Someone's Gotta Pay...

            Overworked and underpaid. What comes to mind when hearing these words? Teachers. All too often have the snickers and sordid remarks of ignorant people regarding teachers deserving low compensation gone unnoticed, untouched. What these people fail to see is that teachers are the foundation of their own world, the building blocks of their own career and future. Teachers deserve, of course to be recognized for the powerful and influential human beings that they are, but furthermore, to be correctly and justly compensated for the virtues that they possess and instill in the youth of America.

            Many people argue that, for the amount of time a teacher is “seen” to put in, compensation is completely acceptable; an average teacher works from 8:00a.m. to 3:00p.m., weekends and summers off, with random breaks in between. However, what these people are not aware of is that teachers, unlike many professions in America, take their work home with them every single day. According to the American Time Use Survey (ATUS) (Kent, 2008), teachers were more likely than other professionals to bring their work home with them and teachers were also more likely to work on a Sunday. United States teachers must also resort to attaining another form of employment due to their low compensation. In fact, the ATUS (Kent, 2008) also portrays the fact that teachers are more likely than other professionals to be multiple jobholders.

            It also evident that many other countries in the world pay their teachers a great deal more than what American educators earn. An international study shows that America is ranked number 22 among participating countries with teachers earning less than 60% of the average pay for a full-time, college-educated worker (Murray, 2011). It is now becoming a little more frequent to hear proposals of pay raises for quality teachers in America. For instance, Teach for America proposes $130,000 per year for teachers who are willing to forgo their tenure rights, which is a hopeful and optimistic way to “weed out” unqualified teachers (Stephey, 2008).    

            During a Spotlight Interview with Arne Duncan, Secretary of Education in the United States, he had also proposed that quality teachers deserve to be rewarded with higher compensation based on their extremely significant duties including educating young American children. Teachers are not only responsible for coming into a classroom and talking at children for seven hours a day. They are responsible for the academic, physical, and emotional well-being of each and every child that walks into their classroom. They are responsible for filling the minds of children with knowledge that they will use not only today but for the rest of their lives. These youth will eventually be filled with knowledge that cannot be attained anywhere else but an encouraging and life-changing classroom. These youth will learn morality through the eyes of the honorable literature character, Atticus Finch. They will learn how to balance a checkbook with the fundamentals of perplexing mathematics skills. They will learn just why one cannot heat gravy for a hearty Thanksgiving dinner in a metal bowl in the microwave with the exciting world of electricity. These are just a few examples of the knowledge students will take away from their schooling experience.

               Furthermore, it is essential to get down to the bare bones of the matter. If a child is terminally ill, would it not be vital for this child to be seen by the best doctor that money could buy? Of course. If a child is unjustly accused of a severe crime that he or she did not commit, would it not be imperative for this child to be represented by a lawyer with the highest success rate, not to mention, hourly rate? Without a doubt. Is it not just as important for a child to receive a high quality education under the authority of a knowledgeable teacher? Absolutely, and with that said, it is both appropriate and warranted for a teacher to be compensated just as much as the above mentioned professionals. 

What Are You Thankful For?

Thanksgiving. The time of year people really acknowledge all that they are thankful for. Also, a time for family, friends, and eating….a lot of eating. This year, I thought a lot, too. There really are so many things that I am grateful for.

I’m grateful for my family, who, no matter how dramatic they can be are always the people I know I can endlessly count on. I’m grateful for my friends, the ones I see all the time and the ones who aren’t around as often as I’d like them to be. I’m thankful for my boyfriend, who has never ceased to make me laugh. I’m thankful for my job, which is really not a job at all. I’m thankful for my education and all of the doors it will eventually open up for me.

Most of all, I’m thankful for this day. Thankful that I get to take a step back from the busyness of my day-to-day routine and think about all this, pray for all this. I’m thankful for this day that I get to spend with my entire family, that I get to laugh till it hurts, that I get to dress up for an hour and then sneak back into my room and put my slippers on, that I don’t have to count calories, and that I can go to bed at 9 p.m. and have that be acceptable because of the tryptophan.  

Come to think of it, it’d be really nice if we could have a sort of “thanksgiving” every day…minus the overeating, picture-taking, and high heel wearing. It would be nice to consider everything that we are thankful for more often than one day every November. 

The Dreaded Certification Exams

Responding to: http://investyourloveinvestyourlifexx.blogspot.com/

Title: “I was scared, tired and under prepared…”

So, I’m almost positive everyone has felt the same exact way as you, myself included. It’s funny because we go into the first two certification exams and we’re like, “seriously, did I just take that?” Really, we feel relieved because we’re certain this is gong to be a piece of cake. We then register for the final exam, the CST’s, so excited to take it and be DONE.

Here’s my brief story:

I have to be honest, I was not nervous for the first two certification exams. My sister is a year older than me, graduated from Adelphi a year ahead of me, thus, took the certification exam before me. She assured me that the first two were cake, and that the CST was the one I’d have to worry about. She knew people who’ve failed several times before finally passing. So, I started to get nervous. I ordered the book and when it came in I immediately opened the book and began to study. I had the same exact reaction as you, “is this for real?” I answered a few every day, but I promised myself I wouldn’t “cram” the night before the test. I would just bite the bullet and say, “Well, I’m going to get some ludicrous question where I’ll need to use the best of my knowledge to make an educated guess, and of course I’ll get some Emily Dickinson quote and have to analyze, interpret and relate it in some way I haven’t figured out yet.”

