So much of what I've written over the past year has focused on Mommy and our relationship, but today is Daddy's Day. He loved St. Patrick's Day, and used to send countdown emails to any one "lucky" enough to be on his distribution list. Truthfully, everyone looked forward to the emails. They would come monthly, then weekly, then finally daily, complete with pictures, bits of Irish history, song lyrics, you name it. St. Patrick's Day was a season, just like Christmas. The house would be decorated, the flag would be out for the whole month before. We'd go to the Annunciation Parish celebration, with music, mass, then the young kids dancing in the school gym, complete with corned beef sandwiches. Usually the next day was the Yonkers parade, which was always fun. But the best part was going to Rory's afterward. On the day itself, we sometimes went to the parade, and sometimes watched it at home. One year, Dad and I went for lunch at Rory's and then Mom met us after school. Another year, he met me down at US Trust and we went to the Pig and Whistle for lunch. My cousin Anthony was working there at the time, and he joined us. Then, we went back to work and Dad went to see the parade, and ended up marching with the Clare contingent.
Maybe the most memorable parade was the 2002 parade. The city was still recovering from the 9/11 attacks, and it was a very moving parade. The moment I will never forget was when the firefighters, carrying 343 American flags, turned and faced south on Fifth Avenue, observing 2 minutes of silence for the fallen of 9/11. There wasn't a dry eye all up and down Fifth Avenue. That was the last time I went to the parade with Daddy. I was either working, or living in Mexico during subsequent St. Patrick's Days. But, for his last St. Patrick's Day (the one when I was in Mexico), he and Mommy met our cousins, the Goldings and DiFalcos, in the City and marched with them for a short time. I remember getting an email from one of my cousins from the parade route. I know how special it was for Daddy, and I only wish I could have shared it with him.
After he died, some people asked if I would continue his countdown, but it didn't seem right. That was his thing. But, today I did send an email, and included a link to a youtube clip of his favorite Irish song, "A Nation Once Again." It reminded me of his funeral, actually, but not in a bad way. At the graveside, we all sang the song, and I remember my Uncle Tony commenting, "Only Joe Cleary could get a bunch of Puerto Ricans to sing an Irish song." But that said everything about my dad, and my family. You wouldn't think an Irish-American guy and a Puerto Rican family would blend so well, but Daddy was welcomed in to the family so fully, that it was like he had always been one of them. He was even the one to do the eulogy when Mama passed away. He was as much her son as any of my 7 Uncles.
I think about both Mommy and Daddy every day, but some days it's more potent, and this is one of them. They had amazing weather in NY, so he would have definitely gone to the parade, and right about now, he'd be getting ready for Pete Smith's party. But, he's not, and I'm living in a country that, let's face it, doesn't really mark this holiday! Oh, well, there's always next year in NY. And, I'm happy to celebrate this year with the knowledge that I have received my Irish citizenship - Daddy would love that!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Happy Birthday Mommy
I just wanted to include a quick entry today, which would have been Mommy's 66th birthday. Thought about her a lot today, especially as I had to deal with observation at school today. I asked her for help in getting through the observation and for it to go well. The answer came in a weird way. The result was not what I wanted, but is not actually surprising given the current climate at school. I realized on my walk to the train that what Mommy gave me was perspective. Perspective allowed me to see the process here for what it is and to remember that in 10 years of teaching, on the college level, and high school level, and in 2 years in the Foreign Service, I never got anything less than an outstanding evaluation. And, aside from kids with axes to grind (see "40" in last post), I've always had an excellent rapport with my students. I know I'm a good teacher, a knowledgeable teacher, a teacher who inspires students and gets them to think about the world around them. That's not arrogance, that's truth.
The problem here is that my idea of what makes a good teacher (you know, actually teaching for example) seems to be the antithesis of what the government here thinks makes a good teacher (moderating activities and ticking boxes). I'm comfortable with who I am and what I do, and I know I make a difference as a teacher. And, from what I've seen, if that seems to clash with Ofsted's idea of good teaching, then I must be doing something right.
