Where I'm From Poems

In EDU 3540, Language Arts in the Middle/Secondary Classroom we try out a number of creative writing activities from Linda Christensen's texts. (Christensen, Linda (2000). Reading, writing, and rising up: Teaching about the power of the written word. Milwaukee: Rethinking Schools.)
Last week the students and I worked on writing our own Where I'm From poems, based upon the original by George Ella Lyon.  I find it to be a wonderful way to help students discover what's important to them in their families, cultures, and upbringings. An interesting outcome is how responsive the students are to one anothers' writing. They also seem to loosen up some with this activity--the ones who are reluctant to answer questions or share seem to be more willing after we do this. I wrote with my students last semester, too, and made some revisions. Here's the latest...

I AM FROM STRONG STOCK—P. Rieman 9-19-12

 I am from strong women and absent men, always cats and books, from copper-bottomed pots and hand towels (which are not the same as dish towels!)

 I am from a tiny apartment on the second floor of an old white house, barely room to turn around. Living with a homecoming, prom, and penny carnival queen sister while I won the spelling bees.

 I am from Grandma and Uncle Dick and from the roses in Aunt Kay’s yard. From creaky old stoves, missing stairs, and “Mr.Otherland.” I’m from cribbage, euchre, double solitaire, King in the Corner, Spite & Malice, and jigsaw puzzles.  

 I’m from goofy klutziness, comparing bruises at get-togethers, stubbornness, getting the giggles, and reading on the couch with a cat on my lap. From shivering in the weak April sun trying to get the first sunburn of the year and being the first in the neighborhood to grill outdoors in the spring—snow, or no snow!

 I’m from “remember, it’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man” and “boring people get bored,” or, “is it time to be hungry yet?” or, “there’s no such thing as don’t like!” And singing, “Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy, a kid’ll eat ivy too, wouldn’t you?”

 I’m from a dime in the birthday cake and Beaver Island every summer. From Ann Arbor and Dexter and the Isle of Man; Porterhouse steak, fried green tomatoes, and licking the pan after making fudge.

 Grandma’s letters to me are packed away in a dusty old box where I hope I can still find them. On the wall are pictures of Mom when she was well and happy, in my heart are memories of Mom as she lay dying. What else didn’t she tell us?

 I’m from a love of education and no suffering of fools, from self-reliance and the desire to give back. I am from strong stock.

100 Word Rant

In Joe's latest issue of Funny Times, there was a One Hundred Word Rant by Dave Maleckar. (see picture) This gave me the idea of having my language arts methods students write their own 100 Word Rants, too. I think the students had fun with it, I know I did. The point was to write about something we realize is silly and rather inconsequential, but that occupies our minds, just the same.
Here's mine:

A single moment’s decision makes me crazy! When I take the elevator to get to my office on the 4^th floor, at first it’s all quite simple: Exit elevator. Pass several offices on right. Bathroom’s on the left. But then, BAM! The railing around the spiral staircase is right in front of me! I have to choose: left past the collage of pictures, the President’s offices, and Adult Ed; or right past the mosaic and Career Services.  Which way is faster? Closer? Better aerobically?  Who’s watching me? Will someone think I’m avoiding them? Every single time, I have to decide!

On being alone...

On being alone…

Tonight I’m in “the cottage in Paddock Lake,” which is actually just a teensy house a few blocks from Paddock Lake. Bud, not Buddy (my 11-ish yr. old gray tiger cat) is snuggled up on the couch with me. I love it here! I fell in love with this little house the second I came in the door 3 years ago. It has pretty knotty pine walls, a couple nice tall trees in the yard, song birds, and the lake just down the road. When I walk in I can feel my blood pressure lower. I sleep better here, I think. There’s more natural light in the living room here, and the neighborhood is so green with mature trees and lots of grass. We’ve planted a gorgeous garden where the old nasty shed used to be, and I can enjoy it while I look out the kitchen window over the sink. Lake Michigan is less than 20 miles away, less than 30 minutes. Friendly, quiet neighbors, too. The cottage is full of quirks, things that are crooked or installed carelessly, or just plain wrong. I call them Joe’s “ah, shits”—at first, every time he came up he would have to say “ah, shit” about something new he’d discovered! 

