The Scamp Needs Some Motivation
photo courtesy of The Berry
Ed.D Phase
The Scamp and a Present
I like giving presents.
Well, that’s not true. I like giving meaningful presents. I love finding the perfect gift for someone and seeing their face when they open it.
Then there was this boy. I found two presents I thought he would like, and after I bought them, he told me that he is hard to buy presents for, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He had me worried. I talked to my mom, my sister, and my best friend about to make sure what I got him wasn’t stupid or cheesy. It is not like me to second guess my choices, but when he told em he wouldn’t like it, I was really thought there was a chance that he wouldn’t.
These are the presents:
This one is pretty self explanatory. He is a scientist, and he has worked his way into my heart, so I thought this would be a fitting piece of art for the wall in his room.
This picture is different. It made me laugh. We have exactly one picture together:
and while it is a great picture (I mean, come on, look at the windows in his living room!), the picture of the two skeletons speak to us as a couple. I am always threatening to punch him in the face, and he is always trying to get in my pants. The picture makes me giggle, and I was hoping that every time he looked at it, he would giggle too.
Score one for me though. He loved the pictures. I got a real smile, a very nice kiss, and a “well done” (which is the same thing he said to me when I told him about the A on my dissertation. It is not so much the words, but the tone of voice…..like the guy in Babe, when he says, “That’ll do pig.” and Babe knows he succeeded).
This just reaffirms my love for giving meaningful gifts, and it gives me some hope that even after heartstompapoloza, I can be a part of a functional human relationship.
Should anyone be interested in the artwork, the lovely artist can be found here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/frenchprints?ref=l2-shopheader-name. There are almost 700 prints to choose from, all of them beautiful.
The Scamp and the Brazilian
Despite my reluctance in the philosophy class, I am enjoying the final assignment. I have been tasked with picking a philosopher and not only really getting comfortable with their philosophy, but connecting that philosophy to my teaching and my everyday life. I’ve known since the first day of class that I was a critical thinker and that I wanted to dive into the life of my favorite Bazillion critical thinker Paulo Freire.
photo courtesy of dcefacha.blogspot.com
I have been utilizing Freire’s theories in my teaching philosophy for years. He played a major role in the theoretical underpinnings of both of my masters. and I know that he will be well utilized in my dissertation that has yet to be written. I love his views on literacy and teaching students to take charge of their education and become global citizens for change. More often than not, I am teaching my students how to write, and how to use those skills to do research and to take an active role in their learning. I’m still new to teaching, and still trying to find my footing in how much power I give my students while meeting the curricular standards set by the college.
In the course of my research I found a book called Letters to Cristina (http://books.google.com/books?id=PViMUBJnmm8C&printsec=frontcover&dq=letters+to+cristina&hl=en&sa=X&ei=jTFeUqO_BuHqiQLGioCwCg&ved=0CDwQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=letters%20to%20cristina&f=false). The book is a series of letters Freire wrote to his niece exploring his life and work in a deeply personal and profound way. I had only planned to skim the book to get a general sense of what his early life was like and how that might have affected his views on literacy and education later in life, and so far, I have read every word. I am amazed at the passion that flows off the page, and the deeply reflective nature that he took all the way to his death in the late 90s. He grew up in poverty, and recognized that he was not in a position to succeed in life, and that he was going to have to work hard if he was going to make something of himself. He carried that drive and determination to everything that he did, and then developed a method of teaching that allowed people to not only learn to read quickly, but also gain a sense of empowerment in the progress they made in their reading abilities, and use that feeling of empowerment to register to vote and make changes to their place in society. Freire was exiled in 60s for his beliefs, and his book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (http://books.google.com/books/about/Pedagogy_of_the_Oppressed.html?id=UtDcQgAACAAJ) is used in American schools of education and was circulated in South Africa during the Apartheid in an effort to rally the people to fight for change.