I basically woke up in the morning KNOWING that this was not going to be my last certification exam, knowing that I was going to need to retake the CST’s. I totally had that same, this-is-such-a-long-test, kind of feeling. I opened up the test and began reading. One hour…two hours…three hours later I’m up to the essay. Of course, by this point I’m so physically and mentally exhausted, not to mention the fact that I have a pounding headache from the fluorescent lights in the “multi-purpose room”, a.k.a. GYM.

I crack my knuckles (I know, I know, bad habit) and begin reading the prompt. Can you guess what my essay was on? EMILY freakin’ DICKINSON. So, at this point I’m scared because I feel like I have psychic powers, and of course nervous because I’m not so prepared for this. Luckily I’ve read just enough Dickinson to know the basics.

I walked out of the exam being excited that it was finally over, and knowing that I was, unfortunately, coming back. I had honestly come to terms with the fact that I failed.

Three months later I get an email saying that my grade would be posted later in the day. What a buzz-kill for a Friday night, huh? I received the email while I was out to dinner with my girlfriends. They told me not to open it until I got another drink. So, I chugged it, like the lady that I ALWAYS am, and opened the email. I passed.

So, here’s the moral. Keep your head up!

Proofread? Oops!

Since many people around me know that I have a degree in English, I seem to be the first person on everyone’s list to proofread a boring paper. That’s the unlucky part. Particularly, though, the majority of people who seek a “professional proofread” are still attending high school. That’s the lucky part. It’s great practice for someone who is just starting student teaching, right?

So, let me get into the story. Last week my boyfriends little brother asked me to proofread a paper for him. The topic was “ethical decision making.” Pretty interesting, I thought to myself, and faithfully accepted (really, I would have accepted if he had written a paper on different types of tree bark). Once I finally got a chance to sift through my own assignments for school, I opened up his paper.

I have to be honest, despite the fact that it was 11:30 at night- and anyone who knows me, knows that I am usually on my 10^th dream at that time- I was excited to proofread and edit this paper! I felt like a real teacher. My first comment was on the title, which he lazily used “Ethical Decision Making.” Needless to say, I typed a bold, red “LAME!” right next to the title. Too much?

I then gave him some tips for creating a great introduction, including feedback on the “grabber” and “clincher”. Everything was going smoothly, until….after reading the third page I went back and saw. . . ALL RED! What the heck was I doing? First of all, it was freakin’ 12:25- gosh, I’m going to be cranky tomorrow- second, this was NO way to edit! I was practically rewriting the paper for him. I took a step back and actually laughed. Ha, I’m going to be a great teacher, writing all my student’s papers for them!

Well hey, the first step is admitting it right? I quickly reestablished my position in this all. I’m a grad student; he’s a freshman in college. There are going to be obvious differences in our writings and I need to not only acknowledge this, but appreciate it. So, for the rest of the paper I made my grammatical corrections, added in some feedback and suggestions and the end, and sent it off. Clearly, he was teaching me just as much as I was teaching him.

My Mother Never Says "No".

            My mother never says “no”. She’s just that kind of person. You know, always giving. She comes from a place of “yes”. I see this especially for my sister and I; she never denied us of anything when we were growing up. This might have come from my Dad leaving; she felt that she needed to give us the world in order to make up for the lack of a father figure. Every Friday before she met us at the bus stop, she’d stop at the bakery for huge black and white cookies. Every Saturday after dance class she would have a surprise waiting for us when we got home. Nine times out of ten it was another mysterious adventure of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen.

            Now, as an adult my dream is to give back to my mother. I want to shower her with expensive gifts and fun Saturday surprises. A red Corvette, “Two seats are just enough; one for me and one for the dog” she’d say. A three bedroom house in Myrtle Beach, fully equipped with two hot tubs- one inside, one out- and a cleaning lady. Huge flat screens in every room so she’d never miss an episode of Law and Order. She’d have a faithful dog that would never die, a faithful husband that would never leave, and two daughters that would love the hell out of her.

I will think of my mother when I am a mother, and of all that she has given me; both tangible and intangible. I will think of all the heart-to heart’s, the “its ok’s”, and the “don’t worry’s”. I can only hope that the love and laughter I will pass down to my children can equal at least half of the love and laughter my mother has embedded in me.

So, for now I will continue on the path I am on, the path that my mother has steered me towards. I will give her back all of the love and support she has given me, and more, because if there’s one thing that has stuck with me in the past 23 years of “yes”, it’s that my mother, Denise, deserves to have it all.

