My Teaching Appreciation Day

I loved more deeply than I ever thought possible. I gave my everything - my heart, my soul, my free time, my thoughts, my money, my dreams, my creativity; my best. Every day I showed up ready to share all that I knew and I prayed that they could understand. This is what I mean when I say I was a teacher.

My students weren't my biological children, but they were all my kids. I cried for them and with them, I fought for them and against them, I cheered for them and supported them and I held their hands as we walked through the dangerous valleys and peaks of high school mathematics.

It was my calling. It was what I was put on this Earth to do. I know this because it was amazing,  I was amazing. Not every semester, of course, or with every class, but when the chemistry was right I simply could not deny that I was walking the path God had set out before me. It was beautiful, it was euphoric.

No one could stop me from pouring my entire soul into every lesson, every question, every activity and every child on my path. I would walk around the hallways with hand-written math problems hanging around my neck, I would invent fictitious civilizations that we would have to save with our math, I would stay up all night answering e-mails, updating blogs or websites and printing full-color worksheets, homework calendars and "goodies" for my kids and I would wear every ridiculous, nerdy math t-shirt I could get my hands on (or create!). My goal was to shred the fear and anxiety surrounding the subject I had come to love and to build a community of shared learning where we could all discover new techniques in problem solving. 

There were connections outside of the classroom as well. I tutored after school, chaperoned the prom, played paintball, bingo and dodgeball with students on their Senior trip, and spent countless days of my life at all types of sporting events (including the wildly popular Thanksgiving Eve Basketball game) and supported our theater and music program each season. And then there were the clubs... of course I advised the Math Tam/Math Club for years, but then there were others - Asian American Awareness Club, Karma Club, Anime Club, Animal Rights Club and the funniest one of all: Video Game Club.
  
At the end of the year, when the state tests came, I would call every single house of every single student I had to tell them their grade - good news or bad news - and have our last conversation before summer. It was the last of many, because I had the annoying habit of calling up the houses of my kids (especially the forgetful ones) for all types of things, "Hey, how's that homework going?" or "Any questions about tomorrow's test... Yeeeess, the test is TOMORROW," or, my favorite, "Hi Mom/Dad/Grandma/Grandpa, did your child tell you how awesome he/she was in class today?"

Teaching is the single most rewarding profession on this planet. The only thing that I can imagine holding a candle to it is parenthood. I am proud I was a teacher. No, let me rephrase that: I am proud that I AM a teacher ~ whether I am ever healthy enough to be able to re-enter the classroom, or achieve the greatest I once so mindlessly lived in, I don't believe anything can take away the teacher's soul within.


This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt.

"Tell the story (without any trivialization or modesty) of something in your life that you are proud of."

Look easy? I'm guessing it will be a bit tougher than you think.

We are so used to downplaying ourselves, of apologizing for pointing out our own accomplishments. And? We'll have none of that here!

Your word limit is 700 words.

My Lucky Black Widow Spider

Packed and ready to go!

Last night, after settling on the fact that I was going to have to take a bus, ferry and train with a black widow spider to bring her to an Animal Rescue place in Brooklyn that would be willing to take her if I brought her, I received a trip-saving facebook message.

One of my coworkers, Kelly (from the world of the science department, of course), informed me that she may be able to help! She had a friend who worked in the Staten Island Children's Museum and they had a "spider guy" who might be interested in my find. We wouldn't know until this morning, but that was OK, because the rescue place didn't open until 11 am anyway!

When I got the call this morning, it was awesome. This guy Frank was interested and he would come to me! I gave him a call right away, gave him my address and went to get the two jars. The new, second jar contained the "babies" we tried to capture yesterday evening. We only got about five of them, but they definitely were not calm like Portia was. I did not like them.

When the guy came he was impressed that we captured them and took a look at Portia. He said, "Wow... yeah, that's a northern black widow. No... wait," as he turned the jar at another angle, so he could see her even better, "that's a sourthern black widow." I am not a fan of my ability to surprise experts (I was getting flashbacks to my IIH diagnosis!).

I asked him what the difference was. He said that these black widows would typically start in Georgia and go down to Florida, not work their way up to New York. He said the difference was that southern black widows had a complete red hourglass on their abdomen while a northern black widow had two red triangles that didn't meet. And the final confirmation was the red markings where she spun her silk from. She was definitely a southern black widow spider and she had absolutely NO BUSINESS being in MY backyard in Staten Island, New York!

Frank then took a look at the "babies." He said they were not widows at all  as he took the lid off the jar. I nearly leaped to Polaris. He laughed, of course. He explained that they were normal house spiders. I explained that those guys love me.