Reading his letters, and reading the underlying passion that is in those letters made me question my passions. At 26 years old, I am not sure I have ever had that level of passion for anything except the well being of my mother and my need to travel. One of those causes is important, but one of them is extremely self serving. The program that I am in now is preparing me to go into the world of community colleges and be a leader. I want to be the type of leader that Freire was; the type of leader that fights for the underdog and gives up his own rights and freedoms to make sure that those being oppressed have a voice.
My ultimate goal in life is to run a literacy program, whether it be a nonprofit or at a college or university. I want to work with adults as well as children, and if I get my way, I want it to be global. That way I can help people learn to read, and satisfy my wanderlust at the same time. I’m young, and still have plenty of time to find my passion, but I feel like I am already behind when I read Freire’s work. While I am not trying to be one of the great minds of this century (Although I happen to think my mind is pretty freaking awesome), I would like to be able to make a difference in one person’s life.
I’m not sure what else I will discover in the course of my research, but since I am still riding the high of the A on my dissertation, I am feeling very good about the way the paper will come together. I’m hoping that good feeling will also stay with me during my qualifying exam this summer…..anything is possible, right?
In the meantime, I will try to get in the mindset of one of the greatest minds of the 20th century, and start doing some good in the world.
The Scamp and the Tough Academic Week
This week was tough for me in the academic world. I was told that I do not understand what it means to struggle in academia (or in life for that matter) because I am white. I was told that the American educational system is set up for white people to succeed, and for the rest of the population to struggle. Because of the color of my skin, I cannot possibly know or understand the path that people who are not white have to take.
The person who said this to me is studying to become an educational leader. They will one day run a program, or be a dean of a college campus, and affect policy and choices made in regards to students’ education.
This frustrating to me on many levels. On a superficial level I am angry because I am not 100% white (my mama is Cuban), and I do not feel like I should be dismissed as white just because I have been living in Scotland and my skin tone resembles that of Casper the Friendly ghost. On a deeper level, I am frustrated by the insinuation that because I look white, I cannot empathize with a person of another race who has to endure hardship in the world of education. I’ve lived and worked in a variety of places and had the privilege to get to know and interact with a variety of people, many who have not had an easy go in life. I am also frustrated because while my road to higher education hasn’t really had that many bumps, it has not been all sunshine and roses. I grew up in a single parent household, and had to work really hard to get scholarships and aid to go to college. I don’t think I need to mention the disease that sometimes makes me so tired that even rolling over in bed is too much effort, and that in a down cycle the pain in my hands makes it almost impossible to hold a pencil or type on a keyboard.
I fully recognize that I am very lucky. I have parents who support me and helped me pay of school the best they could, and I have access to medication that helps me control the bad days. My bumps are small compared to many, but I resent that the color of my skin excludes my struggles from mattering. I am also worried that someone who carries this attitude into our classroom, will carry it into the workplace. This is potentially alienating for anyone who is white, and therefore does not seem to be deserving of help because they do not have to struggle the way other ethnic groups do.
The conversation then turned to religion, and because I was already keyed up about race, I got a little snide about why Christian morals should not be used as the framework for schools because not everyone wants a religion they may not subscribe to shoved down their throats. The thing is, I like morals, I even have a few. I also like religion. I have no problem with people who are guided by their religion in the shaping of their morals. I don’t think religion and public schools go together all that well, and I don’t think one religion should be given preferential treatment over another, but I understand people who are ultra serious about their religion.
While I know that I should just write it off as a bad day and being oversensitive, but two days later I am still annoyed about it. I wasted yesterday in a blah mood, and while today has been better for my productivity, I am not looking forward to more conversations that will lead to me being wrong because I was born white…..like I had a choice in that. I think we all know that if I could choose, I would choose to be leopard print.
The Scamp Falls in Love With Brilliance
The Scamp Gets the Good News
After months of waiting, I finally got the provisional results on my dissertation. When I heard the scores went up, I wasn’t going to look. I knew that I wasn’t going to fail, and I know that my dissertation is the best piece of academic work I have written, so I didn’t really feel the need to know the grade. Curiosity got the best of me though, and when I did look, I was happy to see that my genius was recognized and I feel my grade was in line with what I felt I had earned.
