Don't Forget Brain Month!

OH BABY. TALK BRAINY TO ME.

When I take my Thyroid medication in the morning I throw back my water cup, screw the little lid back onto the bottle, and flip the container upside down.

That last part is key.

If I don't flip it upside down then I never took it. Or at least that's what my brain thinks, anyway. Unfortunately my brain cannot hold onto whether or not I took this medication essential to my health and well being.

I actually can't recall if I took it this morning, so that's fun.

Last year I forgot about Brain Injury Awareness month because like the location of my keys, wallet, and cellphone, this information was beyond me.

How fucking ironic. 

A brain injured person forgetting a month dedicated to them. This is actually quite hilarious if you ask me. I also wrote this post about a month ago and am just now posting it.

Figures.

But this year I made a point to remember that I am not alone in brain injury. And I wanted my students with brain injuries to know that they are not alone either.

That's where the brain facts come in.

Every day this month I have been reading out brain facts to my students. Some have to do with which centers of the brain control certain functions, others with addiction, and some just flat out cool shit about how our brains run this show without us even realizing it. 

Like did you know the language center of the brain responsible for speech has different pathways to neural connections than the part responsible for reading?

Freaking cool, you guys.

Some days my kids are reluctant to hear the brain fact of the day, rolling their eyes at another silly brain pun. Other days they refuse to do any work until I read them off a new one. They even correct me when I repeat an old fact from the week before.

"You already told us about how similar sugar is to cocaine to the brain, Miss! Give us a NEW one!"

I even showed them some of my "brain videos" of me in rehab rolling around my hospital room in my wheelchair popping wheelies.

We all had a good laugh. 

It's startling to see how far I've come since then; a frail, silly excuse for a human trying to do tricks over broomsticks and skipping down hallways with tennis-ball-clad walkers. 

And up until now I never really understood what it all meant. To have a month dedicated to all this. 

And then I got a note from a kid on one of my worst days on the job. 

Picture two tiny mice sprinting across my classroom as twenty Freshmen leaped over desks and squealed. This was not my idea of an engaging Geography lesson.

I was being upstaged and I was not amused.

The mice were derailing my 5th hour and nobody accomplished anything but adequately pissing me off by continuing to discuss the size, shape, and color of the intruders for the entire class period. It got so bad at one point that one mouse was doing a sprint routine up and down the length of the room and I threw everyone out in the hallway.

"This is ridiculous. Everyone out. OUT."

What a disaster. We tried to work on our Mayan packets but all seemed lost.

By the time 6th hour rolled in I was exhausted and peeved; utterly incapable of dealing with one more disruption. 

Someone tested me again by popping the N word to his friend like it was no big deal.

"Excuse me?"

"Miss, I wasn't saying it to you, chill."

"No I will not chill. We don't use that language in here and you know that. 10 push-ups. Now."

He reluctantly moved to the carpet. 

I have a rule in my classroom. You curse and you owe me push-ups. Some kids make it a daily routine. Drop an F-bomb. Drop and give me ten. It may be a little corporal-punishment-y for some, but it works. Also you have the option of a parent phone call.

9 out of 10 kids prefer a little exercise.

I tried helplessly not to roll my eyes at this utter waste of a day. 

"Miss, are you okay? You seem...off today..." The kids know. They always know.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just a long day, that's all," I lied.

I continued with my lecture on the Cold War and hoped to the heavens that I would survive the day without my brain re-exploding all over my dusty teacher desk.

As 6th hour left at the sound of the bell, I went back to my desk to take attendance that I'd forgotten to take all day. No surprise there.

By my computer was a small note, folded up with tiny hearts and the words "Open Me" scrawled on it.

As 7th hour sauntered in I opened it curiously. It read:

Dear Ms. Hayes,

You're the greatest teacher to ever exist! You actually make learning fun and make school fun. I love coming to this class because you're always so happy and smiling, I could easily have a really bad day and the moment I step into this class all my worries are gone! I can trust you as someone to come to when I'm having problems, you're like the psychologist I need, someone I can talk to! I really appreciate you Ms. H! You're amazing and so wonderful! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise! You're so brave and strong and that's also why I look up to you because we both had a brain injury, and we still managed to keep moving forward! Yay us!!! If you're ever having a hard or tough day just remember how far you've come and why you became a teacher! I love you so much Ms. H! You're like a mom but here at school. I hope you have a great rest of your day! Love you!!!

