school are the friendliest janitors and lunch ladies who will always say hi and smile. In that school are the wonderful teachers I have had the privilege of teaching with these past two years. But more than anything, in that school, all over that school, are my kids--the reason I have made it to work for the past 187 days.

Transitioning to freshmen this year was the best thing that has happened to me--I'm hoping that soon the same will be said for SPED. Freshmen are innocent, excited, and loving. We succeeded together because our energies were always merging and at some point the classroom became familial. Our end of the year project was to create a playlist of songs that is a memoir list and give each song a reason as to why you chose them. The kids were thoughtful about the project and the end of the year went, as it does, out the door.

My class of juniors is, and will most likely always be, my favorite class to teach. They were studying to pass the AP English Language and Composition exam. This class is difficult. To the juniors who made it though the year, I commend you--I know it was challenging. Keep reading. Read Faulkner, Milton, Plato...and so many others--just read, it changes your life.

Leaving this little town is difficult--this has been home. I will miss breakfast tacos at Antojito's in the mornings with dirty water. I will miss driving by Smiley Face park in the summer and watching games go on all day long. I will miss the kids and parents who always bring me food or invite me over for dinner--those people give me a family here. I will miss walking into my classroom with its blue walls, and into the gym, and onto the softball field to drag it that one last time...

Once I was talking to my kids about places that felt peaceful on campus and my top two were my classroom and the softball field. The amount of prayer and blessings that have been extended on both create a protection around them. I close the door to my classroom and everything else goes away. We hit the softball field, and as Blue and I start dragging the field round and round, everything else doesn't matter anymore.

Regardless of what the media, statists, or state assessments may say, I know that I teach the best kids--I wouldn't trade them out if I could. They are the most loving, considerate, humorous, and ridiculous people. I love them--in a completely unexplainable way.

As I begin my move home, I am excited to work for the district where I received my education. I am thrilled to work with the same group of teachers who also gave me my education. I'm excited to be the baby and not the person people ask a million questions to.

More than anything in the world, I am excited to move back to my family. They were the missing component in Raymondville and it was just too far. I loved it here. I did not get forced out nor was I ready to leave. But ready is relative and I was more ready to be with my family than I was to stay another year.

To all of those who have been with me these two years:

Thank you for letting me educate your children.
Thank you for letting me be your teacher.
Thank you for letting me work for your district.
Thank you for supporting me throughout this time.
Thank you for the smiles, for the food, for the laughter, for the tears.

"Raise 'em up."

LA

Where do all of the lonely people go?

At the hand of one of my friends, I have finished watching the movie "Her" twice this weekend. I never would have watched this movie if I hadn't been asked to--I love movies but really only a handful of movies that I watch over and over again. I would rather watch a movie that I have seen five times than watch a movie I have never seen. Creature of habit--that's me. 

Anyways, this movie really made me think about the difference between loneliness and being alone. I think as humans we often have a hard time distinguishing between the two. Living by myself in the Valley gives me many hours of alone time--but it's not until this year that I have felt lonely. Granted, I am an introvert, I avoid social engagements at almost all costs (unless the group is limited to two or three), and when I tell people this information they are always confused as to how I ended up being a teacher in a classroom full of thirty students all day. Back to the point--I love alone time but I don't like lonely time. And these days, where do all of the lonely people go? To their phones. I'll be the first to tell you that I am on my phone a great deal of the time checking emails, answering messages, and doing...whatever--because I am lonely. I am not saying this so that you will pity me because I will also be the first to tell you that not answering my phone and talking to people (leaving my phone in another room...) doesn't make me anxious or feel like I am somehow missing out on some part of the world happenings around me. To be frank though, those moments only really happen when I am home, with my family, in a community full of people who already know me--those I am not afraid of. Most people who know me will tell you that I'm friendly, outspoken, loud, and a talker--those things are only true to those who know me. I'm generally not rude but I won't go out of my way to be your friend. If I am in a group of people I don't know, I won't speak my mind unless I am certain it is for the better of the group goal (and even then I reconsider five times). I am pretty quiet...just my thoughts are loud and most times (unless it's to my mother--or a topic I am interested in) I am not too much of a talker. I would rather read a news article than go to a group outing. I would rather sit on my couch than at a bar. I would rather spend an hour with old friends than days with new ones. But after watching "Her" I question--is this because I have underestimated the power of intimacy and only long to be reassured in my endeavors? 

Is this world meant to be affirmed by a timeline or posts on a feed? Are we meant to post our happiest moments in photographs for all of the world to see? Ten years ago if you asked someone what they would take from their house if it was burning, they might have said the family picture on the mantel--but now that picture is a cover photo on Facebook--would the picture on the mantel even matter? If my house was burning to the ground, I would want to save Reggie (my schnauzer companion of seven years) and my copy of "Paradise Lost" from my junior year in college. I have a stack of pictures on my end table but those moments don't even exist in my memory--do they matter? At this point, I think we walk the fine line trying to define what is human and what is robotic. Our phones have a switch that we never power off and our computers have a battery that we never let die. What happens when we stop and consider where all of the lonely people go?

