I got one of the best!

Last weekend, Ryan and I attended the "Spring Formal" for the dental school held at the Pearl Street Grill in downtown. It was very fun. We got all done up (well, as "done up" as a frumpy, Mormon school teacher ever gets--believe me, I had the dowdiest dress in the entire place!), we enjoyed a nice dinner with friends, and then we danced the night away.

It really was a delightful evening, and I am thinking of inviting my sisters and their husbands for next year's event, to make-up for our last attempt at a formal dance. What do you say, girls? Skip the Sheridan and fly to the Buff?

We sat next to some really friendly Asian students from Ryan's class. At one point, Ryan got up to get me a drink, and one of them (whose Americanized name is Ryan, ironically), slid over next to me and said in his thick accent and in all sincerity, "The very first time you met Ryan, did you know that you wanted to marry him?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that I knew I wanted to marry him," I responded, trying not to giggle. "But I did know that he was something special."

"He is something special," this adorably sincere fellow agreed. "He is humble, smart, and serious about school...plus he kicks my butt (he may have used a different word) on the soccer field. You got one of the very best!"

I couldn't agree more!

Ryan Nielson with Ryan the admirer

Making a Fist

I love this poem, first introduced to me many years ago by my good friend Nelda. I taught it to my students today, and it almost made me cry.


Making a Fist
by Naomi Shihab Nye

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later, I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I, who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.


When I first read this poem, my mother had passed away two years earlier. I was making some major life decisions, and I felt lost without her. I remember telling myself that I just had to keep "making a fist."

Almost five years later, why do I still feel like that little girl, "lying in the backseat behind all of my questions, clenching and opening one small hand"?

Apparently, I am not cool anymore.

We haven't seen the Cookie Club kids in forever. So, I thought it would be fun to get together and make some Easter cookies. I called them last night to set up a time, and then I made a special trip to the store this morning to get all of the ingredients.

I was surprised when the scheduled time came and went, and no kids showed up. In the good old days, the kids would be banging down our door, and we would be saying to them, "Come back in five minutes! We're not ready yet!"

I called their mom, and she informed me that they had decided to go to the YMCA with their friends instead.

HUMPH!

I guess they are growing up. Preston is a junior in high school (he only came to eat the cookies anyway), Mahogany is an eighth grader (the age when no one is cooler than your friends), and Ebony and David (both still in elementary school) are influenced by their cool older siblings. On top of that, little Guinny, Natasha, Lawrence, and Yani moved away.

What a bummer.

I feel like a mom whose kids don't want her around anymore. It's kinda sad.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Teaching 11th and 12th grade English is a rollar coaster--some days I love my job; some days I hate it--heck, one moment I love my job, and the next moment I hate it. In all, it's a profession that includes lots of highs and lows--and plenty of chaos. I guess that is to be expected when you are dealing with hundreds of teenagers.

The Good

**The other day, I was sitting on a ledge in the cafeteria during "Lunch Duty" (an adventure all of its own), and I started reading The Catcher in the Rye, the novel we are currently studying in English 11. One of my "punk" students--you know, baggy jeans, black beanie with long hair sticking out, and big hoodie--came up to me and said, "Mrs. Nielson, I finished the book. I couldn't stop reading it." Well, I have to admit that I am shocked that this student even read the book, let alone several days ahead of schedule.

"I'm so glad, Carl!" I said, grinning. "What do you think?"

"I think I don't understand the ending."

So, in the midst of the noisy lunch room, we discussed the symbolism of the red hunting hat, the carrousel, and Holden's realization that he cannot protect Phoebe from the dangers and disappointments of adulthood.

A spirited discussion of literature with an unlikely student--now that is something I love about my job.

**A few days ago, I sparked a lively debate in my class about whether or not Mr. Antolini (a teacher in The Catcher in the Rye) is a creeper. I told the students that they must support their opinion with textual evidence, and they had a heyday finding direct quotes to either defend or destroy poor Antolini's reputation. At the end of class, I heard one of the students say, "We always do such fun things in this class."

An unexpected compliment from a student after a day of textual analysis--now that is another thing I love about my job.

The Bad

**I caught two of my smartest students copying a take-home quiz this week. This is incredibly frustrating to me. Cheating is so rampant that teachers honestly can't even assign homework anymore because the students' automatic reaction is to copy it--even if they are perfectly capable of completing the assignment on their own; even if the assignment would only take them 15 minutes to complete; even if the assignment could teach them something valuable. Honestly, the only homework that I can assign is reading (can't really copy that) and major essays (truly stupid if you copy that).

Realizing that many teenagers have no sense of academic integrity--that is one of my major frustrations as a teacher.

**I recently had the students complete a group poster project. They had to draw a character from the novel, using descriptive clues from the text, and they also had to incorporate aspects of the character's personality. The posters and presentations turned out great, and I was feeling quite good about the whole thing. Well, after class, a student approached me and said, "You can't hang the poster of Ackley on the wall." After I questioned her further, she admitted that the kids had purposely modeled the drawing after a specific student in the school who is constantly bullied for his poor hygiene and awkward social skills. Ackley is a character in the novel who no one likes--and the students were alluding to the fact that this real teenager was even worse than Ackley. They had dressed their character in a particular t-shirt that I guess the real boy always wears, so that when other students saw the poster, they would make the connection and laugh. I had not recognized this subtle bullying because I do not know the real young man, and therefore didn't notice the t-shirt.