When Joe and Luna (our 60 lb. lovable shepherd/lab retriever/who knows what dog) come to spend the night, it feels like I’m losing ½ of the available space to move and breathe. Our bed is smaller here than at home, there’s much less floor space, and sometimes I SWEAR there’s less air! Probably I use it all up sighing my martyr sigh…drama queen!

I love it so much here that I feel guilty sometimes. Aren’t I supposed to be miserable, missing my husband and other family & friends? Truth is, it’s harder for me to leave the other 3 animals because I can’t talk with them on the phone at night and I worry whether they’re eating right, getting their meds, etc.—the same worries I have for Joe, but him I can nag! J 

Of course it’s hard to be away. Every weekend I pack up, go home, unpack, do laundry, repack, shop, load up, and come back up again. There’s no time to be normal—it’s hard to do activities without one another when I’m home, yet it’s unnatural to be that way—we’ve never been an attached at the hip kind of couple. It’s exhausting sometimes to live in two places.  I joke that it’s like that Star Trek, Next Generation (I think?) episode where the guy was dying because he was going through the transporter too much. **I think sometimes I have trouble with re-entry! Maybe I’m like the astronauts, and I need debriefing time before I’m ready for public consumption. I am the grumpiest right after I get back home. Poor Joe. Over our 4 school years of doing this we’ve developed some rules and rhythms, those help.  I would never demand that the kitchen be clean when I get home, but no matter how hard I try to “be good,” I end up being really snarky when it’s dirty. I make it a priority to leave it clean, so I expect it to be clean when I get back. Joe has accepted this and makes it a priority.

We’ve talked and talked about selling our DeKalb home (it’s going to get its own posting soon). But I love it so, too, and I love my DeKalb life. Not to mention the fact that it has decreased in value and we cannot afford to sell it. And so, we continue with this long-distance friendship/partnership/romance/ gas-guzzling, income-eating, two-house payment lifestyle. They’re both investments, and we’re worth it! (…right?)

EPIPHANIES

I love epiphanies…one second I’m just daydreaming away, and the next second: BAM! Epiphany pulls me from my reverie and reminds me of something tremendous that was lurking in the back of my mind. I tell you this because one such epiphany visited me in my second year at Carthage, and I still have that feeling of unmitigated joy today. A couple springs ago, I was making my daily morning trudge up the little hill from the parking lot and thinking to myself, “Hmm…if I could be anywhere right now…” The answer came instantaneously: I would be right here! Such is the nature of my life at Carthage. I don’t think I’ve ever worked harder in my life, and I love it.

Most of my life, things in academia came easily to me. It was not until my dissertation work that I actually faced struggle and frustration in school. (No, PE class does not count!) Now though, I wonder if things came easily to me because I did not get as much out of the experiences as I could have/should have.  How much more would I have learned, had I chosen to go above and beyond? It's not that I was lazy--anything but that! We Baylis and Kenny women are of good stock: strong work ethics! Like Larry the Cable Guy, we "get 'er done!"

I'm a "real" professor now. I am an assistant professor of education. I AM A PROFESSOR!! How the flip did that happen? This concept just amazes me--I'm a college professor! I'm teaching and I can't stop! I am always thinking, always revising plans in my head, always taking notes on ideas for the next time I teach the course--all sorts of behaviors that I never used when I taught special ed for 16 years. I am so blessed. Every year I fall in love with my students. Sometimes, luckily, blessedly, amazingly, they fall in love right back with me. There's an almost audible, visible hum of energy when everything clicks--I've found my way into their minds and they welcome me there! My students teach me so much more than I can ever dream of teaching them. I learn and grow every single day. And I get paid to do this. To quote The Sound of Music: "Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good!"  Good night.