YTB

I cannot sum my year up in a single blog post writing in an effort to make the trials and tribulations of 2014 seem as if they are the lose ends of a rope that have simultaneously been tied off as the year comes to a close. I do not have plans to make a resolution that will slowly slide from my focus after the first week of the year. My resolutions from year to year have consistently stayed the same and are more of a bucket list than anything--I cross something new off as each year passes. I am not setting expectations for what I anticipate the new year to bring--mainly because people do the bringing, not the new year. What I am going to do is be obedient to what my mother asked of me and sit here and write this blog post.

When I was home for Christmas, I saw a quote on my door which begged the question, "If everyone on the team is doing what I am doing, is the team getting better or worse?" I was given the quote my sophomore year of high school--I only know that because it is to "Leeon" which is a nickname that lasted me all of a few games my sophomore season--and thank god because I would much rather be LAW. Thinking about the quote and about how it applied to my life in high school and the girls that I coach now, I am thankful for what basketball (and not necessarily basketball per se but a shared mutual love and passion) has brought to my life. I played with a group of girls who worked hard and all of the life lessons I learned by being a part of that team are lessons I want to teach my girls between now and the end of their senior season. No, basketball isn't life, but I would argue that it taught me more about life than most things I worked at in high school--besides Mrs. Watson's calculus class. 

I learned that just because you get a year older doesn't mean that you gain a year in ability. I remember being in a huddle down by the free-throw line at the visitor locker room and being told that just because you graduated from your junior year to your senior year didn't mean that you would get any better at basketball. I also remember in that conversation our coach telling us that not everyone will be the best player--regardless of how hard they worked. But then go back to the quote--if the best player on the team isn't working as hard as I am, are we getting better or are we getting worse? My girls and I have this conversation all of the time--about basketball and about all aspects of life--you have to work hard. 

I learned that the team doesn't need you--you need the team. Whenever a player gets to the point where they think that the team cannot succeed without them, they are a virus to the team. My principal tells us this all of the time as well--the school doesn't need any one specific teacher or administrator to function and do well. High school girls (and probably people in general) seem to particularly struggle with feeling that they are needed but I think it is a good lesson to learn sooner rather than later--the team doesn't need you. 

I learned that Press Maravich was right...

Press Maravich: [to his players at practice] I am not spending valuable hours of my life just to teach you boys to throw a ball through an iron hoop. This is a way of life, I want players to think. Work, sweat, challenge themselves, discipline themselves, because anything else you boys it just isn't worth it, to anyone. The problem with you boys is simple. You're all a bunch of dummies 'cause you think you know it all. Give me the ball.

[He draws a small circle on the ball]

Press Maravich: You see this circle? The size of this circle represents everything that I know about basketball. But the size of this ball represents everything about the game that has never been dicovered.

[He puts a small dot on the ball]

Press Maravich: This dot is what you know, combined.

[throws the ball back to the player]

Press Maravich: Now if you'll forget about the girls and cars and listen to me you can accomplish things that you never thought were possible. I don't care if you're short, slow, tall, or small. You can play with the best of them if you'll dedicate yourself to becoming better.

I'm pretty sure our coach also thought we were dumb a good portion of the time--we were definitely a bunch of know-it-alls but we were also smart girls and wanted to work hard. I don't know that we ever forgot about the boys and honestly, we didn't really accomplish anything overly great in basketball. However, I know we have accomplished things we never thought were possible--for instance, I never thought I would be the person standing on the sideline of a game. 

I grew up in a basketball town--sometimes I think it's something in the water. We played basketball all of the time. No, we weren't in the gym every single day of our lives, but a good majority of the year we were in the gym. I never had to struggle through my teammates not knowing the game or buying into whatever our goals were as a team. Everyone expected us to play basketball and at least be decent--and by everyone I mean our coaches, parents, teachers, peers, the whole community. In some ways it was easier to work towards our goals--people supported us and believed in us (or at least I think they did). I do not coach in a basketball town. No one expects my girls to play ball decently. I have watched them struggle through this season of change and their growth this year is just a testament to how much they love the game and how much they care about one another. The other two coaches are supportive of our girls and I really do love working with them because we all share a love for the game and even more, teaching the girls how to work hard. There isn't anything in the water and I doubt this will ever be a basketball town but the girls are passionate--I believe in them and the goals that they have. So if nothing else, I hope that basketball teaches my girls about life and more than anything to know that they are loved.