"A mind once stretched by a new idea never regains it's original dimensions." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I sometimes feel sorry for my cheap old desk as it daily tries to hold up my scraps of notes, books, CD's for creativity lessons, and my empty and full water bottles. Another year, another organized mess in my room.... oh well......
"Miss Seoul?"
"Yes Sidney?"
"Can you look at my paragraph and tell me what you think? " She puts her hair behind her ears as she travels to my desk. I put down my pen and she places her page over my list. I read it while she squats next to my desk.
"This is great Sid. You don't need to add more, but if you want to go ahead. I like it though- it is pretty funny. I like what you have done with it." She beams and as she walks away I smile to myself. I have had many students like her over the last five years and they have made me so proud to be a teacher.
"Okay guys- how is everyone doing?" My students slowly raise their heads away from their brainstorming. Some have been working on their individual projects for weeks, others are procrastinating their projects and working on the short writings required for their writing portfolios, and the last few are reading for the world literature class they have with me next period.
"How long does it hafta be again?" Jack barks. Three of his classmates repeat my instructions for him.
"We have five minutes left, any jokes - tidbits of knowledge?"
"Oooh- I gotta joke!" I nod and Marcus tells us his newest blond joke. Some of the girls give him dirty looks, but I laugh anyway. I mark a star by his name in my gradebook and the bell rings.
I lead against my door which is plastered with words trying to make surrealistic sense. Michael winks at me from across the hall.
"How was this period for you Mr. Johansen?" He grins this incredible grin and I forget I am in a school hallway. The students seem to disappear.
"Well, they'll get those yucky trig signs sooner or later- how about you Miss Creativity?" I giggle and try not to blush as my world literature students walk into my classroom.
"Oh, I am doing great today. It helps to have excellent students, of course." I remark as Billy passes me. He hears my comment and smiles. Billy was just accepted at a great Art school on the east coast and wants to double major in art history and literature. So, of course, he is a favorite student of mine, although I try hard not to have favorites.
Michael nods with a male mischievousness and I turn to my students. The bell rings again, and as it does my fantastic students get out their books and listen for my cultural quote of the day to write in their journals and respond to for the first couple of minutes. After that, as if routine, they move their desks into a circle and we talk about the reading for today.
"Jonathon, what did you think of this reading?" I ask nearing the end of the discussion. He hasn't spoken up, as usual.
"I don't know." I frown, but try to remain positive. He has taken the class to get credit, but sneak by. I have noticed this since the first day of class.
"May I speak to you after class?" Most of the other students were reading the next day's reading already and I decided to keep the peace and not reprimand Jonathon like some of my other days,"Jon, why did you take this class?"
"Because I like to write." I invite him with a gesture to sit down in the cozy chair next to me.
"You don't like to read then?" He shrugs his shoulders.
"I don't like the ones we read." I was partially crushed. Naguib Mafouz? Salman Rushdie? Who could not love these guys?
"Well, tell you what. Next week is Britain so we will be looking at Shakespeare- do you like him?" He nods and smiles sheepishly.
"Okay, good. And if you can find a British author that you want to read- let me know and maybe will add him or her in for you okay?"
"Thanks Miss Seoul." Sometimes I wonder if my World Literature course covers countries too quickly or what. A country a week is a new plan I started last year and it does have bugs, but it gives students a touch of everything rather than just the classics which were all white guys anyway. Jon doesn't seem to want to adapt to cultural readings yet. I have heard that his father is an incredibly prejudiced fellow. This saddens me as the final bell rings. I sigh and wonder what has been tiring me this week.
Michael's head peeks in my door as I look over the myths assignment from past years.
"Hey there- where did you want to go tonight?" I look up and sigh. He hugs me from behind my chair and whispers that he loves me in my ear. It has been one roller coaster of a year for us. The administration was not hip on us seeing each other, but love happens and he and I stood our ground. Many teachers had no problem with us, but some did.
"How does Chinese sound?" He nods into my ticklish neck.
I bundle up all of my work and we head, hand in hand, out to our cars. My little Volkswagon blue bug is covered in fall leaves. He plants a kiss on my cheek and I crawl into my car.
"See you at 8, okay?" I smile out the window and take off.
