Matching Tracksuits

poland xii

Departure

Saturday 1 June 1996

I don’t know what to write – I don’t know what to feel. I’ve been shoved to this moment by a force more powerful than anything I’ve ever encountered. It seems time was jerked from me like a tablecloth yanked from a table. It’s been so sudden that I don’t believe I’ve even begun to deal with the emotions. What I’m about to do still feels as unreal to me as the landscape far beneath me.

Yet as I leave, as I finally get under way, a calm has settled in. The most difficult part is over. I cannot turn back now even if I wanted to. With that finality is an almost perverse security. Now that I can no longer cling, I no longer reach. Of course this is just the eye in the first of many emotional storms I’ll face. I suppose part of it is simply the beauty of flying – it’s difficult to be upset up here.

Work Woes

Wednesday 22 May 1996

I was going to write in here last night but the computer locked up twice, so I decided it really wasn’t worth loosing the sleep over, especially today. I have to work a double. But that’s not the bad thing: I have to stay through the afternoon and close tonight. Of course there’s a chance that I would get sent home early, except for the fact that I’m already scheduled to close. That is absolutely ridiculous. I’m not exactly sure what that wonderful Linda was thinking when she made the schedule (and apparently she’s doing all the schedules now), but it certainly didn’t include anyone’s convenience. I think I might have to work a double tomorrow as well. Kim has to close four of the five nights she works. That’s ridiculous!

I’m not sure what they’re going to do about servers. They lose them faster than they hire them. They hired a whole batch of people a couple of weeks ago and I don’t think a single person stayed. If it keeps happening I would think that management would take a look at its own tactics and see if it’s doing something to drive people away. They’ve certainly driven me away — if I wasn’t already leaving I would be out looking for a new job.

I haven’t written that much about the two corporate people who have come to help us “sort things out.” Linda is a stunningly beautiful woman who seems to have the warmth of a dead fish. John is an interesting character who smacks as he eats. I’m not too fond of either of them, but I don’t dislike them at all. I have fairly neutral feelings about them both. Both of them seem somewhat inflexible, but I suppose they realize the same thing a new teacher would does: It’s easier to start out tight and loosen up than to start out loose and tighten up.

I talked to the Central Europe desk about a packing list yesterday — they’re mailing out the Welcome to Poland packets this afternoon and I should have mine by Friday. It includes an introduction to Polish and some information about the country. With less than four weeks to go I am really starting to get excited. […]

I am so dreading work today. I walk into that place and I’m struck with boredom, depression, and anger. It is so frequently completely dead that one has plenty of time to mediate on all the time he’s spending there. In the next thirty-six hours I’ll probably be there twenty of them. I certainly won’t have any time today to do anything except work that that hell-hole. I’m wondering if she’s scheduled Daniel and Pam to work over as well? If so, I’m going to get my little butt out of having to stay over and close. I get angry just thinking about what I have to do today. That is about the worst think I can imagine: spending a day at Uno’s. What fun!

I overheard an interesting exchange between two older men at the YMCA yesterday. One of them was saying something about Adam and Eve, and I think he was trying to say that everything is created for the benefit of man. Whether that be the case, it prompted me to thinking. From the creation myth in Genesis it does seem that all things are created for the man, but on closer inspection, one could give an interesting feminist reading to the passage. God created all the universe out of nothing — ex nihilo…except man. He created Adam from the dust of the earth, something that had already created. Then he took a rib from Adam and created Eve. It’s interesting that Adam is made of and from dirt but Eve is made of flesh, though she will return to dirt because of the very nature of flesh. The point is simple: God made a man out of mud but made a woman out of something a little less primitive. Naturally, that is a twentieth-century reading, and when applied to such an ancient text it cannot yield any legitimate exegetical fruits (that sounds pompous). Still, it does make for an interesting observation.

Nearing Departure

Friday 10 May 1996

Things are set: On Saturday 1 June at 8:30 a.m. I’ll leave Tri-Cities for Charlotte where I’ll stay for about two hours before I leave for Washington, arriving in the capitol at 11:00 a.m. No one will be there to meet me at the airport, so I’ll have to get a taxi or something I guess. The registration begins at 2:00 and goes until around 3:30 — I believe we can register anytime in that hour and a half, so I might head out and explore for a while, though I’m not sure it would be the greatest idea. We have meetings until 6:30, at which time I suppose we’re free for the evening.

In three weeks I’m leaving. Am I the biggest fool on the face of the earth? What the hell am I doing? It’s going to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, and it will also be the most rewarding thing I’ve ever experienced. In the meantime I’ve got a lot of things to do: people to see, things to buy, issues to clear up. I’ll be busy, to say the least.

Also included in the packet was a guide to luggage restrictions. I might have to check in my pack instead of taking it as carry-on luggage. The carry-on baggage is very small in volume and it can only weight eleven pounds. That will restrict my packing ability a great deal. I’ll probably have to get my parents to send the guitar at a later date.

I’m feeling quite dead. I have nothing to say. I’ve dried up, as if I think nothing whatsoever. I can’t stand this. I have had so much to write about in the past, and now I am empty. Is it because of the Peace Corps? Am I simply so overwhelmed that I can’t find the words to express the feelings? The problem is that I don’t feel anything. I’m just biding my time, waiting for the tremendous reality of what I’m about to do to come thundering down around me. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, and yet I don’t feel overwhelmed that often. It’s a strange experience, a strange emotion (or lack thereof).

Imagining Icy Streets

Sunday 19 November 1995

Speaking of Peace Corps, I was thinking about it yesterday and I realized that I’ve always thought of it in a sort of third person narrative way. I see myself doing these things as if I’m watching a movie; yet I will not be seeing it — I’ll be doing it. It’s difficult to imagine that, though. It’s something so new to me that all I can do is pretend I’m watching a film of myself running through the icy streets of a Polish village, trying to get back to my apartment before I freeze to death.

