Inez, Kentucky

This past week has been a hectic one, to say the least. I went to the beach for two days with my family, came home and packed up a moving van, and left town early the next morning. I officially moved to Inez, Kentucky, where I will be teaching High School English for the next two years (at least).

In other news, my family is seriously the best. I have been struggling through a random back pain episode (probably a pulled or strained muscle), which means I was not as useful as anyone who knows me knows I like to be when I’m moving and arranging a new place. However, the townhouse looks great.

My roommate moved in as well, and I know we will be great roommates, coworkers, and friends. He is by far one of the kindest, most intelligent, and motivated individuals I’ve ever met.

Let’s hope he still wants to live with me once he meets my cats – another story for another time.

I’ve lived in the “mountains” my entire life, and already the scenery in Eastern Kentucky, Martin County, confounds me. Didn’t I have mountains like this at home? The fog that drapes its way through the hollers and hills is a sort of mysticism I am not accustomed to. Or maybe it’s just the new sense of “place” and “belonging” I now feel that allows me to look with new eyes at my Appalachian home.

I look out and am amazed and in awe. I cannot believe the ten-minute commute I have from home to school. I feel immensely fortunate.

Even more importantly than the scenery are the people. I was lucky enough to meet a student’s mother and grandmother the day after we moved in. They were kind enough to share about their own lives (even though I didn’t really ask), but didn’t seem the least bit judgmental. I think the fact that I hail West Virginia as my home, specifically that I went to Marshall, an hour away, makes the people here trust me. And the fact that I slide my I’s. And the fact that I don’t stop smiling – which, when you really think about it, SHOULD make me creepy.

Today, we really began diving into Unit Plans and End of the Year assessments, while also working on our academic visions. For those of you not well versed in “TFA Language,” a vision is something that explains WHY I’m in Appalachia teaching, WHAT I will do to help my students, and HOW I will make these desires and wants a reality. There’s a lot of pressure, basically. I’m trying to understand that while planning is seriously so important, it is also important to NOT overwhelm yourself with THE ENTIRE YEAR. Easier said then done.

I am really starting to understand why my teachers growing up would bitterly tell students about all the work they did outside of school and how they did not get paid enough. I feel like I’m being paid well, but can tell that the amount of work hours I’ll spend as a new teacher in a new place will quickly surpass 40 hours a week. I’m really okay with this fact, however, and anxious to meet my students. I feel like when I have faces and names behind the work I’m doing, it will feel much more urgent and REAL.

For now, I’m really trying to soak up the scenery and surroundings. Like this SWEET cabin. Kentucky– gotta love it!!!

Halie

Endings and Beginnings

Where could I possibly start this post but at the end? 

Tonight we celebrated a lot of things on the campus of Delta State University. We celebrated our kids – two musical groups from a partner elementary school performed some music and the crowd of 400+ teachers went wild. “THIS is why I’m here,” I thought to myself. “THIS is why I’m trying to be okay with failing. So that maybe, one day, I will have a handful of kids that can demonstrate success and knowledge that they miraculously developed in my classroom.”

Like all of the best stories, however, this realization had a not so happy beginning.

“The expectation is that you are listening SILENTLY. THIS MEANS MOUTHS ARE CLOSED.”

My, oh my. I am terrible at delivering concise directions. I’m even worse at enforcing the terrible expectations I habitually set. The problem is that I am incredibly wordy, which only leads to confusion amongst my (5) students. How will that translate to a classroom of 25?? The bad days here have been the worse, but the good days…well, the good days are better than any other possible experience I could be having right now. 

I am so profoundly aware of my “areas of improvement.” Some days, it takes every ounce of will to remember the strengths I have – in and out of the classroom. 

Here we are, two days away from leaving the Delta. The Delta was never somewhere I anticipated being. In fact, living in Mississippi for five weeks was NEVER in the realm of possibilities for me. With that being said, however, I have grown to love this flat, flat slice of heaven on Earth. I’m terrible at judging distances – how far away is that traffic light? A mile? Two miles? I’m still driving to it, basically. That’s how far away it actually was. 

The storms that roll across these fields. These monstrosities that I both fear and deeply admire. The magnificence, and yet, the simplicity of my surroundings, is a beauty I’ll never quite get over. And I’m preparing to leave.

Anyone who knows me, however, realizes without my saying it, that leaving my students will be the most excruciating part of this experience. I see my students and I don’t even see them as they are anymore. I see them for all they could be. One student will be a Preacher, or maybe he will be a Lawyer on the front lines of social justice. My other student could be a businessman, a CEO. He is tricky and sneaky, but in the best and most well intentioned of ways. He doesn’t even know that he is a leader and that others in the class look up to him. I see his angry outbursts and think, “if only I could channel that anger into this essay!”

Then there’s another student who I worry for. I worry for him because he is kind, he is good, he is observant, but he is judged for these things. Kids are mean, and my students are certainly no exception to this rule. They see him and think, “he’s different.” They don’t know how to act around him, and all I can do in response is fear. I fear for his reaction to a middle school kid’s worst nightmare – embarrassment. You see, he is 6 foot 2, and could easily snap the necks of every person in the classroom. He would never do this though. He’s a “gentle giant,” and one that is acutely aware of those around him. I praised him this summer for his self-control, and his self awareness. He knew when he needed to leave the classroom, and I commend him for this knowledge.

I just hope he continues on this path of peace and patience when the world we are living in expects nothing but the opposite out of him. I see him in the future, and he is still good, and still gentle. He is a calm observer, and maybe he is a preacher. Or maybe he is doing some other job. Either way, I will be proud of him.

I will be proud of all of them.

“One day, all children in this nation will have the opportunity to attain an excellent education.”

Halie