Oct 27, 2013 Teaching and Learning
When the last tree falls and the sky is ashen, will we all say,
“It was worth it, because we are now evolved
And enlightenment has come.”
Oct 16, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Teaching and Learning
There’s a sweetness to children who care about other children, without feeling the need to be “cool.”
When I see a lack of such caring, I suspect it as being the result of too much exposure to popular culture, or too much knowledge of the world, or too little exposure to what simple affection, sans expectation, might look like. Lack of this simple connectedness is detrimental to our humanity as a whole — when one person behaves indifferently, and that person has some clout, indifference spreads. (Witness the increased lack of empathy in so many parts of our political and social culture.)
I have had, over the years, some teenaged students with special needs of one sort or another, or children who may have issues with learning because of emotional needs. Many times, there’s a vulnerability and a gentleness about those students that grabs my heart more than any other children I’ve taught.
Today, there was a young teenager who held the hand of another throughout the field trip we took to a museum. The other is on the spectrum, while the hand-holder is a kid with emotional and learning issues, although perfectly functional and able to communicate easily. They were happy. They sat on the bus together. They had a closeness that didn’t have anything to do with words. Both knew that the other cared. All artifice was stripped away. There was no issue of ambiguity. There was no sense of “You’re my friend today, because it’s convenient for me to have a friend.” There was a calmness, a surety, a sense of having a place in the world.
What’s happened to so many of the rest of us? Are we so heartless that gentleness and kindness take a backseat?
My heart was so moved by those two students, that I was close to tears. I couldn’t explain it.
They may have challenges in terms of academics, but they are always my true teachers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Communication, autism, caring, field trip, nurturing friends, special needs, teaching really special students
Oct 15, 2013 Teaching and Learning
The Pleasure of Reading to My Daughter
©By Vijaya Sundaram, October 15th, 2013
Had a lovely evening with daughter, reading aloud several of Kipling’s “Just So Stories” to her – she fairly chuckled with delight at his quirky, imaginative stories, his exquisite use of real and made-up words, his neologisms, his charming humor, his overall beautiful diction. and his brilliant drawings with elaborate descriptions accompanying them. Also read aloud a chapter to her from Linda Sue Park’s moving and lovely narrative of a 12th century pre-teen learning the art of celadon pottery in her book, “A SIngle Shard.” Lovely book!
S continues to read pretty voraciously all through the day, but she still likes it when I read aloud to her (I like it too).
When I die, I’d like to remember these days, filled with laughter, innocent enjoyment of wonderful stories, closeness and love. I hope they will sustain me in my old age, if I make it.
Oct 13, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Teaching and Learning
My Walk in the Woods — The Non-Bryson, Non-Thoreau Edition
©By Vijaya Sundaram
October 13th, 2013
Today, we walked in the woods, my daughter and I.
It was quiet. My daughter and I talked quietly, and only occasionally. The sun slanted down, flowing quietly through sun-veined leaves. Pine needles cushioned our footfall. Birds, mostly unseen, occasionally glimpsed, sang or chirped quietly. Far away, as in a dream, the traffic made itself heard, a hum from another world.
No rabbits bounded across our path. No deer gazed at us in consternation. There was nary a coyote, nary a fox, nary a snake and nary a scary beast. I was, when I think back, half-disappointed, but mostly happy. The trees were company enough for us. And they whispered as we passed, sending messages down their root systems. We tripped on some of those root systems. Radical messages flowed from them to other trees. The path was non-contrived. There were leaves, roots, stones, pine-needles. It was a path, nevertheless.
At some point, like Frost, we reached a fork, many forks. Unlike Frost, we clung to the one most travelled by. After all, these weren’t our usual woods. These were new woods, in a nearby town, near the zoo we liked to visit on weekends. These woods spelled mystery. Mystery likes to wait. No need to be in a rush to unpack everything all at once. Besides, there might not be anything, just the ever-present low-level hum of humorous anxiety about the prospect of being lost, even if only for a while.
In my world, courage lies in simple things. I shall never be a mountain-climber, a channel-crosser, a sailor, a lion-tamer, a sky-jumper, a person who is jailed for standing up for the rights of the oppressed, or even a person who simply quits if the situation is distasteful (although I’d like to be many of those things).
For now, I just want the courage to put one foot in front of the other, in the years of my life that are yet to come, and face my future with a quiet assuredness, and know that although I might have been afraid at some points, I never stopped.
I want that for me, and I want that for my daughter. I want to teach her courage in the face of her fears. I want her to know when to advance and when to retreat. I want her to know which cause is worth fighting for, and which ones are lost ones.
And how can I teach her these things, if I am afraid to find out?
One of these days, however, I shall take that fork that leads to who know where. I shall take it alone, I hope, and I shall return, stolen fire in my heart.