My apartment, which is above an old bakery, is quiet until I open a can of tuna. Fluffy and Crazy run to my feet and meow for at least five minutes in reply to my teasing. They snarf the tuna down and I walk on the squeaky hardwood floor to my room. The antiques are horribly dusty and my closet looks like it threw up onto my bed. I wrestle with my jacket and throw it upon the heap and walk into my clean bathroom. Little yellow suns watch me from the walls, and the yellow accents cheer me up a bit as I wash my face. I can see the beginnings of wrinkles, most of them caused by my father... the others from the sun. A small smile flashes across my face for a moment. In that moment, I feel complete and happy.
After changing into more comfortable clothes, I stroll back out into the main room and stand by the windows that reach from the ceiling to the floor. The sun is peeking out from behind some clouds and I sigh. My life has suddenly gotten stressful with dad's situation. But the sun seems to want to disperse those feelings. She finally shows herself completely and shines, as if she was talking to me, one strong ray into my little apartment and onto me and my weak self. I breathe deeply and close my eyes to have a few minutes to my very own self.
I turn to see my machine blinking. The messages are from my mom again. Dad is the same. One is from my devoted publisher. He wants me to put out something by Christmas. I sigh again.
I look at my watch and decide to correct for a bit until Michael comes. My dining room table is not for eating anymore, it hasn't been since the beginning of school. I move and shuffle papers around, grab a Sprite, and turn on Enya to grade the125 creative writing papers and 50 world literature quizzes. Half way through the creative writing papers, I hear Michael's horn and scramble for my coat and a quick glance in the mirror.
"Bye bye ladies, be good." I say to my kittens that are licking themselves in my now warm dining room chair.
"What do you think?" I ponder Michael's idea while I sip the teeth-freezing water that the waitress, non-Oriental which bothers me because- How valid is her opinion of the food?, has just served us.
"It sounds so tempting Michael, but..." He reaches across the table for my hand, the one that has the ring he bought me on it.
"Your father would want you to, you know that don't you?" I nod. My dad would be the one paying for my ticket and driving me to the airport.
"Michael, I already have some guilt left over from when I told them about ......... switching and my mom... my mom would remind me of it til I died."
"Why don't you think on it and let me know, okay? I want to take you away for awhile. It would help you..." I nod and smile gratefully. I love him so dearly. He returns the smile and adds a wink.
The food, of course, ends up being the perfect combination of spices and as he pulls up to my building, I invite him in. I need him tonight.
I put U2 into my carousel disk player and we dance closely for what seems like hours. He holds me so near to him and I finally feel secure. I let down my worries, let them crash onto the floor and flood the apartment before seeping into someone else's heating system. By one, we are tucked into my poster bed and sleeping like rocks.
We rise to my alarm playing country songs at six a.m. He showers and shuffles through the clothes he has left here before and finds a shirt and pants that need ironing. He irons and makes me breakfast while I let water splash onto me in my bathroom. When I walk into the dining room dressed for school, he is there looking handsome with my cooking apron around him.
"Thank you," I say as I kiss his cheek," And Michael?" He turns to me by the fridge,"I'll go to Cancun with you for Thanksgiving." He cheers and picks me up to place me on the countertop. I giggle as he plants happy kisses on my face.
By 8 a.m., we are juggling homework and running out to our cars. He has first period to himself to grade things, so he helps me with all my work. When we get to the school, I see Jon getting dropped off by his father. I wave to John and his father seems to see me in his rear-view mirror so he drives over to where Michael and I are standing in the parking lot.
"Miss Seoul, May I talk with you for a moment?" Michael squeezes my hand and walks off toward the school.
"Yes, What can I help you with?" He coughs into his handkerchief and leans up against his Mercedes.
"I don't want Jonathon to be reading any Black literature." I swallow hard. What a way to start my day... Where do I go from here?
"And why is that Mr. Gates?" He frowns at me and although he is taller by probably five inches, I keep eye-contact with him.
"Well, his mother and I don't appreciate him having to learn that, there is plenty of other things to read, you know." I inhale.
"Mr. Gates, my world literature class is based on the fact that the students will read from each of the continents. My class is also an elective, so the students do not have to take it, but fortunately many do because the literature is good literature. I take this class seriously and have research on the readings I allow them to read. I am sorry if you are going to limit your son to reading white male authors because there is much more out there that is just as good or better and whether it happens to be written by very respected Black, Asian or Caucasion writers is of no concern to me..... I don't look at their color- I look at their accomplishments. Naguib Mafouz of Egypt won the Noble Prize for Literature a while back. That is why they read him, not to make you angry Mr. Gates." I grin and feel hearts beating faster.
