Why I Like Thomas From Downton

I almost feel guilty saying that I like Thomas from Downton Abbey. For those of you who don’t know, he’s “the bad guy” on the show. He is pretty evil. However, there is something that makes me love him. I said this to a few coworkers and they looked at me in disgust. Please allow me to fully explain.

It’s so easy to write Thomas off. He’s the bad guy. He’s mean. He has no heart. His arrogance is annoying. His motives are always self-serving and he doesn’t care to have any positive relationships with others. And we love to hate him. We’re told to hate him through great writing and acting, and we follow our orders very well. But even though we hate him, there’s something about him that strikes a chord within myself.

Perhaps Thomas represents something in me, in all of us, in humanity. He is the ugly, the ruthless, the disregard for others that some of us are, carry, or bury deep within ourselves. His self-serving demeanor is something I despise, but I keep coming around and defend. He’s broken. He’s hurt. He’s alone. He’s just like the rest of us.

Thomas, like so many other characters, exemplifies the part we all try to hide, cover, and pretend doesn’t exist. Much like Iago from Othello, Curley’s Wife from Of Mice and Men, Satan from Paradise Lost or Voldemort from the Harry Potter series, they all just want to belong, feel loved, or be accepted. And those desires become powerful enough to drive them to be in constant pursuit of those qualities and they turn “evil.” So why write about evil? Does it function as a warning for us all?

On some level, we all have exhibited the “bad” behaviors of Thomas and these other literary characters. Maybe you lie. Maybe you quietly retreat into your aggression. Maybe you disguise your disdain with a smile. Maybe you fail to show grace, and instead write that person off for good. How often do we, myself included, do this to coworkers, people at the gym, someone we call a “friend?” I will admit I’m guilty of doing such actions. Perhaps Thomas and I aren’t that so far removed.

So what’s the answer? What’s the trick in keeping us from continuing to be like Thomas, Iago, and Voldemort? Stay away from England? I’m not sure if there is an answer. Perhaps turning to love. Showing love when it’s hardest, when it’s the last action we want to perform, when it’s the last thing on our mind. And I know, easier said than done, especially because I don’t know your past, baggage, and hardships. Love definitely isn’t what I turn towards first.

But what’s the alternative?

Becoming like Thomas.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

I’m so grateful for a second semester. I get new students, new energy, and a new perspective. I’m still teaching English III (American literature) this semester but I have an Honors class and I couldn’t be more excited about using my brain in a different way this semester.

A second semester reignites teaching for so many of us teachers. I’m able to shake off the dust from texts I haven’t read in awhile. I’m able to meet a new crop of fresh faces. I get a chance to start over. As humans we crave change, whether we willingly admit it or not, and in my world, a new semester allows for that. However, this change is a safe one. Ultimately, I know exactly what this semester will consist of. Students will come in, I’ll teach, we’ll have some laughs, there will be some tears (from both them and me), and at the end of the semester hopefully they’ll have learned and I hope to walk away knowing I gave 100%.

But this is safe. I’ve done this long enough and now I’m comfortable. And that comfort is a little disconcerting. I need change. I want change. So I’ve decided to change some things. I’m looking for some new novels to teach my Honors students. But even that doesn’t make up for the real change I want.

So I’ve decided to make other changes. This year is my last semester as Riverside’s yearbook advisor. With a lot of thoughtfulness, prayer, and pro/con lists I decided to step down from The Helm. I jumped into becoming the yearbook advisor five years ago because I wanted a job. I had no idea what exactly I was getting into when I started and now I can’t imagine what the last five years would have looked like without yearbook. I didn’t work on the yearbook in high school; I was “the newspaper girl”. But by taking on yearbook five years ago I learned about art, creativity, design, layout, Photoshop, and a myriad of other useful, creative elements. I’ve had the opportunity to build relationships with students that typically aren’t built within the standard confines of a 90-minute English class. I’ve learned how to run a $60,000 business. I’m incredibly grateful for this education over the course of these last five years.

Leaving yearbook was hard to decide, hard to tell my students, and hard to face when thinking about next year. But it’s the best decision for my sanity, my professional career, and me. To be a yearbook advisor it takes a lot of work, extra energy, and a lot of pressure and while I was happy to do it, some years without the measly extra pay, I didn’t want to get burned out or begin to resent something I’ve loved.

On this journey I call Change I’m also getting Advanced Placement (AP) certified this summer, hopefully in Boston or San Diego or someplace equally thrilling. In doing so, I can take on teaching an AP English IV class next year, if available, at RHS. After teaching American literature for five years, AP would mean teaching British literature. British literature: where my heart truly lies, where I fell in love with reading, where I was able to escape into a life completely unknown to me.

