Today was my breaking point.

I realized that I hadn't posted in a while and this certainly won't do if I intend on keeping people updated via my blog. I'll start with Monday because from what I remember, it was a good day. I taught my students for the first time and it went awesome. I am teaching 5th grade for the summer, but there are a wide range of kids in my class. They are between the ages of 11 and 14, and one boy can't even recognize letters. (He came from Guyana last year and was placed in 5th grade simply because of how old he was). I had my students do an activity to get them thinking about people they looked up to, people who worked hard towards their goals. Their responses amazed me. Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King Jr., moms, grannies, brothers, teachers. These kids' responses were incredibly thoughtful and reflective, and they seemed ready to use these people as models for hard work.

But kids are kids. And kids hate summer school. Not to mention, schools aren't always run as efficiently as possible. Yesterday I had 15 minutes to complete a 45-minute lesson because of a fire drill. I never understood why my teachers would get so upset about distractions until I became a teacher myself. Every minute in the classroom is so valuable, especially for students who need to pass standardized tests to advance to the next grade. We're trying to get these kids excited about advancing on to Junior High, but getting them motivated has proved to be more challenging that I originally thought.

Today was my breaking point. I cried. All week long I had been fighting tears during frustrating situations, trying to keep my composure despite the crappiest of circumstances. Today I taught a lesson about reading nonfiction texts and relying upon hints in the title, headings, pictures, etc. I was not an effective teacher, and therefore my students did not learn. When they were not paying attention and seemed to be all over the place, the fault was all mine. This is perhaps the most difficult aspect of teaching so far. I am the one to blame for my students' acheivement or lack thereof. In addition, I was supervised today by the director of the program. She gave me really positive feedback (with suggestions for improvement) but told me she couldn't believe it was only my third day teaching. That made my day a little better, but my students still didn't learn the material. The final breaking point occurred when I lost my cell phone. This would be hard in any circumstance, but in my case it is even worse. When I feel myself losing it, I usually call someone to talk and regain perspective on my experience. (Some of you might be the victims of such phone calls). So when my only connection to the outside world is eliminated, all hell breaks loose and I end up in tears. Oh, I forget to mention that this was right after I walked a 1/2 mile back to my dorm room in a downpour. I was soaked. I was downtrodden. I was defeated. I cried. And I felt better.

I have determined that I am a crier (this is not new), and that I probably always will be. It's not always such an awful thing. I would rather be overly emotional (which I am) than be emotionless. I think I pick up on situations that a lot of people overlook because I'm always aware of how my surroundings affect me and my emotions. If this also causes me to break out in tears every so often, so be it.

I'm still wrestling with how I'm doing spiritually. Without entering the "vegi-taled-Steven-Curtis-Chapman-Christ-Like-pose-painting-bad-metaphor

world" that can emerge from discussing Christianity (thank you, Anders), I probably need God more than ever before. However, it is awfully difficult to figure out my Christian identity in a program in which most people are critical of Christianity. I am going to go to church in Manhattan on Sunday at Bethesda Covenant Church. I haven't been to church in a very long time, so perhaps exposure to such a community will remind me of my love for the church at large.

The apartment search may be over, as I think I have secure a place with a second-year TFA member. I was given her name after I met her mom (who happens to be my elementary school guidance counselor). Her name is Kristin and I think we will get along really well. The apartment is in Harlem, about a 1/2 mile directly north of Central Park and a block to two train lines. It should be a 25 minute commute to my school in the Bronx.

Sleep awaits me.