Your favorite student always,

Alice E. , 10th Grade

It took a while for it to sink in, most likely because I had to greet 7th hour and lead them through their case studies without someone smacking someone else or throwing a pencil across the room. But when I took the time to read it again that night I cried and cried.

It felt like I had waited my whole life to hear the words. 

I had bonded with Alice before about our shared experiences of brain injuries. She told me that she hadn't felt like herself since her stroke and that school was hard for her now. I couldn't help but feel for her. Being so young with a brain injury, things would likely get harder for her trying to get through school.

I felt lucky to have had my brain explode after college. There would be no way I could have finished my degree with my lack of focus and inability to remember anything. 

But she said the words, "look how far you've come" as if she was right there with me when I couldn't do anything. 

Back when being able to read a text message without double-vision was a good day and when my go-to outfit was stretchy pants and a stained t-shirt. 

Now I am executive functioning at top speeds. 

I put make up on my face without poking my eye out, am currently wearing heels that I can walk in without falling off a curb, and even drove a car this morning.

I teach students to be their best selves as I strive to be my own.  

I am doing everything my body never dreamed of doing back in 2014. And the fact that someone else could see that and looked up to me for that reason simply blew my mind. 

Brain injuries are silent disabilities.

They impact people in unique and strange ways. What Alice didn't know that day is that just a few short years ago I never would have expected to be standing in front of a group of teenagers imparting my quasi-wisdom, much less standing without a nurse nearby to catch me when I inevitably tumbled off the sidewalk.

For every step I take there's a neuron hard at work. Every movement a reminder of who I once was, and will always be.

On my year anniversary I posted a picture of me in my hospital bed after brain surgery; a stuffed elephant on my head and a lopsided smile, my face puffy from brain drugs. I shared my excitement at how far I'd come and thanked my friends and family for getting me through my "brain days."

A woman who I didn't know, but followed me on Instagram congratulated me on the accomplishment but told me "not to dwell" because it was "all about the future."

Dwell?

Wait. Isn't dwelling a negative thing?

I almost wanted to smack her through my cellphone screen.

How can I appreciate the future if I don't respect where I've been? Why forget the past when it's made me who I am today?

That's the whole reason why we have Brain Injury Awareness Month, people!

I don't expect sympathy. I don't ask for pity. I simply want to show my humbleness for an organism that nobody can fully understand. I want to share my story so that others are empowered to share their own.

Unlike my keys, wallet, and cellphone, I will never forget Brain Injury Awareness Month.

And that's a pretty big deal these days.

It's Beginning to look a lot like Finals

Oh boi. Here we go.

“If you don’t have the nose, be sure to let me know before the tes –“

“Miss?”

“I think I meant to say ‘notes,’ but if you don’t have a nose you should also come talk to me…”

At this point in the conversation I began to laugh hysterically at myself as my students looked on with worried faces.

Yes, it’s that time of year. And yes, we’re all feeling it pretty hard.

Students everywhere are finding themselves hitting the books like coked out squirrels, teachers haven’t slept since July, and we’re all scraping the bottom of the coffee barrel and our wallets too. Making finals, taking finals, grading deadlines, and the entire year’s regret start tallying up like Santa’s naughty and nice list.

It’s enough to make your dreidel spin.

Whether you’re a teacher, a student, a barista, or a student in the teacher program who is also a barista on the weekends, here are some tips and tricks to make it through the coming days:

1. Wear a pair of shoes that is one size too big. It creates an optical illusion that you are taller than you actually are. It’s a known truth that taller people earn more on average than shorter people. According to a study published by the Economic Record: ”Taller people are  perceived to be more intelligent and powerful.” So why not try it out for size and boost your confidence for a day during finals? See what I did there? 

2. Show your students a video of you impersonating the other Social Studies teachers during a meeting. It’s an irrefutable fact that laughter can de-stress and relax you and others around you. If you don’t think impersonating your coworkers will work in your favor, impersonate yourself. That shit’s hilarious.

3. Go to Target and buy the following items: Pop Tarts, Instant Mac and Cheese, Lunch-ables, and some form of cheese puff product.

4. Eat said items and procrastinate/ lament grading for several hours.

5. This. Don’t ask questions. Just trust me.

6. Light a candle, you cave person. They smell like fresh laundry and remind us that we too once had hopes and dreams.

7. When you finally get around to grading, smack your head on the nearest hard surface while reading an essay plagiarized directly from a video you showed in class.