Sunday Night Blue's

When I was in high school I had a teacher, Mrs. Stein, who was one of the two teachers who has made a huge impact on my decision to become a teacher. She was firm and structured, yet humorous and sensitive. In a lot less words, she…got stuff done. Mrs. Stein taught a business class. The first day of class she gave us a list of all of her pet peeves: saying “axe” instead of “ask”, “pitcher” instead of “picture”, etc. I envied the way she just came out and said what she felt, in a funny enough way as to not insult any of the students.

 

I took the class as an elective, since I couldn’t bear to be enrolled in chorus any longer. Generally, all of my other peers in the class knew that they wanted a career in some form of business. Then…there was me, the aspiring teacher. Despite this, the class was still great, informative and certainly not a waste of time.

 

After Mrs. Stein lectured us about steering clear of all of her pet peeves, she told us a personal story of how she became a teacher. This, of course intrigued me. She told us that before she became a high school teacher, she worked for a textbook publishing company, where she was miserable every single day. She coined the phrase, “the Sunday night blues”, in my book. Every Sunday night she would put her children to sleep, go up to her room and begin to cry because she so dreaded going to sleep and waking up to another depressing Monday morning of boring work. After an entire year of the same Sunday night crying episodes, she decided that something needed to change. Mrs. Stein realized that the only change she could make was a career change, and so she did.

 

Now, she goes to sleep on Sunday night’s excited about Monday, looking forward to seeing her students, and anxious to teach new material.

 

That’s what it’s all about, right? My father always told my sister and I to do what we love doing, because you will be married to your job. He happened to love cars, ever since he was little kid. He opened up his own business in Paris, Tennessee and struggled every single day to make ends meet. Today, ten years later, he still struggles. I bet you thought I was going to say that he is a multi-million dollar auto body owner with thriving businesses around the world, huh? Nope. He works six days a week simply because he can’t stand to be away from his “baby”. I may not be the heir to a multi-million dollar business (damn), but I will always remember my dad’s words. Like Mrs. Stein, he found a career that he loves…Sunday Night Blues far from sight.  

"Tomorrow"

Shellie and Stan stood in a mid-sized kitchen with maroon and cream striped wallpaper, curling at the ends. The silence between the two was deafening, an obvious quarrel lingered in the air. The only sound that was heard all night was the clanking of Shellie’s healed boots on the grey and white linoleum floor. They were clearing off the table after dinner and cleaning the dishes as Shellie, a much younger woman approached Stan, a married 46-year old man, about a conflict that has gone unnoticed for too long. After dodging the conversation for over a year, the tension could have been cut with a butcher’s knife. The danced around each other in the kitchen as a means of avoidance, and they certainly never made eye contact.

A definite sadness came across Shellie’s face as she closed the stained, white door of the dishwasher. “Hey honey, listen I wanted to talk to you about something”, she said in an almost surrendering manner. Hesitantly, Stan nodded his head without making eye contact, confirming his knowledge that the elephant in the room had finally been noticed.  He pretended to be searching the refrigerator for something, reaching deep in the back, moving around jars of jelly and skim milk. Really, he was searching for some sort of absolution, perhaps a container labeled The Answer. Shellie ignored his obvious evasion, “Well, I was wondering if you’ve talked to Suzanne yet? You know, about anything…about me, about us.” When she uttered that last “us” her head drooped, her dirty blonde bangs swept over her eyes. Stan gave off a nervous giggle without conveying a clear answer to her. Did I just laugh? He thought. He knew, though, that it was better than the million other things he truly wanted to do.

“I mean, I can only imagine how hard this is for you, but come on. I can’t keep doing this Stan, you’ve met my parents, my sister, you practically live here. I’m not going to be your mistress so you can have your cake and eat it, too.” The distraught woman was looking at Stan, full on, breathing heavily. Stan felt her eyes staring at him, like lasers cutting through his filthy skin. Despite this, he kept clearing off the table, taking much longer than any other time to scrape the left over mashed potatoes out of the porcelain bowl. Shellie was not backing down, though. She finally got the nerve to initiate this conversation and by God, she was going to finish it. “Oh, of course you have nothing to say, now huh? How long did you expect this to go on for?” she said, her voice began escalating. Stan nodded his head with shame and massaged his temples, his eyes blank and gloomy.

“Fine, if you don’t want to tell her I will. Don’t make me do that Stan, don’t make me look like that crazy girl. This is hard enough and now you can’t even talk to me.” She began breaking down, the tough-girl act quickly pushed away. Stan dumped the now empty bowl into the soap-filled sink and gently sat down on the coach, cradling his head in his hands. “I thought we were a team. You said this would all work out Stan. Well, I’ve waited; I’ve waited longer than any woman should ever have to wait. Maybe you should go home and figure out what you really want so you don’t waste anyone else’s time.” Stan glanced at her, standing there with one hand on her hip holding a spatula and the other swiftly wiping a way a fallen tear. He knew that she was looking for some sort of affirmation, some glimmer of hope for the relationship. Stan knew, though, that he wasn’t prepared to give that to her. He felt the woven fabric of the sofa smothering him, releasing memories of Suzanne that bolted through his body like electricity. He quickly picked himself up, gave Shellie a modest kiss on the cheek, slid his tired feet into his work boots and without tying them, exited Shellie’s apartment.