This is the sort of thing I would have probably discussed at length with Mommy, probably over cocktails while watching the news in the den. Life is different now, but I felt her with me, and I know I was the stronger for it. So, Happy Birthday, Mommy. I love you and I miss you.
The problem here is that my idea of what makes a good teacher (you know, actually teaching for example) seems to be the antithesis of what the government here thinks makes a good teacher (moderating activities and ticking boxes). I'm comfortable with who I am and what I do, and I know I make a difference as a teacher. And, from what I've seen, if that seems to clash with Ofsted's idea of good teaching, then I must be doing something right.
This is the sort of thing I would have probably discussed at length with Mommy, probably over cocktails while watching the news in the den. Life is different now, but I felt her with me, and I know I was the stronger for it. So, Happy Birthday, Mommy. I love you and I miss you.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
24 and a half plus 7 equals 40. No, wait . . .
No, my math skills haven't finally bitten the dust. Not that they were so high above the dust to begin with. I can still remember getting a score lower than my age on a calculus test in college. But I mean, come on! Who really uses calculus, other than mathematicians? Anyway, I digress (as usual). These numbers are merely representative of some of the things that have been going on since I last wrote. Let's start with the easy stuff. The HALF references the fact that we just had the February HALF-term holiday, which came after a particularly difficult first HALF of the spring term, but which also marked that we are HALF-way through the school year. Since coming back from the holiday, I feel better physically, and am so much more at ease with Angela's situation, which has been amazing. But, I've felt a bit wrong-footed at work. I'm not quite sure if it's actually me, though, as everyone is on edge following the Ofsted inspection. At any rate, some people have been a touch snippy, with comments that I don't quite know how to take - they could mean nothing, or they could represent their true feelings which they've been too polite to express before. I'm not going to go into specifics, but I'm trying not to take it personally, trying to chalk it up to the pressure and stress that everyone is under. Just keeping my head down.
So, 7. 7 refers simply to the number of hours I had to deal with a screaming baby on my ride home to NY over half-term. It penetrated even through my earbuds, and I had a pounding headache by the time I reached my apartment. In fact, I don't really know what was worse, the screaming baby, or her Chav mother trying to "soothe" her by loudly humming the theme tune to "The A-Team." Frankly, if she were my mother, I'd cry too.
The trip home was good, and generated a few numbers of its own: 5 is the number of boxes I unpacked. 4 is the number of contractors I met with to do the kitchen and bath, and I'm still too traumatized to actually write down the numbers they gave me to do the work! 3 is the number of suitcases full of clothes I brought back to NY so I wouldn't have to ship them. 2 is the number of suitcases full of groceries I brought back to London (6 boxes of cereal, 8 boxes of mac n cheese, 10 boxes of granola bars, etc.) And, finally, 1 is the number of miracles my family was granted this year.
Moving on to 40. That's a bit of a funny one. They say you should never read your reviews, but I've never been good at following that advice. So, I found a somewhat nasty review of me on ratemyteachers.com from the end of last year (so an Ursuline girl). Now, at the risk of sounding cocky, I'm a good teacher and my students like me. Just look at the number of caring girls who came to Mommy's wake last year. But, there's always a few you can't reach, and there's always those who decide to get back at you if they get in trouble, or do poorly. Students are virtually powerless, so they resort to things like websites that allow you to vent your poison anonymously (quite brave, huh?). Anyway, this particular spoiled brat had a few things to say, but my favorite was "She's jealous that I'm three times the writer at 18 that she is at 40. Sad." You can imagine my ire at this! How dare she! I am not 40!!!!
