I’m spending the Thanksgiving holiday with my grandfather and his wife on the Gulf coast. My dad’s family isn’t religious at all, so I used MassTimes to find a Catholic Church nearby and went to the vigil Mass this evening. I passed the church at first; Google Maps told me it would be on the left, but it was clearly on the right. I had enough sense (and experience with getting to lost) to know to turn around, though, so I made it to Mass just before the opening hymn.

I slipped into the back, opened up my hymnal, and joined in the singing. We were sitting in chairs instead of pews because the church was flooded to the roof by Hurricane Katrina, but if I hadn’t read that on the website, I would never have known. I’m not sure what triggered it, but all of a sudden I started to feel dizzy and my vision blurred. I get vertigo ocassionally, but never as bad as that unless I wake up sick. I barely made it through the opening prayers, which included the introduction for the double baptism this church’s Father Bob celebrated. (What is it with priests named Bob? I know 3 in the South alone.) I finally had to sit down and try to breathe.

Sometime during the first reading, I knew I had to get out of that room. I picked up my things and spent the rest of the Liturgy of the Word breathing as much fresh, rainy air as I could stand. Finally, I felt calm enough to go back in. I felt like I was having a panic attack, or that something was smothering me. It might have been triggered by a moldy smell in the church, but I’m fairly sure they cleaned that all up when they rebuilt, and I’m not allergic to mold.

Later, during the preparation hymn, I had to sit down again. I debated whether I should risk going up to receive communion. Then I realized that if anything would make me feel better, it’d be Jesus. So I joined the line, and received under both species as usual. I’ll never be able to explain it, but as soon as the Eucharist was in me, I felt better. So much better. It was a small miracle, but so significant that I will never doubt the power of the Eucharist again. Sometimes God makes the sun move backwards, and sometimes he just makes you feel better. Either way, he’s always there.

Happy new liturgical year, friends.

You are talking to a colleague — seemingly intelligent, born and raised in the United States — and you realize that the person has an amazing gap in his or her knowledge. Of the following, which would disturb you most about this person?

1. He or she doesnt have a clear idea of what countries we fought in World War II.
2. He or she doesnt understand the difference between a star and a planet.
3. He or she cannot name the current vice president of the United States.
4. He or she cannot locate Europe on a map.
5. He or she cannot tell you what 50 percent of 100 is.

I picked the last one. Brendan faced that with his algebra and geometry students this year. If you can’t multiply fractions, solving two-step equations is going to be impossible. I think you should know where Europe is, but not knowing 50 percent of 100 is ridiculous even for high school students, let alone adults.

via Poll-ish Humor, Nov. 25: Door 2, by Gene Weingarten of the Washington Post

As I’ve tried to find balance in my life again, I’ve been reading Catholic news again. As I’ve read over these last few months, I’ve noticed that the U.S. bishops are more vocal than I can ever remember them having been before. The first surprise was when so many bishops chastised Nancy Pelosi after she tried to be a theologian on national television. I almost missed the whole uproar, but I caught enough. I was so glad to see our bishops fulfilling their role as shepherds and teachers. We have bishops so that they can keep us from falling into heresy and missing out on heaven without realizing it. Similarly, hearing that the Massachusetts bishops decried a billboard that promotes adultery brings me great joy. Bishops and priests got such a bad rap when the sexual abuse scandal broke, but if efforts like these continue, they’ll become known primarily as teachers once again. The media will still see them as out-of-touch old men, but they’re our wise old men.

My students are only allowed to write in blue or black ink. I tolerate some unusual shades of blue and erasable pens, but anything written in pencil got a zero. It was harsh, but “don’t use a pencil” is a basic instruction. However, they are still children, so I buy cheap black pens at Wal-Mart and sell them to my students for 25 cents each. I point out whenever they buy pens that they could buy them themselves much cheaper, or borrow them from classmates for free, but they continue to come to me.