Top Ten Rules for Any Good Teacher

***A BUMPER STICKER I WANT TO CREATE, PRINT, SELL, & MAKE A MILLION BUCKS WITH:

EVERY CHILD IN YOUR CLASSROOM

 IS A RELATIONSHIP!!!

© 2012, Patricia L. Rieman, Ed.D. (there, now you can't steal it...lol)

Each spring I have the honor of presenting a session on classroom management to Toni Tollerud's School Counseling Summer Institute at NIU. After we brainstorm what works and what does not work when teachers are managing their classrooms, we compare our list to the following.

Top Ten Rules for Any Good Teacher:

(from a number of different sources; in particular Pam Farris & R. & H. Wong)

1.      Make assignments authentic--have a "so-what"

purpose for them.

2.      Make assignments relevant to students' lives.

3.      Respect and try to address students' interests.

4.      Offer students choices whenever possible--remember

you can structure choices.

5.      Make assignments challenging but attainable.

6.      Offer constructive criticism.

7.      Offer specific, genuine praise.

8.      Firmly establish rules and procedures, and reinforce

them from minute one of day one.

9.      Foster a safe, positive, supportive, respectful learning environment.

10.      Make assignments multi-level so that students of all levels of ability will learn and feel successful and engaged.

11.  Have fun! (okay, so I can't count...)

WHAT'S IN YOUR NAME?

My 354 students and I have been enjoying writing creatively with guidance from Linda Christensen's text,

Christensen, Linda (2000). Reading, writing, and rising up: Teaching about the power of the written  word. Milwaukee: Rethinking Schools.

I have my own autographed copy, thank you very much! She is a hero of mine, with her focus on empowerment, social justice, and just plain loving her students.  A couple days ago we were looking at the section beginning on p. 10, "To Say the Name..." I first read to them an excerpt from Any Small Goodness by Tony Johnston (where Arturo and his friends take back their names after their teacher assigns them generic, American names), and then we discussed how Christensen encouraged her students to share the history of their own names. It was a lovely afternoon, taking time to write, enjoy one another's writing, and get to know one another just a little bit better! Here's mine:

Patricia Lynne

As the story goes, by the time I was born my mother was so angry with my father that she wouldn’t even let him hold me! They were divorced before I was out of diapers—I don’t know that I ever lived with him. What does this have to do with my name? He, that missing link of my life, named me Patricia Lynne (with an e). I met him when I was 15, and had a relationship with him until he died four years ago. I asked him once why he’d named me Patricia. He had no particular reason, just liked the name. Same for the middle name.  I still don’t know why it has an e on the end…

There is a Patricia way, way back in my family tree, but no Lynnes. When I was little I toyed with Pat, but never Patti with an I or Patsy—NEVER call me Patsy!  Being nicknamed Patty probably did me more harm than good when I was growing up—we all know what it rhymes with, and I was the first child in my class to reach five feet in height, not to mention being the first to weigh one hundred pounds.

I was usually Patricia only when new, or sick, or in trouble; Patricia Lynne when I was in trouble with Mom; Patty Lynne when it was an affectionate chiding.  More often than not with Mom, I was Polly or Pa-olly or Po-atty. My big sister’s name is Polly, but both parents say that had nothing to do with my chosen name.

Now in the prime of my life, I have several beloved variations of my name. My sweet Joe calls me Missum Patty or Miss Patty; the latter of which caught on like gangbusters when I taught at NIU—there are hundreds of NIU grads, now teaching, who know me as Miss Patty!  Dr. Patty is another favorite. To me, the respect for my degree and experience is there, as is the acknowledgement that I am a human being with a personality. My grandchildren call me Grampat. Being the step-grandma, I wanted a name that didn’t confuse them (they have SO many grandmas!!) and that did not take away from the value of the rightfully- earned title of Grandma that my step-children’s mother and their mothers-in-law possess.

What will my name evolve to next, I wonder? When I am old and wearing purple and red with gaudy black and green striped stockings that don’t stay up, how will people address me? Who will name me next?