Dropping yearbook and picking up an AP class helps in this walk with Change. I know I want more out of this life. More than being a teacher. More than coming home with stacks of papers. More than spending countless hours after school. More than making phone calls to parents who don’t care or aren’t available. In this change I’ve advocated for and sought out, I’m hoping that it will be enough. That I’ll get excited again. And if not, then I’ll change again. 

It’s The End Of The Year As We Know It, And I Feel Fine

The end of 2012 is here and I’m filled with nostalgia about the past. For the last several months I’ve just been praying the year would end. There has been too much pain and heartache this year and I want a clean slate. A fresh start, if you will.

This year, this December in fact, my parents got divorced. I watched my relationship with my father disintegrate. I began to see familial relationships shift and morph into bonds I wish didn’t exist. However, through all the pain and heartache I know this is the best decision that could be made for my family.

I watched my love of being Riverside’s yearbook advisor begin to alter. I want to teach other courses and I can’t take on new preps and run a $60,000 business as well. I love yearbook and love the students that I have the honor of working with each day, but I have to learn how to not take on too much. I’m exercising that now.

But even these two big changes have happened this year, a lot of wonderful things have happened. I went on a life-changing trip to Kenya with some of my best friends for 10 days. I spent more time cultivating my writing and artistic side. I finally got my tattoo. My old friendships have strengthened and I’ve gotten the privilege of getting to add some new friends to my life.

However, as I reflect on the year I realize that I don’t want to erase this year. I don’t want to negate the past. A new year offers hope but it’s just a continuation of the familiar trials, tribulations, and, as the popular saying goes, life goes on. I know that the presence of 2013 won’t wipe away the pain of 2012. But I do hope that 2013 can bring some relief and some new adventures. I know I’ll be tested, stretched, and challenged and I can’t wait to see how much I’ve changed this time next year. 2013, I’m ready to see what’s in store. 

The Plight Of A Writer

I didn’t always want to be a writer. In elementary school I wanted to be a ballet dancer, which I’m sure is typical of most eight-year-old girls. In middle school I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I was more concerned with figuring out how to wear my hair and why I had such a weird laugh. In high school I joined the school newspaper and I realized I was good at writing and I wanted to be a reporter. I imagined myself becoming the next Christiane Amanpour and reporting chaos from the Middle East, drug cartels in South America, and the horrid conditions plaguing Africa. As the big college decision began to loom over me, I realized that the likelihood of being Amanpour wouldn’t happen and I needed to change my mind.

As I entered college I decided that I could not imagine not taking another English class again. So I signed up for more and more English classes and realized that I can’t really do anything with a degree in English. So I double majored in Education and fell in love with helping “the future.” I’ve been teaching for five years and while I love it, and I know at my core I am a teacher, I can’t help but wonder what else I was created for.

I know I’m meant to write. I know that I have this innate desire to communicate, through writing, my deepest thoughts, my heartaches, my accomplishments, and these characters bouncing around in my head. But I can’t help but wonder, does anyone even care? I want to write something that moves people, that challenges view points, that forces people to discover more, and that makes people think. At the sake of being vulnerable, I want to affect people, but I’m not sure I can. And I’m not begging for compliments, I’m simply stating a fear that I have.

And I’m unsure as to what scale I want to write. Do I want to be a best selling author? Do I want to be an editor at a magazine? Do I want to write, in my free time, for blogs and newspapers? Do I want to write for me, and only me? I’m not sure. Although I do know I have lofty goals and yes, it would be great to see my name on the best seller’s list, but is that the point of writing? I don’t think so. What I do know, in all this questioning, is that I love writing. I was created to write. I was made to do this. At what extent, I don’t know. But I do know that I will continue to write, if it’s only for me or for a larger stage. 

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

-Ernest Hemingway

Why I Became A Teacher

A few weeks ago I was having a discussion with my friends Bethany and Matt and some of us, mainly me, were feeling disillusioned with public education. The honeymoon period with our students was over. The district and state are shoving more and more tests down the pipe. We got a $30 raise this year. Then Matt began to mention why he became a teacher. If you know Matt, it was a wonderful speech, filled with beautiful images and memories, of course. Then he said, “You have that same experience. Of course you do, that’s why you’re here.”

That comment hung with me and made me feel all warm inside as I reflected back on why I became a teacher. Then I got busy and I crammed that feeling into a corner of my brain, forgotten and untouched. But recently, I’ve reflected on that moment and dusted off the memories.