The best part of it was the comments I got were constructed. A few of the critiques were things that my supervisor asked me to do, but I would not have done on my own, and the rest of the comments were positive, and helpful for the editing process and hopefully allow me to get the piece published.
This grade completes my journey in Scotland. In a couple of weeks I will have the official results, and in 6 weeks I will graduate and be able to celebrate one of the best years of my life. The A on the paper sums up my grade of my time there (if I was going to put a grade on it). The confidence I gained from that paper will carry me to the first major assignment that I have to write for the philosophy class.
I celebrated the achievement with a mojito, and got a standing ovation from the kids I work with on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The kids were super cute about it, and then asked me to write all of their papers for them. I’m going to save the real celebration for graduation week in Scotland. I think it is best to celebrate at the Blind poet and sing karaoke.
Things have started to get really busy with school, and my new job starts soon, but right this moment, I am in a good place. I’m getting myself out of my funk, I’m learning better time management and getting things done, and I am finally starting to see the point in the philosophy class….I’d say that is progress.
Now if I could figure out how to afford insurance and make my loan payment, I would be golden.
The Scamp Learns Through Osmosis
Let’s be honest, the best way to learn about American community colleges is put the book over my tired face and hope that the musty smell of old library book will help my brain absorb all I need. This picture was taken at 8:30…on a Thursday. There is no reason that I should be as tired as I am, and no reason why I couldn’t read the 36 pages assigned for next week.
This is my second attempt at doing homework. I spent a good three hours trying to code and synthesize books and journal articles for my research class, and after falling asleep twice in my office chair, I decided it was time to switch gears. The picture is proof of how well that worked. I’m only on page 11 (and I am pretty sure the first chapter started on page 10).
This week was hard for me. I’m exhausted. I would love to blame it on the 5 miles I did at the gym yesterday and today, but I know that isn’t the reason.
Stress is the reason. For the last year I have been unemployed. School was my only job. I was in Scotland walking everywhere, on a good sleep schedule, and getting enough fresh air to make me almost forget that I wasn’t seeing the sun. Now that I am home, I have something to do or somewhere to be almost every day of the week. Two days a week I am with my Dillybean, two days a week I am working as an AVID tutor, two days a week I do nothing but homework in order to be ready for my Monday study group. I also have the added bonus of a being completely twitterpaited with a boy I can only see on the weekends. All of this is good stress. I love my Dillybean, I love working with AVID, my study group is amazing, and I signed up for the degree, so the homework has to be done. The thing is, the stress hits me extra hard, and wreaks havoc on me. Thanks to my disease, my body goes into shutdown mode to deal with stress. Suddenly everything from focusing on my reading, to walking up stairs, to chewing food is hard for me. My life is very different than it was a year ago. Very very different.
To combat this, I am going to spend the weekend in my pjs, doing my reading and research, get some quality time with my yoga mat, and take a lot of naps.
Hopefully by Monday I will know a little bit more about American community colleges, and will feel a little less like I’ve been awake for 48 hours.
Wish me luck….I’m going to need it.
The Scamp and Change
I like to think that I am constantly changing, maturing and evolving, but despite my best thoughts, for the most part I am a creature of habit and there are some habits that are hard for me to break. I did a lot of maturing and changing while I was in Scotland, but found myself slipping back into the old habits when I came home. I’ve had to be kicked in the butt more than once and reminded that I am not the person I was a year ago.
This weekend I got to attend the wedding of two people that I care about a lot. I met them in Merced, and have remained close to them since. I saw them a lot when I was in San Diego, and I got care package in Scotland with pictures and drawings from their daughter. Their wedding was special because it was a celebration a long time in the making, and it meant the chance to reunite a lot of people that I had not seen since I left Merced.
To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the awkward college reunion. I’m not good at talking about myself, and I am not that good at small talk. This is the second wedding I have attended this summer for people I went to college with, and the second chance to catch up with people I used to spend a lot of time with. Despite my antisocial leanings, it was interesting to hear what everyone is doing now, and nice to see that many of them are doing work in their fields of interest.
