I love the smell of spring. You know the feeling, the first day you sense that the dirt is churning out baby tulips and the sunlight feels warmer. Opening the front door and seeing the City Park lake, the slightly greener grass and feeling a light, fresh breeze is why spring is my favorite season. Sure, I love snowboarding but I don't like winter driving, winter boots and dark afternoons.
This spring, I booted a not-so-great guy and feel good about it. Spring cleaning applies to boys as well as underused jeans, shoes and old jewelry - they all find a different, and hopefully more well-suited purpose, in another persons life.
My new beginning this spring will start in June. I am heading back to the orange and pink skies of Phoenix for 6 weeks to work at the Teach for America Institute: boot camp for new corps members. I will be an adviser to a group of fresh teachers, most of them will have just received their college diplomas before heading to Phoenix. Call it Greek Week initiation and education on steroids - good ones. We will shape and develop this country's best and brightest to become effective teachers in our country's lost and forgotten neighborhoods and towns.
I am looking forward to the high energy, the excitement and the eagerness of new teachers. After 4 years, I still love teaching - but I know that this opportunity will be rejuvenating, provide fresh perspective and help me blossom. Just like the emerging tulips this spring, not only will I be planting a love of teaching but I will hopefully learn how to grow and prosper from my colleagues from around the nation.
PHX, here I come!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
La Semilla/The Seed
I was inspired to write a poem around the theme: Beginnings. Our high school does a Poetry Cafe frequently where students and staff can submit and read their poetry in front of the whole school during one of our morning meetings before academic classes begin.
This month, I was up late, unable to sleep and this poem came to me in its infancy and has metamorphosed to where it is today, and how I read it today in front of my students and fellow teachers.
The inspiration? The beginning of my life was when I studied abroad in Santiago, Chile so that is where this stems from. This is my story of self-discovery.
La Semilla
Sus palabras fueron una tormenta de sonidos
Como una lluvia de fuerte que estaba cayendo sin ritmo
Yo, en un lugar desconocido, con evidencia de bombas y sufrimiento
Me llenaban con dolor
Y una semilla fue sembrada
Tenia verguenza y me sentia perdida en mi identidad
Habia un muerte por impuestos americanos
y un silencio que nos encerro con las heridas escondidas de la gente chilena
Como sobrevivio la gente chilena abajo la mano fatal del dictador?
Maria, llena de gracia
pero lejos de mi corazon
Su sufrimiento y muerte no tuvo valor
Ella fue un peon para dinero y poder
Cuando vi su alma y espiritu?
Y crece la semilla
Fue el cuento de los desaparecidos
Soy nada mas de un grano de arena
Escucha las voces de las madres de Plaza de Mayo
Y la semilla continua creciendo
Llegue, sabia nada. Ahora, nada.
La semilla, me ha dad mi vida
The English version...
Her words were a storm of sounds
Like a strong rain with no rhythm, they fell
In an unknown place, with evidence of bombs and suffering
I was filled with pain
And a seed was planted
I was ashamed and I felt lost in my own identity
There was a death by our taxes
and a silence that surrounded us with
the hidden wounds of the Chilean people
How did they survive under the hand of a fatal dictator?
Maria, full of grace
but so far from my heart
Her suffering and death had no value
She was a pawn for money and power
When did I see her soul and spirit?
And the seed grew
It was the story of the lost and forgotten
I am nothing more than a grain of sand
Listen to the voices of the mothers at Plaza de Mayo
And the seed continued growing
I arrived, knowing everything. Now, nothing.
The seed, it has given me life.
This month, I was up late, unable to sleep and this poem came to me in its infancy and has metamorphosed to where it is today, and how I read it today in front of my students and fellow teachers.
The inspiration? The beginning of my life was when I studied abroad in Santiago, Chile so that is where this stems from. This is my story of self-discovery.
La Semilla
Sus palabras fueron una tormenta de sonidos
Como una lluvia de fuerte que estaba cayendo sin ritmo
Yo, en un lugar desconocido, con evidencia de bombas y sufrimiento
Me llenaban con dolor
Y una semilla fue sembrada
Tenia verguenza y me sentia perdida en mi identidad
Habia un muerte por impuestos americanos
y un silencio que nos encerro con las heridas escondidas de la gente chilena
Como sobrevivio la gente chilena abajo la mano fatal del dictador?
Maria, llena de gracia
pero lejos de mi corazon
Su sufrimiento y muerte no tuvo valor
Ella fue un peon para dinero y poder
Cuando vi su alma y espiritu?
Y crece la semilla
Fue el cuento de los desaparecidos
Soy nada mas de un grano de arena
Escucha las voces de las madres de Plaza de Mayo
Y la semilla continua creciendo
Llegue, sabia nada. Ahora, nada.
La semilla, me ha dad mi vida
The English version...
Her words were a storm of sounds
Like a strong rain with no rhythm, they fell
In an unknown place, with evidence of bombs and suffering
I was filled with pain
And a seed was planted
I was ashamed and I felt lost in my own identity
There was a death by our taxes
and a silence that surrounded us with
the hidden wounds of the Chilean people
How did they survive under the hand of a fatal dictator?
Maria, full of grace
but so far from my heart
Her suffering and death had no value
She was a pawn for money and power
When did I see her soul and spirit?
And the seed grew
It was the story of the lost and forgotten
I am nothing more than a grain of sand
Listen to the voices of the mothers at Plaza de Mayo
And the seed continued growing
I arrived, knowing everything. Now, nothing.
The seed, it has given me life.
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