Nancy Duffner, my sophomore English teacher and newspaper advisor for three years, is the reason I became a teacher. Ms. Duffner had high expectations and you were expected to meet those expectations by the end of the year. There was no room for foolishness or a lackadaisical attitude. However, behind the reputation for being a “hard teacher” and someone to “fear” I was taught immeasurable lessons. Beyond having my writing demolished and rebuilt, and realizing my love of reading, I was transformed and shaped, in part, by the lessons with Ms. Duffner. Spending those three years with Duffy, as we affectionately called her, I learned: how to speak up for myself, to fight for my beliefs, to strive for change, to advocate for those less fortunate, to be a leader, to be a follower, to acknowledge when I was right and wrong, to think outside of the box, and so many more qualities that make up the person I am today. Ms. Duffner taught me the most important elements that make up bits and pieces of my life, and yet, none of it can be measured on a test.

Teaching isn’t to get a certain test score; teaching is about the students. Teaching is about working with, challenging, praising, editing, and molding students. I didn’t become a teacher to give students busy work and reprimand them.  I became a teacher because I felt inspired as a student and I wanted to recreate that in my own classroom. I became a teacher because, as a student, I felt that I could go to a safe place, be myself, and face no judgment and I want that for my students. I became a teacher because in Ms. Duffner's class I knew I was going to be challenged and I was going to be better for it, and I know that my students deserve that opportunity too. I want my students to feel the way that I felt when I walked into H-2. That’s why I teach. 

If You're Like Me You Need Hope, Coffee, and a Melody

I can’t help but write a blog post about music. So if you don’t care about music or don’t like the kind of music that I do, then exit out of this blog and carry onward with your internet exploration. I’ve loved music my entire life. As long as I’ve loved reading, I’ve loved music. I know the two are related because listening to music stirs the same emotions as reading a book. Music has the ability to tug on heartstrings that I’ve only discovered I feel when reading a novel. The construction of the lyrics, the drums, the bass line, when their powers combine the joy I feel is practically indescribable.  

Currently, I’ve been doing my own study of song lyrics. I can’t exactly say when I started, but words have always been of interest to me. On my 36 minute drive to and from Riverside during the week I play, rewind, analyze, critique, sing along and create this inner dialogue between my head and my heart. I think a song lyric means something, then I get home, read (if I can find) the artist's inspiration, and reanalyze. I’m used to doing this with novels, historical texts, and biographies; so why should doing this with song lyrics be any different? But as I continue studying, I’ve realized that it just makes me fall more and more in love with music. And, I feel more connected to the artists behind the rhythms and rhymes. Just as when reading a novel, it’s as if I’ve stumbled upon some secret the songwriter is sharing with only me. Yes, I do realize that neither novel nor song was written for me, but I can’t help but be moved by both novel and song.

I’m going to list some of the songs that have influenced me to continue this music study. I encourage you to listen to the songs, if not for the joy of studying lyrics, but for the joy of solely enjoying art.

1. “An Introduction” by David Ramirez

2. “Spitting Fire” by The Boxer Rebellion

3. “Midnight Starlight” by Foy Vance

4. “O Theo” by Matthew Perryman Jones

5. “Fire and Dynamite” by Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors

6. “23” by Spencer Karges (Close friend and song was played at Crosspointe)  http://snd.sc/PFkMBa

7. “After the Storm” by Mumford and Sons

8. “The Fall” by Gungor

9. “Pyro” by Kings of Leon

10. “Run Dry” by Civil Twilight

Happy listening.

So Long Sweet Summer

The final day of summer is an emotional overwhelming day. It’s a day filled with regret, sorrow, loss, a smidge of excitement, and a bit of nervousness. It doesn’t matter if you’re a teacher or a student. If you’re going to sixth grade or starting your 22^nd year of teaching, it’s all the same feelings, just in varying degrees.  

This year doesn’t seem any different than any other year. Sure, new faces and new personalities will be present in room 146, but it’s the same concept. I teach, students learn. I joke, students pretend to laugh. I enforce rules, students still break them. I advise, students listen (or don’t). School hasn’t changed, I should know, I’ve been in school all my life. The core concepts of school are still the same. So this “end of summer” feeling is still the same. And yet, I’m still surprised by these emotions. Do I wish I could rewind summer? Not really. I loved my summer and I wouldn’t want to alter any of the events that took place; I just want a continuation. I think that’s called retirement.

But soon this will pass. Soon it will be Thanksgiving, a new semester, spring break, and then graduation. And then summer will start again. And time will continue on repeat. The same feelings and emotions will cycle back through again and again. So in reality, I feel this way every year. And yes, I’m losing summer. But we’ll meet each other again. And even though we will be separated for awhile; we will come back to each other, and pick up right where we left off. Summer’s like a best friend, always shows up when you need her, bringing warmth and a blissfully, enjoyable time.