Narrators

Today, I am asking my students to reflect on their favorite narration. We have started to read Garth Stein's The Art of Racing in the Rain. It's a great family story, but it is unique in the sense that it is told from the point of view of the family dog. Their favorite narrator can be a first person narrator that is a character in the novel, or it can just be a novel whose third person perspective is unique or clever.

1. Who is your favorite narrator? What is your favorite narration?
2. Tell readers about the novel and the narration.
3. Why is this your favorite? Why might others appreciate it as well?

My favorite narrator is definitely Budo from Matthew Dick's Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend. In Dick's novel, imaginary friends are real. Not only are they real, but they can also interact with every other imaginary friend. In a world where imagination is real, Budo is an excellent tour guide. Budo is the imaginary friend of the autistic Max. Since imaginary friends are exactly how their child sees them, Budo is a very smart humanoid who can walk through doors and can exist in a space without Max. Other imaginary friends are not so lucky. Some are two dimensional, while others are freakish creations. While others are restricted to exist with their child, Budo has the luxury of walking around town while Max is asleep. He can visit gas stations and hospitals observing human life and checking out imaginary friend support groups for those whose children are sick and dying in the pediatric ward. Budo is also rare in the fact that he is the oldest imaginary friend. Max has had him for years. Most do not last as long since their children gradually do not need them any more and disappear. Budo has even witnessed imaginary friends come and go in as short as ten minutes.

Budo is my favorite because he offers a unique perspective on life. He mostly spends time with Max, who is unable to communicate for himself due to his autism. Budo is there to help Max cope. While simple things like which flavor popsicle can launch Max into a panic, Budo is there to whisper into his ear that blue is the best option. From coping with bullies to taking spelling tests, Max relies on Budo, which is why Budo is able to exist so much longer than his fellow imaginary friends. However, when Max gets kidnapped, the tables are turned. Budo knows that Max will keep him in existence forever, but is that worth keeping Max away from his family? Or will Budo help Max escape, meaning that Max might learn that he can help himself and therefore not need Budo anymore?

Matthew Dick's narrator is one of my favorites. It's a great viewpoint into a fantasy world while also staying rooted in contemporary life. It's a great read for anyone. This is one of the few books that ever made me cry because it was over.

The Power of Being There

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I believe in the power of being there.

A teacher has a unique and, I’ll say it, weird relationship with his students. Get close, but not too close. Understand them as individuals, but be careful not to show too much of yourself. Show students you care about them, but hugging a student is inappropriate. Be energetic, approach students on their level and find similar interests, but remain the adult who is not quite their friend. It’s a confusing juggling act. In the jumble of recommendations and restrictions, I have found that the best thing I have to offer is myself. I will be there.

Soccer is not an interesting sport for me. Two groups of people kicking around a ball for hours and ending in a tied score of 0-0? I don’t understand the appeal. However, if one of the young men sitting in my desks invites me to their game, you can bet I will be there. I may need to take cues from the crowd about when to clap or scowl, but I’m there. I will hang around the field gate as the team exits and tweet a picture from the game because I want students to know I’m there for them, and I support their work. I’ve driven to faraway community plays and sat by myself at poorly scheduled hockey games, but I was there. Even outside of the English classroom, I want my students to know that what they are doing is great. Netflix can wait.

A teacher’s life is busy. Today, I had a meeting before school, play practice after, and Mini Class Night in the evening. There was less than an hour to work out the shuttle bus and get myself some dinner, but when a freshman in the cafeteria asked me for help on his Algebra from when he was absent, I stayed. Yes, it meant I had to basically inhale some chicken nuggets before meeting rooms full of parents, but I feel like being there for that freshman was the best choice for that moment. That’s a much bigger impact that being able to breathe between bites of dinner. I care for my students and want to see them succeed.

I have never experienced a tragic breakup. I have never lost a close friend. Yes, I have known loss, but rarely have I felt it as some of my students have. I’ve had a classmate snap his neck while working out and another murdered by his girlfriend’s ex-husband; I’ve known a co-worker to drop dead of a heart attack in a mall and another in a school lobby with an aneurism. But I have not truly felt loss like my students have. I’ve never personally been linked to the kid who found his parents’ murder-suicide when he got home from school. No one I ate lunch with chose to end his life by stepping in front of a train or onto a highway. My arsenal of grammar usage and literature analysis cannot heal this pain. My students know things that I cannot fathom, but I am still choosing to be there.

