Back to School?

I'm back at school again, and while I shall refrain from mentioning the particular institution at which I work, I will say, its back to prayers and uniforms and lots and lots of iphones.

I hadn't really expected to be back here this year. I had made the difficult decision that I wasn't really cut out for teaching high school and was going to pursue something else. I wasn't sure what; there was an ocean of time ahead of me in May, in which I could contemplate for what and where life had fitted me. I was nervously looking forward to it too. I had ideas (GIS, programming, other techy things), but no hard plans. I just knew that teaching wasn't it.

The kids were disappointed, for the most part (I'm sure there were a couple who were glad to hear I wouldn't be back), but understood...or at least understood as well as any teenager can why I didn't want to do something I didn't love every single day. Actually, they probably understood that better than a lot of people, having been shoved into a desk for hours every day and told to listen. And they knew it wasn't really about them, surprisingly enough. Teenagers, I have learned, know when you're heart's not in it. They have a keen sense of genuine-ness (for lack of a better word). My kids knew that I'd much rather just chat about what was going on in the world and what they thought about it than buckle down and be some grammarian task master. They preferred that too (of course they did!).

We kept the kids involved in the selection process for my replacement. There were a couple of applicants. There was even a demo lesson. But nobody seemed right. My colleague and friend begged me to stay...just one more year, Lauren. One more year. Nope, not one more year, if it meant part-time at something I didn't really reeeeeeeally want to do.

But then, the second to last week of school, the Human Resources manager emailed me. Would I be willing to supervise two Quiet Study periods? The pay wasn't very good, she said, but it kept me on campus the requisite 5 class periods that would make me eligible for benefits. After teaching at the local community college, the pay didn't surprise me; it was low. But all that was being asked of me for those two extra periods was to supervise kids as they did their homework. Just keep an eye on them in study hall. And for that, I would suddenly become eligible for amazing health and retirement benefits.

So here I am again. The first week of school is now over and my feelings are mixed. I'm happy to be around the kids again; they keep you young with their exuberance and excitement. Its easier than years past in certain ways, too: my lessons are already made. I have two free periods to plan and prepare for the next day's classes. I know more of the kids.

But its difficult to go back on a decision. To get back into the something I didn't think I'd be doing. To find the energy to be excited about teaching again. To fake it. Some of the kids will know that I'm faking it too, and that makes it just a little harder.

The silver lining? I can stop worrying about doctor's visits and car accidents. I can save up some money for the all those ideas I have. And in the grand scheme of things, one more year isn't so long.

Is it May yet?

Books I Read Too Young

There are some books that you really have to read at the right time in life. Take Catcher in the Rye. When I read it at 17, it was genius. I got it. I got Holden. It was good...not as good as The Bell Jar, but good. I tried to read it as a twenty-something and rather than being some sort of tragic hero in search of beauty in a fucked up world, Holden Caulfield was just a whiney-ass teenager who couldn't get his shit together. It just doesn't feel like the same book if you're not going through that particular phase of your life.

Like so many other teenagers, I was assigned to read Catcher in the Rye in high school. It was the perfect time to read that book, but I was assigned quite a few monumental works as well. I despised some of them (Last of the Mohicans, I'm looking at you), but as I get older, I wonder if the opposite is true of some them.  Maybe I was just too young to appreciate what they had to offer. Maybe I needed the depth of experience that only age can bring to really get them, and as I teenager, I certainly didn't have the wherewithal to do so. Because of that, some of them didn't quite make a definite impression. My memories of plots and themes are fuzzy. Despite that, though, here are a few I think I should come back to:

1. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison.  I remember not quite getting this book. I got some of it; I remember being struck with the idea that race could be so powerful as to render someone invisible to all attention but negative attention. I remember being told that this was an important book. I remember my classmates being as bewildered as I was reading it. But since I left high school, Invisible Man has made appearances throughout my cultural consciousness, at parties, late night book discussions, articles on race, randomly. Recently I heard it described as one of the most powerful books ever written. It may be time to revisit it and see what I can make of it now.

2. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce.  This was another high school reading assignment and one that was as bewildering as Invisible Man on many levels. The moo-cow chapter made a particularly strong impression on my naive teenage brain. "What the hell is this?!!" I thought, as I read. By the end of the novel, I had sort of figured it out (emphasis on the sort of). Now that I understand a little more about James Joyce and stream of consciousness, I wonder if it would be a more interesting read.

3. The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo. I decided when I was 11 that I was going to read Classical Literature and I was going to understand it and everyone would be very impressed. I had managed to make my way through Pride and Prejudice and totally understood everything, so I figured I would try some other Great19th Century Literature. Why I chose The Hunchback of Notre Dame, I have no idea (though some awful Disney film may have had something to do with it), but I did. I still, to this day, have no idea what the greater theme of that book was. Maybe something about power and corruption? Physical strength and political strength and poverty and redemption? My guesses now are as feeble as my understanding was then. I may not re-read this one, as my attempts at Les Miserables in my early twenties were similarly befuddled (Victor Hugo is probably difficult at any age...right?), but if I do, I know I'll do better than I did at 11.

4. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. I still don't really know what's going on in this book. The first time around was in high school (of course) and the narrative structure was confusing (who was narrating? What?) and the language was confusing (what sort of crazy 19th century boat slang is this??) and the plot was confusing (WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!). I got the larger message about wilderness stripping away the veneer of civilization, but the specifics were lost on me. Many years later, a co-worker praised Heart of Darkness to the skies (along with Conrad's other works), so I tried again. Nope, still confusing. I will wait a few more years and try again, but this one may just always be beyond me. The horror! The horror!

5.  The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien. Those of you who know me well will wonder what the hell its doing on this list, but it belongs here, no doubt. The first time I attempted the defining work of modern fantasy was in high school (though I picked it up myself, rather than have it assigned) and I thought it was slow, boring, and confusing. Why couldn't Tolkien just stick to one name? How was I supposed to keep all the characters straight? And the history behind the plot? Forget about it. Unlike the others on this list, I came back to LOTR later in college and fell in love. It was so engrossing this time around! What had been confusion before was intriguing now! The language! The mythology! The depth of creation! The appendices were a wealth and font of knowledge that had been hitherto unknown! So fascinating!

And maybe, if I gave these others a second chance, now that I'm older and (hopefully) a little wiser, I'll have that same experience.

A Friendly Farewell

A friend is leaving tomorrow. Not a close friend and not someone I've known long. In fact, its only been a month since I met the guy. But he's one of those people that just fit into one of my worlds seamlessly.

My Hut World has been filled with so many people. Its a crossroads for many of us: a place to stop and gather one's breath before heading out into the wider world of one's ambitions. For some of us, me included, its been a sanctuary as well, somewhere we can always come back to when times are hard and that wider world has been cruel. There are a few permanent fixtures (myself included here too) as well, the defining personnel, without whom the Hut would be fundamentally changed.

This friend is one of the first category. He showed up a month ago, fresh from a long road trip around the country, and not really sure of where the world was taking him. Despite that, he felt comfortable immediately.  He was good at the retail grind; he did his job well; he learned quickly. But besides that, he had rapport with almost all of us. There were parties and nights out and lots of interesting discussions about Hume and blues and Point Break. It was a good fit.

But he wasn't a close friend at least comparatively speaking. There just wasn't time. I wish there had been, though. Because even if he wasn't, there are certain people you meet who don't need a lot of time, who you immediately think when you meet "We are going to get along swimmingly!"

In the age that we live in, I'm sure we'll keep in touch. Facebook and Twitter and email and cell phones all mean we can communicate pretty easily. But the personal bonds we make are still the most important, and it doesn't matter how much potential friendship one feels with someone else, it takes time to form those personal bonds. So today I'm sad a little. Not because I'm losing a close friend. I'm not. I'm losing the potential for a great friend, a fledgling relationship that is something much more fragile, something so much more susceptible to the demands of distance and time.

I wish him well, of course, and will try to keep in touch as best I can.