8. Continue to slam head in wall at how many times you warned this student to STOP PLAGIARIZING OH MY FUCKING GOD.

9. Question the likelihood that you will get fired if you fail 99% of your students.

10. Decide you kinda don’t give a fuck.

11. Reconsider that you do kinda give a little fuck and brainstorm ways to get more students to pass your class in the next four days’ time.

12. Realize that this is impossible and go to your nearest liquor store and pick out all the wines.

13. Especially that fruity one that tastes like juice.

14. Think about bringing the fancy fruity juice into work tomorrow.

15. Reconsider again.

16. Eat a Pop Tart.

17. Wise up and try to cook a veggie burger or some other stupid healthy recipe you saw on Pinterest one time.

18. Laugh at yourself.

19. Throw away the piece of cardboard that you just tried to ingest.

20. Open up the freezer and grab the ice cream instead.

21. Regret the fact that you didn’t get more grading done but not the ice cream.

22. Reconsider your regret because it’s not your fault kids don’t care about their grade until THIS VERY FUCKING SECOND.

23. Do that deep breathing thing but give up after 30 seconds because you look ridiculous.

24. Go to bed.

Take courage, dear teachers. Take courage. Oh and students? Yeah, if you could get that essay in to me like last October? That'd be great. And yes, it's all multiple choice.

You're welcome.

"Excuse me Trump, I'ma Let You Finish..."

Trump: 0, Corncob: 1

Okay.  So I’m not one to rant about my political views.  Like ever. 

When my students ask me who I’m voting for I say Tom Hanks. 

I don’t often find value in spewing my political opinions on others because so many people do that already so who’s even got time to listen to what I have to say on the matter?

However lately things have gone too far and I shan’t hold me tongue any longer.  No I shan’t.

The political platform used to be a place to instigate change; a place to transform the nation and heal the country after wartime woes.  Politics have always been a means to create equality and unity on a national scale.  Now, let’s be clear on one thing:

Political leaders have always been hated.

After Abraham Lincoln was elected the 16th president of the United States he literally had to be shipped secretly in a midnight train to the White House to avoid assassination attempts. 

Rough gig, Abe.

Historically, all presidential leaders and candidates have been criticized for some reason or another.  I’m sure if I ran for president I’d have my own personal team of specialists just to sort through all the hate mail. 

But I’m not running for president you see, because I’m not qualified to do so.

Running a country is kind of a big job to do.  It requires knowledge of international affairs, negotiation techniques, economic wherewithal, public speaking skills, and like a lot of paperwork and signing of serious looking things like Amendments to the Constitution and education bills and whatnot. 

That’s a lot of power for one person.  But as Spiderman’s uncle once said,

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

And I rather liked that guy.

Maybe he should run for president.  Oh wait, that bad guy in the first movie killed him.  Darn it.

The reason I’m writing today is not to go on a gigantic sh-peal about politics and tell you who’s agenda is the worst or why our country is doomed.

Nah.

I simply want to point out that things are getting out of hand and we should all promptly pull our heads out of our you-know-what’s when it comes to politics in America.

Let’s just broach the topic of Donald Trump.  To me he’s a topic of discussion, yes a person (albeit one with a horrific head of hair), but also the butt of every joke I hear these days. 

For the longest time I paid no attention to Trump because I was sure it was a publicity stunt and would blow over in a matter of weeks along with his hair piece.  My mother refers to him as a "flash in the pan;" sure to make a big headline but not something to last over time.  Nope, still hearing about that guy.  So I did some research and found some of his policies.

Immigration Reform: According to Trump’s website, his campaign to “Make America Great Again” contains three pillars of immigration reform:

1. A nation without borders is not a nation. There must be a wall across the southern border.

2. A nation without laws is not a nation. Laws passed in accordance with our Constitutional system of government must be enforced.

3. A nation that does not serve its own citizens is not a nation. Any immigration plan must improve jobs, wages and security for all Americans.

Included in this reform is his campaign to end Birthright Citizenship and deport all illegal aliens from the United States back to Mexico.  Now this is a hot button, so we’re not going to get into it right now. 

But I do think to really understand this issue we have to go back in history and back to our roots.  The true Americans, meaning the first Americans who actually lived on this land since day one, have all been slaughtered and moved onto small reservations. 

There I said it. 