After a cursory look around the exterior of the house and a look at the infamous red pot that black widow was found in, it was decided that she probably came from the William T. Davis Wildlife Refuge that I live down the block from. I was pretty surprised by this, but Frank said that this was only the third black widow spider that he has been called in on in 30 years. He said that people often call saying they have a black widow, but when he gets there, they were wrong.


My husband has been completely freaked out by this and thinks we should play the lotto. I told Frank this. He said, "With odds like this, maybe you should!" So I am sure, at some point tonight, we will be going to buy some lotto tickets.

From my perspective, though, I think I've already been pretty lucky with my black widow spider find. Here's why:

• I don't ever have to worry about the impending doom of the day when I will finally be face-to-face, by myself with a black widow spider. I don't have to wonder how I will react, how it will react, whether or not I will survive, whether or not I will be able to warn others. I did it. It is over.
• I honestly don't feel as terrified of black widow spiders. Frank explained that they don't "go after" humans. You either have to get pretty physical with one (practically squeezing it), or end up hitting her web to get bit. The web situation is scarier, since that can happen accidentally, but otherwise I almost asked him to open the jar so I could hold Portia. (He said he had a couple at home and handled them all of the time.)
• No one got bit. None of the dogs (my two, or my cousin's two), or, more importantly, my cousin's one year old!
• I didn't kill Portia. I found a good home for her, with other black widows where she can build webs and go meet children at museums and in classrooms. That feels the best of all. She was so respectful of me and my life, why shouldn't I do the same for her?

I hope Portia has as much fun being a teacher as I did. I think she'll be really good at it. I know she taught me a lot in the three days I knew her.

One Lucky Turtle

This post was written for the Red Riding Hood Prompt. This week's assignment was as follows:

This week we want to challenge you to try something new.

Is there someone who drives you crazy?

Someone who really gets under your skin.

It doesn't have to be someone you know (although it certainly can be). It could be someone famous. Or even a character in a book.

I had no idea where to begin with this until I read this horrific article from TreeHugger yesterday which actually made me cry. I decided to take the clueless route (forever on a quest for the good in people) rather than demonize this guy, but there is definitely another, sicker tale that could spring from this article...



"No!" his fist came down on the table,"You never understood this. You are too old for this teaching! Listen carefully to me: There is no luck, there is only life," he leaned in, speaking in low, harsh tones, "Life flows like a river. Can a river be controlled? No, not totally, and not ever by 'luck'. You must position yourself in your river so that you control what you can and be ever-aware of its changing directions. Be present in life, don't be lucky."

He grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes, "NO LUCK! If you wait for luck, you will get washed away! That, my son, is what you have been missing." When my hand dropped to the table, I knew the conversation was over.

That was last night. I know my old man thinks he knows what he is talking about, but all I ever hear anyone talking about is luck. It's sad that he doesn't even realize how lucky he is! He found my mom, got married and had a kid all by the time he was 31 years old. By that time he was already in a management position in the Geely office (they make cars). I, on the other hand, am 33 years old, sitting on this damn subway after another non-management shift at Jiangdu Dajiang Chemical, which works on... well, it is nothing like cars. And, oh yeah, I'm still single.

I look around at all these people on the train with me and they look satisfied. Here's a group of kids with a camera having a blast - I remember those days - I can't believe I'm going to be the miserable guy in the background of all of their video. How the hell did it come to all of this?

Something's gotta give. My luck's got to change...

Here's my stop. Sihui - almost home.

Wait a second. What's that? There's a vendor by the entrance, she looks pretty popular, I wonder what she has, she's new.

THIS. IS. IT.

She's selling key rings to bring luck! I must have one. I give her my money and she asks, "Which one?"

That's easy, "The turtle."

What an unbelievable find! A turtle good luck charm. I am on my way, climbing out into the sun of the last day of my luckless life when I am stopped by a reporter, "Hello, may I ask you about your purchase. I am from The Global Times."

 Whoa. If that isn't an instant shift in luck, I don't know what is - The GLOBAL Times?! I tried to compose myself, "Sure."

"OK, great then," pulling out a phone to record our conversation. "Sihui station C entrance. Tuesday afternoon. Man in 30s purchases the Brazil turtle keyring," then looking at me says, "Sorry about that...  Can you please tell me why you just bought that keyring and what you plan to do with it?"

"I'll hang it in my office, it looks nice and brings good luck."


I don't know if I imagined it, but I think the reporter looked at me for a beat too long. I wonder if he is like my father and doesn't believe in luck. He stopped recording and took a picture of my new purchase. I was overwhelmed - now a photo, too? I asked if he could send it to me on my phone. Here it is:

A turtle keyring. photo by Li Bo

That's one lucky turtle.