So here's to the hope that the change happening now finds its way into the schools that desperately need it.
And now, a brief clip from last week's amazing inauguration.
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26.1.09
And in the spirit of new starts . . .
One of the many items on my mental plate over the last few years has been the state of our schools. The big question has been, essentially, what kind of environment will I teach in? I've read enough Kozol and watched enough documentaries to fear the impact of underfunded schools, of which there are far too many. It's one thing to implement tough standards; it's quite another to make sure the conditions needed for success are created and sustained.
So here's to the hope that the change happening now finds its way into the schools that desperately need it.
And now, a brief clip from last week's amazing inauguration.
So here's to the hope that the change happening now finds its way into the schools that desperately need it.
And now, a brief clip from last week's amazing inauguration.
A new start . . .
As the blog’s title may suggest, I’m Morgan. I am in my very last semester of my undergraduate studies, and on the final stretch before becoming a high school English teacher.
That sounds incredibly “adult.” And very weird. In many ways, I still feel like a teenager - I still identify with that “teenage” part of my brain. I had a discussion with my mom a few weeks ago, and confessed feeling the same way. “I always have,” she explained. “The mental image I have of myself is when I was 18.” Later on, she described feeling, for many years, “like I was fooling everyone, and I was thinking, they can’t possibly think I’m capable of this, I’m still a kid!”
Being entrusted with the curriculum and welfare of many, many students is a weighty responsibility. Throughout my previous semester of student teaching, I had many moments, laced with fear and awe, where I realized the potential impact of what I was doing. Those moments were usually followed by periods where I really didn’t think I could do it. How could I get up in front of so many people and teach them, and expect them to listen? To believe me? To trust me? It didn’t, and still doesn’t, make sense. I identify more with them than I do with the teachers. I feel like a three-year-old trying to file taxes.
And so this is where I am. Stuck somewhere in the middle of a cognitive shift.
In the mean time, I am student teaching and getting a feel for my teacher legs. Which are, incidentally, my adult legs.
- Morgan
That sounds incredibly “adult.” And very weird. In many ways, I still feel like a teenager - I still identify with that “teenage” part of my brain. I had a discussion with my mom a few weeks ago, and confessed feeling the same way. “I always have,” she explained. “The mental image I have of myself is when I was 18.” Later on, she described feeling, for many years, “like I was fooling everyone, and I was thinking, they can’t possibly think I’m capable of this, I’m still a kid!”
Being entrusted with the curriculum and welfare of many, many students is a weighty responsibility. Throughout my previous semester of student teaching, I had many moments, laced with fear and awe, where I realized the potential impact of what I was doing. Those moments were usually followed by periods where I really didn’t think I could do it. How could I get up in front of so many people and teach them, and expect them to listen? To believe me? To trust me? It didn’t, and still doesn’t, make sense. I identify more with them than I do with the teachers. I feel like a three-year-old trying to file taxes.
And so this is where I am. Stuck somewhere in the middle of a cognitive shift.
In the mean time, I am student teaching and getting a feel for my teacher legs. Which are, incidentally, my adult legs.
- Morgan
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