Native Americans.  They are the true Americans.  The rest of us came from elsewhere and “claimed” this country as our own as is the human way for all of history of all time.  So historically speaking we are all immigrants of some kind, but that’s a whole separate conversation and you can now send hate mail to my receptionist Tammy.

Aside from Trump’s immigration reform (which we will not get into right now as I said), there’s not a whole lot I can gather about his political platform from his campaign website.  So I did more research.  What I found was a list of country issues and his stances on them, supported by citations and direct quotes.  You can find the full list here.

I will say that not all of his positions are publicized by the media.  But if you look a bit closer at some of the hot buttons like civil rights, you can see he has changed his mind about them in the past few years and made quite a few headlines as of late.

If you were wondering about his take on women as “fat pigs, dogs, slobs, and disgusting animals,” you can find his thoughts as well as a video with Fox News here:   

Now as if it weren’t enough that this man is trying to become president, we now have Exhibit B:

Kanye West, future presidential candidate in 2020.

All Hail Yeezy.

For Jimmy Kimmel’s comparison of these two candidate’s here’s this:

I invite you now to join me as I slam my frontal lobe into the nearest hard surface.

Back 2 Skool Ain't So Bad

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

I hear a lot of disgruntled thought bubbles these days.  Whispered under the breath of an exhausted parent who can’t believe a teacher would ask a student to bring a box of pencils to class.  Or loudly audible among a sea of stressed out faces as the price of binders, folders, and colorful sticky notes continue to increase.

We have to go back again already?

Yes.  I understand the sentiment.

As a new teacher I have had my fair share of mild to moderate panic set in at the thought of the new school year.  There’s school supplies and clothing and teeth cleanings and car repairs and the dreaded readjustment to the 7am-3pm school day.  Sometimes I feel like I am swearing away my soul until Fall break; hoping that nothing malfunctions or runs out before then.  God forbid we run out of hand sanitizer in my class.

Teachers, parents, and students the world over are taking a deep sigh and settling in for the tidal wave of school to hit the mainland.

Here we go again.

But let’s take a second to reflect here.  Because we must.  Or else we will lose our minds and our freshly sharpened pencils.

Yesterday was really cool for me for a few reasons.

Yesterday I showed my best friend my first classroom for the first time.  Lots of firsts.  I held the door open for her as she joined me and a handful of other stressed teaching staff in the building on a Saturday.  I walked her into my room and gave her the tour.

“Eventually this will be where my white board is,” I said pointing to a hilarious sheet of paper hanging on my wall with the words “White Board Goes Here” scribbled on it.

Her face lit up.

“And this is my Word Wall for U.S. History,” I noted half interested as I eye-balled a pile of un-laminated pictures I had yet to get to.

She smiled some more.

“Oh my goodness, Mimi. You have a CLASSROOM. It felt like just the other day when little 14 year old you and me were sitting right here. Now some little kiddo gets to have YOU as a teacher.”

It took another second to sink in.

Up until recently I had the habit of calling myself a “Fake Teacher.”  I had student taught under a mentor, and while I had my own students and a shared classroom, I never really considered myself a true teacher.

A teacher in training, a newbie newb, a joke of sorts.

Brennyn began snapping pictures of me pointing to a variety of cheesy things around my room as she looked on with utter pride.

I am the real deal.

Polka dot cork boards, seating charts, a yard stick I plan on carrying around with me as I pester my students about their extra-curricular activities and if I can come to them and sit in the front row.  It’s the whole 9 yards…get it.  Because I have a yard stick.

Sorry.  Not sorry.  My students are going to have to get used to my awful puns.  But they had better Walken with a good attitude or else (I have a collage of Sir Christopher Walken posted on my front door).  Let the cheesy teacher-ness begin.

But my joy didn’t end there.

After a few hours of running frantically around my classroom making copies and contemplating essential questions for my lesson plans I went down to the Castle rock Outlets with my mom to do some shopping for the upcoming school year.

Our first stop was to an Express.  Because I’m cheap.  And poor.  And a teacher.

Here's a candid picture of me in my classroom.

I picked out a handful of 50% off tops and skirts to channel my inner Zooey Deschanel and headed to the cash register.  As the sweet high school grad rung me up I made small talk.  I asked if she had another denim shirt that wasn’t snagged (I hadn’t noticed until that moment, again, cheapy cheap).  She was happy to grab me another.  I asked if she had any discounts this time of year for teachers.

