What a gift it was to be able to be with you again this special summer in your lives—Watching you develop powerful, true voices has been a particular thrill to me. You know how I feel about writing—it is not simply a skill you need—it is your birthright—to discover your voice, the power, the uniqueness of your own special way of expressing the truth is one of the most important efforts of your lives. You may not fully realize it today—but I’m confident you will eventually come to know how critical it is. You will all need to become lifelong learners—if that makes you tired—I’m sorry. The world is changing fast and you’ll need to change along with it if you want your dreams to be more than just daydreams. But I know you can do it—you know you can do it.
One last lesson I hope you’ve learned from me is that the quality of your academic work represents you and the young lady you will become. If you aren’t satisfied with it—keep on working. Don’t be afraid of hard work. Your work is not your teacher’s work—it is not about who your parents are—or the school you attend—or even the friends you have. It is a manifestation of your imagination, your creativity, your gifts, and your skills. Like it or not, you own it! How much are you willing to invest in yourselves? When you cease needing deadlines, assignments, coaxing, reminders, and threats, when you read difficult material on your own for yourself, record your thoughts and ideas without expectation of praise or reward, you will finally discover the joy of owning your mind and the fruits of its labor.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
Two Ways to Herd Sheep
Let us tell ourselves
stories: one evening in Lake Creek Valley
just west of Low Pass in the Coastal Mountains of western Oregon
the dog with one blue eye and one brown
is herding the sheep along a ragged fence row,
The horse knows what to do.
The rider, uncertain, gropes along,
her mind circles above in wide looping gestures
imposing a narrative on disparate images:
the dog’s blue eye, the horse’s forelock, the sheep, the fence.
The dog positions himself.
The horse, impatient with the rider, tosses her head
The sheep know just what to do.
Together, they turn--pushing through the narrow gate
and into the clapboard corral.
Another evening, another ride
The blue/brown-eyed dog is gone hunting for elk
in the Cascade mountains above Mackenzie Pass
The rider, in anxious pantomime, whistles,
shouts to the phantom dog
her pretense hovers in an uneasy cloud above her.
Still,
the horse knows. The sheep know.
Still,
they pivot, in unified homage,
a stream of instinct—narrowing themselves again
through the corral gate.
The rider knows just what to do.
stories: one evening in Lake Creek Valley
just west of Low Pass in the Coastal Mountains of western Oregon
the dog with one blue eye and one brown
is herding the sheep along a ragged fence row,
The horse knows what to do.
The rider, uncertain, gropes along,
her mind circles above in wide looping gestures
imposing a narrative on disparate images:
the dog’s blue eye, the horse’s forelock, the sheep, the fence.
The dog positions himself.
The horse, impatient with the rider, tosses her head
The sheep know just what to do.
Together, they turn--pushing through the narrow gate
and into the clapboard corral.
Another evening, another ride
The blue/brown-eyed dog is gone hunting for elk
in the Cascade mountains above Mackenzie Pass
The rider, in anxious pantomime, whistles,
shouts to the phantom dog
her pretense hovers in an uneasy cloud above her.
Still,
the horse knows. The sheep know.
Still,
they pivot, in unified homage,
a stream of instinct—narrowing themselves again
through the corral gate.
The rider knows just what to do.
Is it just me or is it hot in here?
So finally our conservative friends, the ones who have discounted scientific evidence for global warming (not to mention everything else), have a new tactic--admit we have a problem and quickly serve up a solution that will benefit their bloodsucking corporate pals. Yes, my friends, "noocuelar" power! Get ready for Halliburtan to get another no-bid contract. No one will object because we'll need the jobs. New Zealand is looking better and better.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Summer School 2005
Dominican High School & Academy was founded by my friends the Adrian Dominican nuns more than 60 years ago. It's growth and demise echo Detroit's--white flight, fewer and fewer young women willing to forgo the social push/pull of co-ed high school, and fewer parents able to afford the luxury of private school. From 1997 until 2004, I taught English to mostly African American girls--young women really--until the apparent futility of attracting more students overwhelmed me. I decided to let go and move on.
I focused on my favorite subject--writing--and decided to say "no" to everything else. Writing transforms...writing well empowers. The most significant changes I had the priviledge to initiate involved young women discovering their voices. So, I now teach both at Wayne State and Siena Heights Universities.
When the principal from Dominican called me to teach summer school, I jumped at the chance to reconnect with my "girls" and to offer them my newly acquired insights. I developed and course just for them--Senior Composition. The would learn everything they needed to know about writing for college.
The old saying, "you can't go home again," is usually confirmed by disappointing experiences, but in this case, I have gone home, and it has been more than satisfying. I am invigorated with their curiousity, their challenging questions, their humor and their love. The class has exceeded my expectations and theirs, as well.
Of course, it helps not to have to be concerned with the rolling of the skirts, uniform violations, chewing gum and all the other disciplinary annoyances. We eat in class, wear what we want to--wander off to the bathroom to check our voice mail. Since my students have chosen to be here with me, there is little to no resistance or slacking off--I say little--there is some, but it's understandable. The school is being packed up, the walls are almost bare, it is 90 degrees and sometimes we are simply struck with the sadness of tables in the dining hall stacked with dusty textbooks instead of noisy girls. The dumpster filled with desks moved me unexpectedly one morning.
In spite of witnessing the very end of something I loved so much, I'm glad to be there. I know that 12 young women will end the summer knowing they have a power that they can leverage throughout their lives and I fully expect their voices to be heard!
I focused on my favorite subject--writing--and decided to say "no" to everything else. Writing transforms...writing well empowers. The most significant changes I had the priviledge to initiate involved young women discovering their voices. So, I now teach both at Wayne State and Siena Heights Universities.
When the principal from Dominican called me to teach summer school, I jumped at the chance to reconnect with my "girls" and to offer them my newly acquired insights. I developed and course just for them--Senior Composition. The would learn everything they needed to know about writing for college.
The old saying, "you can't go home again," is usually confirmed by disappointing experiences, but in this case, I have gone home, and it has been more than satisfying. I am invigorated with their curiousity, their challenging questions, their humor and their love. The class has exceeded my expectations and theirs, as well.
Of course, it helps not to have to be concerned with the rolling of the skirts, uniform violations, chewing gum and all the other disciplinary annoyances. We eat in class, wear what we want to--wander off to the bathroom to check our voice mail. Since my students have chosen to be here with me, there is little to no resistance or slacking off--I say little--there is some, but it's understandable. The school is being packed up, the walls are almost bare, it is 90 degrees and sometimes we are simply struck with the sadness of tables in the dining hall stacked with dusty textbooks instead of noisy girls. The dumpster filled with desks moved me unexpectedly one morning.
In spite of witnessing the very end of something I loved so much, I'm glad to be there. I know that 12 young women will end the summer knowing they have a power that they can leverage throughout their lives and I fully expect their voices to be heard!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)