I am not a parent, but I want to keep them safe, make sure they are making smart choices and resisting temptation. I am not a therapist, but I want to talk them through their problems and be the one to find solutions. I am not a magician, but I want to wave a magic wand and make everything better. I am only one person, but I want to make the world better for my kids.

I am not a parent, therapist or magician, but I have decided to be the person who is there. I will support. I will aid. I will come when called. I may not be anyone’s first choice, but I will be an option. You will see my face in the stands, hear my applause in the theater, watch me use my phone as a calculator since you are not allowed one. I will not force you to express feelings on topics you don’t want to. (But you can.) I will not offer life lesson you didn’t ask for. (But I have them.) I will distract you with a box of donuts. We will talk about movies or music. You will listen to me read a second blog post written at midnight, even though my first is completed and saved and ready, because I feel strongly enough to share. Sometimes it’s just nice to have a person. I’ll be that person.

I don’t know how I can be useful, but I believe there is still a power in being there anyway.

I am here.

I recorded this entry using Vocaroo. You can also hear the recording here.

Choosing Awesome

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My inner thoughts are a rickety see-saw that sometimes make it hard to find my footing and walk through life. Either I am insecure and constantly critical, or I feel that I am too confident and possibly coming off as superior. Without a balance, sometimes it’s hard to see which side I am going to land on.

As a teacher, I am constantly speaking in front of 100+ students a day. Trained in high school theater, I am not afraid of putting myself out there or addressing a crowd. However, being the reflective person that I am, I tend to overanalyze events, making me feel insecure.

When I was in my first year of teaching as a member of the Alumni Volunteer Corps at the University of Detroit Jesuit High School and Academy, part of my salary was paid in food. We got five dollars a day for lunch, which was usually spent on chicken tenders and fries. Twice a week, the Mothers Club brought us dinner, usually some type of pasta or cheesy dish and always a luxurious dessert. Needless to say, when getting paid in food, one tends to put on a little bit of weight. It was that May of 2011 when I finally noticed mine. Now, it wasn’t some secret, private bathroom scale that opened my eyes to this enlarging circumference. Instead, it was a student named Martin who came up in the cafeteria and rubbed my belly, talking about cookies. I was embarrassed and furious, but he wasn’t wrong.

In college teaching programs, professors tell you that students notice everything. And they are right! If students noticed I had gained a belly, then I’m sure they notice much more. This is a frightening thought to someone who puts themselves out there every day in front of teenagers. Especially to someone like me who over thinks things as I do.

Now, when I teach, questions constantly run through my mind. Am I going too slow? Am I talking too fast? Is this lesson boring? Why does that student sit and look like he is too cool for me? He probably is too cool for me. How’s my weight? Should I suck in my gut while teaching? (I’ve done that.) Do they notice my new pimple? Have I already worn this tie this week? Am I an outfit repeater? What should I do with my hands while I talk? I once made the mistake of looking up myself on ratemyteachers.com to find that one student thinks I am too flamboyant because of my hands. What is he really getting at by calling me flamboyant? And I have to record this blog post. I hate my voice. What if I sound stupid?

When you constantly put yourself out there. There is a tendency to feel raw and exposed. But that is no reason to hide.

I am a pretty confident guy, too. I have accomplished a lot in my 27 years so far: graduated from the University of Michigan, got a teaching job right out of college, completed my Master’s degree and earned a state certification as a reading specialist, wrote and published an award-winning novel. I direct school plays, put out amazing student literary magazines, coach a nationally competitive forensics team, and this summer I became president of the Detroit Catholic Forensic League. I have presented at state and nation-wide teacher conferences multiple times, and I have been selected to participate in plenty of leadership programs in Jesuit education taking me from Chicago to Europe. However, when looking at this list, I feel too cocky for even typing it. Am I bragging too much? Should I not mention some of these things? Even now, I know I left some things out on purpose. I don’t want to come off like I’m full of myself, so sometimes I just keep my successes to myself.

Why is there no balance between either feeling insecure or unjustly superior? I may not be able to find the perfect ratio, but after reflecting on this topic, I do know there is one thing I believe. When deciding to focus on the negative or the positive, I choose the side of being awesome. No matter how down and out things get or how critical of myself I can be, I going to recall that I am an awesome person. We are all awesome, so why waste time focusing on the negative? That’s not how I’m going to choose to spend my time.

I recorded this entry using Vocaroo. You can also hear the recording here.