Nope, unfortunately not.

Ah, well.  I thanked her for going out of her way to get me the shirt.

Then something amazing happened.

A man from behind me in line (and a long line at that since I was just chatting it up with my cashier) came up to me and the cashier and asked if he could give his military discount to me.  He insisted. 

Military ID in hand he said with the most special smile, “I really appreciate the work you do.  If anyone deserves a discount, it’s you.”

The wind was knocked out of my chest.

What?

You want to give little old fake-but-very-real teacher me your highly esteemed military discount?  I was completely taken aback.  I thanked him profusely and couldn’t believe it.  My faith in humanity was restored entirely.

Unlike so many of us this time of year, this amazing man saw the value in me when I could not.  When talking about my teaching and the work I do everyday I tend to throw around some jokes.  Surprise, surprise.

"Well that's why I get paid the big bucks," I jab.

It's no secret that my salary over the stretch of a lifetime will be a tad bit laughable.  And during this time of year it's easy to slip into the mindset that it's all for nothing and that the kids will eat you alive out there.  It's easy sometimes to forget what we're doing this all for.

When I get this way I watch this. 

Goose bumps, folks. 

So yes, going back to school can kind of suck.  And you had better believe that come October we will be having an entirely different conversation.  My classroom will be a petri dish of kid germs and I will likely be buried in ungraded papers, assessments, and grueling professional development meetings.

But you know what?

I wouldn’t change going back to school for anything in the world.

Got That S-S-Summatime Sadness

Today marks my last week of summer employment.  As I sit in my wheelie teacher chair that is not actually my own at summer school monitoring my one student I contemplate that the summer is pretty much over. 

He's taking a test.  He's fine.

A week from today I will be enjoying my last bits of summer freedom in The Big Apple.  As a treat to myself and the hectic summer I signed myself up for with summer school tutoring and trying to haphazardly string together a novel, I enrolled myself in a UCB improv class in New York City.

Treat yo'self.

UCB, Upright Citizen's Brigade, the comedy school brain child of Amy Poehler and home to the world's best comedians, is the stuff of legends.  

It's the big deal, the trifecta; Emerald City, if you will.

And like Dorothy, perpetually confused but always fashionable, I will be trying my hand at the big leagues.  During this week long intensive course I will be testing my improv chops with the best of the best.  Or at least the best ones who could afford to be here.  I myself can't actually afford to be here.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, I owe you like a thousand dollars. But really. I'm sorry I'm so poor. But have faith. My degree is being put to good use, I promise.

The class includes five days jam-packed with improv theory, training, and a final performance on Saturday to showcase how awesome we'll all be at improv.  I mean some of us, present company included, are already awesome at it. 

But we'll get awesome...er.

But no matter how awesomely awesome this New York trip will be for me, I can't help but feel like my summer is over.  As I sit now in my sweaty and filthy bedroom and listen to Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness, I question what became of the months of March, April, May, and June.

Seriously.  What became of them? 

My guess is that they're sitting in some hipster coffee shop that moonlights as a puppet theater trying to avoid humanity.  I can't make this stuff up.  I actually had a kiddie scoop of gelato yesterday at a small Denver coffee shop that closed at 3pm for a children's puppet show.  Who knew things like this even existed? 

You're drunk, Denver.  Go home.  Anyway.

I'll never know what became of the spring or much of the summer, but I do know this:

A storm is coming.

The tidal wave that is the coming school year will soon hit the mainland and I will likely find myself clutching to my deflated life rafts and arm floaties.  I have a confession.  I can't really swim all that well. 

My mother tried relentlessly every summer of my childhood to get me into swimming lessons and I always ended up shivering and crying in the pool and pissing off my instructor.  I mean don't get me wrong, if put in a situation where I was forced to swim for my life I would certainly put up a good fight. 

But I would also be the first one to die.

You know, like in those survival movies.  It's usually the character that everyone loves the most, too.  The endearing map expert.  The hopeful youth with a gal back home.  Yeah, I'd definitely die first.

I use this hilarious and all-too-real metaphor because teaching is a lot like swimming for your life in shark invested waters.  Especially in your first year.  No one can really prepare you for the shit-storm, you just gotta' kick and hope yuh don't feel something graze your foot.

Speaking of those majestic creatures, excuse me I have a date with my television set to binge on Shark Week programs for the rest of the evening.

Ta!