And I shall pray that the gods will not be jealous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: Courage, facing life, keeping children company, meditations, ordinary living, walk in the woods
Sep 7, 2013 Teaching and Learning
… singing a song I wrote, composed and recorded in 1994. Hope you enjoy it.
Bird Over The Water © Vijaya Sundaram, 1994
Sep 5, 2013 Teaching and Learning
… but I’m back, I think.
It’s been busy.
I’ve been preoccupied.
And I hated being away from writing.
I’ll try and get back into writing shape.
Meanwhile, today was my second day of school with the students, and their first full day with their teachers.
I love new beginnings — they smell like late summer roses, early apples, grass after rain, marigolds, like cheerfulness in bloom, sunflowers so full of tender and bold affirmation.
I want to hold on to that feeling through the approaching dark days of winter. My daughter says I should try and “get used to the winter.” She’s a winter baby, and she loves it. For her sake, I’ve tried to love it, and you know what? When it snows, and she plunges with joy into piles of snow, I DO love it!
More soon …
Love from,
Dreamer of Dreams
Jul 1, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Teaching and Learning
The Beginning
By Dreamer of Dreams
Monday, July 1st, 2013
Dare I say that today was my first day of vacation? Not really. I mean, school ended last Thursday (yes, that late), and I was there on Friday and today, and will probably be there on and off, tossing out old things, and putting away more things. The floor is clean and the custodians can do their work. The shelves are (mostly) empty. The side shelves are piled with boxes and papers. I took down my hanging plants and my odd pieces of interesting artwork and pictures and brought them home.
I boxed up and brought home a big pile of books I’d bought this year, kept on my shelves and never read. I will read them in the next few weeks, dammit!
I tossed out an entire large recycling bin worth of stuff (so much for being green), and felt horribly guilty.
On the plus side, I wiped all surfaces clean, swept the floor and made the room look neat enough. This is that no custodians will curse me into oblivion when they come to strip and wax the floors. Must keep them happy at all costs.
Meanwhile, at home for the past couple of days, I’ve overslept with my family, cooked nice food, visited some friends, done the usual laundry, taken a couple of walks with family, and read most of a large book to S in the past couple of days. Am slowly coming to my senses. Feel like a real person again.
Misanthropy takes a while to dissipate, though. It’s always the result of tiredness, and having to deal with too many people all concentrated in a small space, and at the very end of a rather long academic year. It’s not true dislike, I remind myself. Just heat, endless work and the call to be superhuman.
The school year is always like a strange dream, surreal and strangely contained, filled with its own challenges, some of which are good ones, some of which I can do without. Then, like a release, the holidays come, and I feel the sweet breath of freedom. No doubt everyone does.
I shall not draw any conclusions. I shall probably reach some dire ones if I try.
I cannot afford to.
Jun 25, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Kitchen Table Anecdotes, Teaching and Learning
Cross-posted on FB as well:
Up all night last night (Sunday night), grading the last of my 3rd Trimester papers (grades due on Wednesday). 4:00 a.m., I notice a male figure clad in jeans moving in the darkness of my living room (I was in our library, which has a window into our living room).
I call out, “W, what are you doing downstairs at such an early hour? W? W!” Figure moves away. I rush into the room in a panic. The side sliding door to our deck is open, and the wind is blowing the curtains. My heart stops. I scream. Poke my head out. No one there. Quickly lock the door. Rush upstairs. Check on daughter. Fast asleep. Check on husband. Fast asleep. Wake up husband. He jumps up in a sleep-startled panic, hears my story, goes outside, checks all around the house. No one. Says words to the effect of, “Well, there’s no one. Nothing missing. Why call the police now? I want to go to bed.”
I was and had been very much awake the whole time, and state this fact. Besides, I add, the sliding door to the deck was open, and we know for a fact that it was shut the previous night (I had been very diligent about locking back door and front door, but hadn’t thought that W had left the side door unlocked). That, and the basement door are the only ways in which the intruder would have come in, and left.
Nothing was taken. Meanwhile, I continue to grade papers. Then, I begin a large meal to take to school to feed my “Green Team” kids — today was our last meeting, and I’d promised a freshly cooked meal! Got to school very early to boot.
So, Wonder-Woman stays up all night, frightens away an intruder with HER fright, cooks Indian-ish food for fourteen or so students, grades papers, administers two Final Exams for the last two classes, feeds students, cleans up classroom, does some clerical tasks, and comes home, then feeds family with aforementioned food (leftovers).
A stranger comes into the house in the darkness of pre-dawn. I’ve been on adrenaline all day — returned all the papers to the last of my classes. All seems well. My heart is uneasy.
A stranger comes into the house in the darkness of pre-dawn. I cannot shake off the dread and terror. I plan to put my child in our room tonight.
W suggested I let the police know today. I planned to, anyway. It seems to me that the neighborhood should be on the alert and on the lookout for this shadow person.