"I suppose you would think that way being that you sleep with one." He turns and gets in his car and drives off leaving me speechless.
The day before Christmas vacation came so quickly I barely had had time to breathe. One week into the enormous three week vacation that year, I found myself uncontrollably crying on my couch as a blizzard stormed about outside. My father had died of cancer December 26th.
Trying to understand WHY was the biggest problem in the whole world for me suddenly. I felt like one of my students- Why do we have to do this, why, why don't you like Shakespeare Miss Seoul, why this, why that, why did my dad have to die? He had been my hero ever since well, ever since I was HERE. My anger and sadness overwhelmed me to the point of not calling anyone, not even Michael in Chicago with his family, not even Mrs. Tilly who had supported me endlessly in my unique teachings and the ridicule I got from the board. ("I am a creative writing teacher for goodness sake!!) Most of all, I couldn't call dad and listen to him tell me to fight, "fight to teach in what you believe....You have a good head on your shoulders Bayley remember that honey. Don't give in- what kind of WRITING school is against creative ways of teaching? Tell them to read their booklet over- doesn't say 'We take pride in our modern methods of teaching the future generations' or some bull like that? False advertising I tell ya." I miss you dad. What am I going to to now? How do I go on without our monthly pep talks? Parents are suppose to be indestructible- THAT is false advertising!
"Good Morning Bayley!" Miss Lead comes strolling into the teachers' lounge," What's wrong dear?" She immediately touches my arm and sits down in the chair next to me. I look up at her and fight my fifth round of tears that morning.
"My dad passed away over break."
"Oh my.... oh Bayley, I am so so sorry... god..." She sat there with me for a few minutes and just held my hand.
"I am afraid to teach today." I whisper to her after the silence.
"Oh, I am sure but you are a very strong person- just tell the kids, you have a great first hour bunch..." I nod and sniff.
"Thanks." I had moved her to tears and she smiled through them.
"Good Morning class, there is something I need to tell you about....." I grab some Kleenexes from my desk and inhale," My father passed away over Christmas break and so, if I happen to not be myself for awhile, that is why. He meant a lot to me so that doesn't seem to help it ....." My eyes begin to get cloudier and I notice that my students are incredibly quiet, "but that is how it is sometimes, the best ones are always missed the most I suppose." I inhale and exhale a few more times to concentrate and calm down before grabbing my lesson planner and asking everyone where they were at in each assignment.
"I am almost done with essays one through five and I have started research on my individual project." Sidney replies quietly.
The other twenty or so are at about the same level and so I allow the first half for more work time. All of them are extraordinary in keeping on task and I am almost flabbergasted.
"Is there any particular reason for you guys being so quiet today? This is creative writing class not my dad's funeral." Sidney and her small group of friends smile and giggle and before I know it, I smile too and realize that I am going to be fine.
By graduation time of the next year, I had had another book published and on some stores shelves titled Real Human Teachers: If Only the Kids Knew and it talked of trying to teach with all the distractions that teachers have in their lives. Many of my students bought the book and wanted me to sign them. Some of them were amazed at how many things can affect teachers because our "jobs" don't allow us to sit down and have a coffee break with our employees or students every hour and discuss what is going on. We learn to really repress feelings because we need to be enthusiastic for our students. It is almost a fakeness at times, but we can't break down in front of them either.
A few days after the book came out (two days before Graduation), all my students were extra nice to me in class. I couldn't figure it out. The whole day they were angels and I kept frowning at them waiting for some trick or treat to occur. Then, just after the bell for the start of seventh period rang, I looked out to smile at Michael quickly, but he wasn't there and our principal was standing in his spot. I frowned and stood up to start class. Suddenly, Michael's voice came over the intercom.
"Good afternoon everybody, I have a special announcement to make and most of you already know what it is so please direct your attention to room 207 where the lovely Miss Seoul is probably wondering what is going on," Our prinicpal smiles and many of the students I have during the day are walking into my classroom, each with what looks like a dozen roses each! "Miss Bayley Seoul, I was wondering something." He pauses and my heart starts to skip a beat. Some of the students are as pale as me and some are laughing and in awe. "Will you marry me?"
I swallow and all the kids start to cheer as if we won the championship game. Michael comes walking through the door and behind him follows some of my greatest collegues. He kneels down and places a beautiful diamond on my finger.
And through my tears, I nod.