The one thing I was dreading was running into my ex-boyfriend. The relationship ended three years ago, and while it was a less then pleasant ending, there are no lingering feelings or bad feelings, I just didn’t feel the need to play catch-up with him. I was doing pretty good at the avoidance thing. I didn’t see him at all until the reception started, and even then, I spent my time catching up with one of my favorite people from college, and getting to know his girlfriend. Things were going great until I got cornered and forced into a conversation I didn’t want to have. He started the conversation by awkwardly referencing our bad breakup and asking me if I still hated him. Old Kim would have done this:
but I took the high road and right when I could feel myself getting annoyed enough to hit him, I ended the conversation by telling him the only thing I miss about him is his dog, and I didn’t care about the breakup when it happened and I don’t care about it now.
That is mostly true. I cared then, but I don’t now. The me now can’t imagine what the me then saw in him, and is sad that at one point, I loved him. I mentioned this to friends after the wedding and one of them said something that really stuck with me. He told me that he believes that people are never the same. The him of now is not the him of five minutes ago, and not the him of an hour from now. The things that he says now he may not believe later, and that is perfectly okay, That really stuck with me because 3 years ago I was in love with the ex. I was happy with him, and it was a good relationship. When I saw him this weekend, I couldn’t figure out what I ever saw in him, and how I could love a slob with no direction. Then I figured out that the me three years ago was okay with that, and the me now knows that I deserve (and have) better.
All in all, I’m glad I went to the wedding and was a part of the mini college reunion. I like the change that many of them are doing, and I am proud of myself for keeping my hands to myself and my mouth mostly in check.
I played this song all the way down the hill after the wedding and toasted myself for taking one more step in becoming an adult.
Nanny Scamp
For the next few weeks I will be helping my cousins by watching their daughter. I love hanging out with my little Dillybean. She’s pretty mellow, and my Grinch heart melts a little every time she falls asleep on me. A lot of times I won’t put her in her crib right away because she is so cuddly and warm, and she smells like clean baby.
She feeds herself, allowing me two hands to hold my textbook open
She naps like clockwork…and looks cute doing it
She thinks my jokes are funny
She wakes up in the strangest positions
I really enjoy spending time with her. This is good for me because I have a little money coming in now until I start my new job next month, and I have a new found respect for the people in my cohort with families, especially the people with babies. While taking care of her is easy, it does require my full attention and I do not get as much studying done as I thought I would when I am with her. Usually I can hold her while I read, but she is squirmy, and she needs to be stimulated (she also thinks that my History of American Higher Education book is boring, so reading that to her is a no go). I suppose I could put on Baby TV for a bit to keep her entertained, but I find that channel to be a form of torture for me, so I sing her silly songs, read her stories, or just walk her around and point out all the things around her. I usually leave ready for a nap.
I have a complete and total new found respect for working parents.
The Scamp and Poetry
I have been asked to write a poem.
In fact, I have been asked to write a “fucking sweet poem”.
I haven’t written poems in years…not since I took Writing 125 in Merced. In fact, it was in that class that I met the boy that asked for the poem.
I am not a poet. I write prose. I can spill my guts in a post here, write amusing stories about being fired from my first job, and do all of that without breaking a sweat. Ask me to write a poem though, and suddenly the room is hot and stuffy and my homework suddenly needs to be completely finished and perfect ahead of schedule.
Unfortunately, I have finished all of the work that needs to be completed tonight. Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. I have an amazing study group, and divide and conquer is keeping me within a manageable reading and research load. I should have gone to bed awhile ago, but instead, I thought I would try to write the poem.
I wrote the poem….or mostly a bunch of words on a page. They don’t rhyme, there is no structure, but the are meaningful.
I only wish I was as clever as Dr. Seuss. A Seussical poem would be a “fucking sweet poem” that would be sure to earn me some points. A sonnet might work too…..
The Scamp Abroad 