Teaching and Doubts

Friday 1 September 1995

Now, after four years of training and preparation, I am doubting my desire to teach. Today was the most brutal day I have ever endured. I cannot imagine doing anything other than teaching, yet right now I cannot imagine ever surviving teaching.

Today I taught a class of freshman that almost drove me to a point of frustration that I have never before experienced. It was ineffably chaotic. There was absolutely no respect in the room. I went in with an open mind; I went in expecting bright students who were merely chronically unmotivated. Instead I found children with whom I had to consciously restrain myself from screaming “You are the dumbest bunch of people I have ever encountered!” I was so frustrated, and that frustration led to incredible anger. Yet I had no where to direct that agonizing exasperation. I couldn’t hold it against the kids that they had never been in an environment in which learning was admired. I couldn’t blame then for merely continuing the cycle set forth by ignorant parents. I couldn’t blame them for any of it, yet there they were, begging for attention in their own ways, and all I could muster was a desire to physically harm them.

There have been times in the honors freshman class that I felt as if I was about to lose control, as if the kids were going to manipulate me so that they ended up running the class. Such was the case in third period. They knew exactly what they were doing; they knew that they could drive me crazy. And I let them. I simply ran out of ways to explain things, ran out of ways to try to grab their attention. And most obviously I simply ran out of patience. There came a point at which I didn’t have any idea what to do — and they kept on going.

What made it so doubly frustrating is the fact that I was trying and they were not. Well, they were not trying to learn, that is. They succeeded in their efforts; I failed in mine. All I ask is that they try. While we were going over “The Invalid’s Story” (I certainly wasn’t teaching it), they kept saying “It’s stupid because it makes no sense.” Yet they didn’t try to understand it. They read it; they didn’t understand it; they closed their minds to it. I don’t think they wanted to understand it either. They just did not care and I was trying desperately to care; I failed in that too, for I finally threw my arms up and said, “Screw it!” At that moment I lost all credibility with them. I will never be able to win their respect; they won.

Such language as “they won” points out that which is obvious about education: it’s a game. Students try to wear down the teacher’s patience while the teachers try to wear down the student’s ignorance and lack of understanding. The only problem is that right now they have more experience playing their role than I have with mine.

I was trying so hard not to be an authoritarian about keeping class order, yet they were dictatorial in their attempts to inflict chaos and confusion on the whole class. I found myself wondering if things would have been different if I had had them from the beginning of the year. I had ninety minutes to establish a presence; that must certainly be too little time, for anyone, much less an inexperienced student teaching. If I could have had an opportunity to foster mutual respect from the beginning of the term then things would be significantly different. I didn’t want to yell and scream; I didn’t want to force them to stay in their seats. Yet their lack of discipline demanded nothing less.

What made the situation seem almost helpless and hopeless was the fact that there was nothing I could do about it. There is no form of immediate discipline that I could think of which was ethical. The only response I could devise would be infliction of physical pain. Yet what would that accomplish? I couldn’t give them detention because making them stay after school would only make them hate school even worse; it would serve only to make my job even more difficult.

Almost inevitably I took out my frustrations on fourth period. I gave them a quiz on “The Invalid’s Story” and it was so difficult to work out with the students an adequate way of off-setting the quiz’s ambiguity and difficulty that I just told them to forget it. “I’ll just give you all full credit and be done with it.” Yet their lively spirit eventually brought me around, and their eagerness to understand what we were going over was gratifying — I smiled.

Yet the day was not over. Not even close. During the last ten minutes of class — time I needed desperately — there was a fire drill.* So I fell even further behind schedule which means to catch up I have to assign more homework.

Of course all of this calls into question whether I can survive being a teacher. I felt so inadequate and ineffective today. And yet after a soothing bowl from my new brier and some time to fume and reflect, I feel much better. I am almost willing to give it another shot. What holds me back is a fear that tomorrow (or Tuesday in this case) will only bring more of the same. I wonder how anyone can endure this emotional boxing match for year after year. Mr. DePriest is entering his thirtieth year of teaching. Thirty years! That’s about 5,400 days. I find myself in awe that he has endured that long, for I am certainly wondering if I can survive a mere nine weeks. Or look at Doc Maples (whom the school gave a 70th birthday “bash”) who has probably been teaching at least twice as long as I’ve been living.

And what about the Peace Corps? If I can’t handle this then I certainly could not handle such a daunting adventure. If I can’t do any better than what I’ve done today then I might as well call Dot Kelly right now and tell her, “I’m out!” I know I’m bigger than that; I know I can accomplish these things; I know I can teach. I’m just having a little trouble believing it right now.

Application

Wednesday 8 March 1995

“All of these spirit voices rule the night…” I finally finished and mailed my Peace Corps application the other day (Monday, I think). It’s just a question of waiting for a response now. I REALLY want to do that. I can’t imagine what an incredible opportunity that would be. I know I have a romanticised vision of what it would be like — I know it will be much harder than I ever conceived. I don’t know how long it will take to hear from them. That’s what’s so annoying. I would like to know, “We’ll have a decision within two months; within six weeks…” whatever. It doesn’t matter. I just would like a time-frame. Nothing on the application indicated how long it would take, unless the ten months was a time frame. I think that was from receipt of application to initiation of training. I could be wrong though. I’ve decided to start preparing for graduate school just in case I don’t get accepted. I’ve also realized that I will be getting a MA in English with a concentration in creative writing. I think that will be better than a full-blown MFA in creative writing — at least it will be more useful.