The incident made me feel ill. I see the best in my students and never assume the worst of them--I do not like to acknowledge that they can be so heartless.

A few positive things did come out of the situation however: 1) I was able to thank the student who intervened so that I didn't unknowingly hang the poster. I sent a letter to her parents explaining how proud I am of her. What a good kid. 2) I was able to speak to that class about the incident--which lead to a talk about respect and compassion: "If there's one thing you learn from me, I don't want it to be the importance of reading and writing--I want it to be the importance of treating people with kindness." It's not very often that I get to say things like that to my students, but it is so very true.

One of the perpetrators came to me in tears after class, and she and I were able to have a heart-to-heart about peer pressure and character. I think she may have learned something.

Witnessing upsetting incidents of cruelty in my classroom and in the hallways--certainly not my favorite part of this job.

The Ugly

**I'm sorry, but facing a room of 25 sleepy, grumpy teenagers at 7:15 a.m. and saying, "Let's discuss the book!" is kind of an ugly situation. They don't want to discuss the book at that outrageous hour of the morning--I don't want to discuss the book at that hour of the morning!! In fact, the early mornings seem to be getting earlier...and the seductive snooze button seems to be getting more tantalizing. I have now mastered the art of showering and getting ready for the day in a total of 15 minutes. I will admit, I barely make it to school on time--sometimes after speeding like a maniac and perhaps even purposely running a red light on a totally deserted street. (Don't you hate that when you are stuck at a light and no one is around??) But I am on time, darn it! And the adrenaline rush really wakes me up for those "lively" discussions.

7:15 a.m. school starting time--now that is an ugly part of this job.

**And finally, perhaps my least favorite part of the job: Grading papers. I don't have school today, and the weather outside is lovely--in the 70s--yet I am holed up in the UB Library, grading research essays. I have about 25 more to do today...and they are lengthy...will I survive it?

Spending a sunny day-off grading boring research papers about gun control, the death penalty, and outsourcing--definitely ugly.

I better get back to it.

Spring on Rounds

It's finally Spring time here on Rounds Avenue. Know how you can tell?

The rap music is blaring.

The neighbors are all chillin' on their porches.

The teenagers are blocking the street with their basketball game.

This all might get old by the end of August, but on April 1st--it's very fun.

We love Buffalo.

Not Quite NPR

Whenever I think of NPR, I think of my dad's blue Acura. Growing up, I never got in that vehicle without being forced to listen to the "boring" radio show about politics, economics, and the world. Seriously, it was so boring. Such an old person radio station.

Well, call me old because at the ripe age of 25, I have become an NPR fiend. I never thought I would see the day that I'd be deeply engrossed in radio stories about folk music in Cuba, or current developments in Autism research, or the conflict in the Middle East. But now, on my way to and from work, I bask in the glory of NPR for at least an hour every day.

The guests are so incredibly smart, and I feel a little bit smarter after listening to them.

With that in mind, you will understand why I was quite delighted to be invited as a guest on "Crossroads," a weekly radio show on 96.1 sponsored by the Buffalo Network of Religious Communities. Each Sunday morning, representatives from different faiths explain an aspect of their religious beliefs, and this week, my friend Melissa and I will be explaining the LDS women's organization called Relief Society.

I know, I know...they must have been truly desperate to ask me. (Actually, they were. Their other scheduled guest cancelled or something at the last minute.) But I was pretty stoked to be able to talk into one of those cool radio microphones and say things like, "Thanks for having me on the show." So NPR!

The best part: The show airs at 6 a.m. So, yeah, no one in Buffalo will even hear it. Well, two people will--you better believe that Ryan and I will be up bright and early tomorrow, listening to my radio debut!

NPR, here I come.

A Habitual Mishap

I am a girl who just does not like vegetables. Period. I've tried to convince myself otherwise...it does not work. Vegetables make me gag.

I do, however, know that vegetables are important to your health. And since I am also trying to convince myself to care about my health, I've attempted to come up with clever ways to "disguise" my vegetables in the foods that I eat. For this reason, a good friend of mine gave me the Deceptively Delicious Cookbook, and I was shocked to see that you can put cooked, pureed carrots in fruit smoothies. I tried it, and guess what...

I couldn't even taste them!

Hallelujah.

So, I've taken to cooking and pureeing carrots in my free time.

There's only one problem with this new-found hobby: I am easily distracted and always forget that the carrots are on the stove steaming.

Twice now, I have come out of the bedroom (where I was doing something incredibly productive such as blogging) and thought, "What's that smell?" And then, with horror, remembered that over an hour before, I had put the carrots on the stove to steam with just a little bit of water.

Yeah, ruined the pan. Ruined the carrots too.

Damn.

Currently, Ryan and I have NO saucepans because I have ruined all of them through my carrot-steaming mishaps.

This is what happened last night:


I think I am going to ask for one of these for my birthday. It has a timer and turns off by itself.

Again I say, hallelujah!