Sorry to unload. Had to. A stranger came into my house in the darkness of pre-dawn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: cooking Indian food for teenage students, fright, grading, intruder alert
Jun 24, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Essays: On Books, Art, Literary Appreciation and so on, Teaching and Learning
Cross-posted on FB as well:
Just had my heart opened and cracked into many pieces, with my innards ripped out gently and inexorably by Tim O’Brien. [Finally got around to reading (and just finishing) “The Things They Carried.” Read it in spurts over the past couple of days, in between grading, cooking, grading, fending off an intruder, grading some more, dealing with people at work, grading some more, then saying, “The hell with grading- I want to read something GOOD, dammit!”].
Did I mention that I think Tim O’Brien is a god? War stories or not, this book is as tender, as beautiful, as merciless, as inexorable and as visceral as the writing of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, of Vladimir Nabokov, of Jhumpa Lahiri and of Arundhati Roy.
Now, I have to go back to about fifty or so short stories written by young people. Many of these are not half-bad. They badly need a full-time grammar and punctuation coach though, some of them. Still, I always like stories by kids even the most pointless ones.
The academic school year is pretty much done by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll believe it only when it’s over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: grading, school, short stories by students, Tim O'Brien
May 13, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Teaching and Learning
Being Professional
©By Vijaya Sundaram
May 13th, 2013
Teaching young people can sometimes be rewarding.
Seriously.
The only downside is: We have to always present our best selves to our students.
Moodiness is a no-no. Not good.
In no profession is the need to present “the face” more present than in the teaching profession. It’s called “being professional.”
It’s important. Leave your own, personal feelings and sensitivities at the door. Don’t indulge in sarcasm (it’s hard to resist at times, though, especially when one knows one is being manipulated). Take everything, but everything, at face value, EVEN if it’s a question or a response that is absolutely, blindingly, clearly the result of a calculated attempt by a student to derail and sabotage a class.
Treat that student’s random question as if it’s a matter of absolute interest. And it is, if you look at it closely, and examine its true motive. Carefully answer the question posed as if in earnest, but answer the question behind the question. That is, if you have the time.
Alas, one doesn’t always have the time to do all that. One succeeds being a perfect person only for the first few months. After that, one becomes short and curt in one’s responses. Then, after hearing the curt response, one becomes overcome with remorse within, and swears to not be laconic or ironic. One has to remind oneself that these are, after all, tender souls, innocent (!) young humans who need nurturing. One resets oneself to be tender-hearted all over again, only to have some hoodlum in disguise try to tear down one’s lesson, or demolish a feeling of community in the classroom. That’s okay. Perhaps, it’s the student’s cry for attention of some sort. All one needs to do is have a swift, uncompromising consequence — which, doesn’t always happen, because the flow of students is seemingly endless during the day. Then, later on, one follows up. Sometimes, that works.
If only that cry for attention by a student were directed in a positive way — as in, responding to a book or a topic being discussed, or general observations about a teaching unit, or about the human condition in general! Then, one could engage, discuss, have a true dialogue.
Alas, sometimes, that doesn’t happen. But then again, it does, at other times. One mustn’t give up hope.
For sometimes, a student just might remember that she or he was truly difficult, or unresponsive in class, or obnoxious, and apologize years later. (That has been known to happen, and it’s lovely to have this reminder that one must have faith in the good sense of one’s students.)
Through all this, the teacher does not ever give up, even if, at times, said teacher might get overwhelmed and upset, s/he being human, after all.
For this is what a teacher has to do: The teacher gets up every morning, girds up his or her loins, and goes into the forefront of something that could either be a joint endeavor, (like people in a submarine that is plumbing the depths in search of who-kn0ws-what), or a battle of wits. Of course, it should never be a battle, but some like it so. And some students want it to be so.
And then, the teacher teaches several hours a day, and grades papers for an equal or greater number of hours. The teacher is expected to be totally in control of the flow of schedules and information regarding extraneous matters not really related to teaching. The teacher attends meetings, and shows up to everything dutifully. The teacher volunteers to take on things unrelated to the actual job, because, well, it’s fun! The teacher has to always say, “Things are great!” when asked how things are going, because … well, at some level, things are great (even if one might feel cynical on the day-to-day level, the level of bone-deep exhaustion).
All this aside, the teacher must go in every day to work, and love, love, love the subject, and by extension those whom she or he teaches.
Sleeping three or four hours every night (whether she or he does it willfully, because of some sort of self-destructive urge, or because of school-work, is irrelevant), waking up at an ungodly hour every morning, cudgeling her brain into wakefulness by the repeated application of trimethylxanthine in its liquid, lactic-tinged form, and smiling a warm welcome to all the equally weary children who pour like sluggish streams of molasses, the teacher stands, prepared, poised and punctual.
That is called “being professional.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Teaching, Being Professional, school-teacher's musings, Students, teachers, vocation and avocation, What it takes to be a teacher