May 26, 2022
As a Teacher in a Pandemic, Where Does Work End and I Begin?
Integrating the personal with the professional was helpful in the chaos of 2020. But by 2021, I often lost track of whether I was a teacher or a therapist.
Integrating the personal with the professional was helpful in the chaos of 2020. But by 2021, I often lost track of whether I was a teacher or a therapist.
For many, our education in first-person writing begins with the college application essay, which rewards uplifting narratives with neat-bow conclusions. This is a bad thing.
We don’t need to accept potential as currently defined. We can change the questions we ask, the learning environments we create.
I want to live in a world where I can be a physicist without also being asked to speak on or compensate for the persistent racism of institutions.
Yuka took my feelings of alienation and monstrousness and turned them into a hilarious joke we shared.
“We can make a positive impact and pursue our dreams in this country—even when we feel unwelcome in it.”
“During that class, I did not feel like a teacher; I only felt like a woman, a body in danger.”
“Trump and his administration are readable. And we must read them carefully.”
“I would rather have a daughter who acts out than one who falls in line.”
“Fueled by the 2016 campaign, ugly prejudices deeply rooted in our community would slither into the light.”
Many writers spend years looking for the light at the end of the adjunct tunnel. I took another route: teaching high school.
“I generally try to keep politics out of the classroom, but this year it hasn’t been possible.”
As an educator, I’m still discerning what it means to try and protect my students while empowering them.
“You hope and hope they’ll get their chance and you know it’s possible they won’t.”
The police are there, expecting us, academics in revolutionaries’ outfits.
“We need to move our schools toward increased inclusion and disability justice.”
“My father could do no more than snap a picture.”