And that brings me to the last number: 24. This is a number I've thought about a lot over the last few weeks. It's another life philosophy of mine for when life tries to knock you down. Some people believe that being strong means you don't let things affect you, but that's not true. Being an English teacher, it makes me think of a quote from Macbeth. When Macduff is told of the murder of his family, he is overcome with grief. Malcolm tells him, "Dispute it like a man." Macduff responds, "I shall, but first I must feel it like a man." You have to feel things, and those feelings are valid. But, there comes a time when you have to put those feelings aside, deal with it and move on. So, many years ago, I came up with the 24-hour rule. Basically this rule means that, when something goes wrong, when you have a disappointment, or some issue at work or school, you get to wallow in self pity for 24 hours. But, after that, you need to get it together and deal. This way, the feelings are acknowledged and not bottled up, but you don't stay mired in them forever. Life goes on, and we need to go on with it. Even when we think we can't. I never imagined living without my parents, but here I am, still going. By the way, the 24 hour rule clearly would not apply in truly traumatic situations. You need more time for those. But, the basic principle is the same - eventually you have to get up out of the depths and start living again.
So, for a girl who hates math (or maths, as they say here), I certainly have been consumed by numbers lately. I'm sure it's just a passing fever and the world will right itself soon. Only time will tell . . .
So, 7. 7 refers simply to the number of hours I had to deal with a screaming baby on my ride home to NY over half-term. It penetrated even through my earbuds, and I had a pounding headache by the time I reached my apartment. In fact, I don't really know what was worse, the screaming baby, or her Chav mother trying to "soothe" her by loudly humming the theme tune to "The A-Team." Frankly, if she were my mother, I'd cry too.
The trip home was good, and generated a few numbers of its own: 5 is the number of boxes I unpacked. 4 is the number of contractors I met with to do the kitchen and bath, and I'm still too traumatized to actually write down the numbers they gave me to do the work! 3 is the number of suitcases full of clothes I brought back to NY so I wouldn't have to ship them. 2 is the number of suitcases full of groceries I brought back to London (6 boxes of cereal, 8 boxes of mac n cheese, 10 boxes of granola bars, etc.) And, finally, 1 is the number of miracles my family was granted this year.
Moving on to 40. That's a bit of a funny one. They say you should never read your reviews, but I've never been good at following that advice. So, I found a somewhat nasty review of me on ratemyteachers.com from the end of last year (so an Ursuline girl). Now, at the risk of sounding cocky, I'm a good teacher and my students like me. Just look at the number of caring girls who came to Mommy's wake last year. But, there's always a few you can't reach, and there's always those who decide to get back at you if they get in trouble, or do poorly. Students are virtually powerless, so they resort to things like websites that allow you to vent your poison anonymously (quite brave, huh?). Anyway, this particular spoiled brat had a few things to say, but my favorite was "She's jealous that I'm three times the writer at 18 that she is at 40. Sad." You can imagine my ire at this! How dare she! I am not 40!!!!
And that brings me to the last number: 24. This is a number I've thought about a lot over the last few weeks. It's another life philosophy of mine for when life tries to knock you down. Some people believe that being strong means you don't let things affect you, but that's not true. Being an English teacher, it makes me think of a quote from Macbeth. When Macduff is told of the murder of his family, he is overcome with grief. Malcolm tells him, "Dispute it like a man." Macduff responds, "I shall, but first I must feel it like a man." You have to feel things, and those feelings are valid. But, there comes a time when you have to put those feelings aside, deal with it and move on. So, many years ago, I came up with the 24-hour rule. Basically this rule means that, when something goes wrong, when you have a disappointment, or some issue at work or school, you get to wallow in self pity for 24 hours. But, after that, you need to get it together and deal. This way, the feelings are acknowledged and not bottled up, but you don't stay mired in them forever. Life goes on, and we need to go on with it. Even when we think we can't. I never imagined living without my parents, but here I am, still going. By the way, the 24 hour rule clearly would not apply in truly traumatic situations. You need more time for those. But, the basic principle is the same - eventually you have to get up out of the depths and start living again.
So, for a girl who hates math (or maths, as they say here), I certainly have been consumed by numbers lately. I'm sure it's just a passing fever and the world will right itself soon. Only time will tell . . .
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