When they leave their textbooks behind (or say they’ve been stolen from their lockers) and I find them, I put them in my drawer and charge $1 per book to give them back. There are about fifteen textbooks in my drawer right now; my class requires two books, which are loaned to students as if they were in public school.

All of this added up to an envelope with around $20 cash in my top desk drawer. Tuesday night was the first home basketball game, so when I left around 5:30 p.m., there were still dozens of students running around the unlocked building. When I arrived Tuesday morning, the envelope was gone. I mentioned this to my housemates, who encouraged me to report it to my principal and ask for a key to my room. I did.

I got the key to my classroom yesterday.

When I packed to move south, I made sure to bring some things that served no practical purpose except easing my spirit. I have the letters my parents wrote me for my Confirmation retreat. I have all my Harry Potter books, though I would be surprised if those covers budge the entire time I’m here. I also brought the card Jim gave me for graduation. In it, he wrote that I “have a knack for perseverance.” Besides embracing my heart, Jim pointed out a character trait in me that he saw grow over time. I’m a terrible decision-maker, but once I do finally decide, I cling to my choice with a surprising stubbornness. I have chosen to follow God’s call to this place, this school, this career, and I will follow through, even if it kills me.

Some days I fear it might.

Every day is another chance to start over. I remind my students of that as soon as the bell rings and I close my classroom door to shut out latecomers. It’s an opportunity for my students to behave and do their work. It’s another period for me to whip them out of their middle-school misbehavior and into respectful, college-aimed adolescence. I’ve really struggled with classroom management, as we say in the biz. I honestly care less that they can identify simple predicates than that they can just follow directions. Headings on the right. Of course I know your last name. Just write it. No, we do not have numbers in this class. Yes, it does matter what title you put on it and where it goes; if I have to figure out what you just shoved into the box and I guess wrong, that’s too bad. Why? Because I said so. (And I am officially worse than my own mother.) Hello, Intimidating but Effective Colleague. Thank you for your help, but when I can’t control the class and you can, it makes me feel microscopic. Have a good afternoon.

On the ride home yesterday, I asked my housemate if he ever feels like he can’t do this (”this” meaning the job). He said no and advised me to seek help if I’m doubting my abilities. I don’t know whether my problems are just on the rough end of typical or are indicators of my failing potential. I do know that I’m losing my sense of joy in teaching. It doesn’t make me happy the way it once did.

My take-away point from Renee LaReau’s Getting a Life: How to Find Your True Vocation was that there is a difference between joy and happiness. Joy is the deep abiding feeling of delight in God and life. Happiness is momentary, but just as authentic. So what do I have now? Oftentimes, neither.

Tonight, I’m grading vocabulary quizzes I gave while preparing for our ridiculously early standardized tests. For part of the quiz, the students had to choose any word from the word bank to write in a contextual sentence. I didn’t call them “contextual sentences,” but most of them got the point. One of my ninth-grade boys wrote, “In class today I could not erudite what the teacher was teaching because of all the distractions.” I read it to my housemates, and responded in writing, “Nice try, but it’s still incorrect.” Then I drew a smiley face. He also wrote, “My friends were to drunk to drive so I was the designated driver since I don’t drink.” I corrected his spelling and reminded myself that he can’t legally drive, either.

My kids are ridiculously badly behaved, but at least there are some moments that make me glad to do what I do.

From the popularity (and awesomeness) of comic book movie adaptations, I find myself intrigued by comic superheroes. I thought the first two X-Men movies were great (the third, not so much). I liked Daredevil, I loved Spider-man and Spider-man 2 (never saw 3), and I know Greg liked Hellboy and some others Stagnaro mentions. I’ve also noticed the presence of Catholicism and Catholic imagery in the media these last few years. The Punisher’s sense of justice is carried out in less than desirable ways, but I can see sprinklings of a basis in Catholic social teaching.

Is that good enough, though? Can we be satisfied with vestiges of Catholicism in the media, or do we need something more overt? Could we ever have a tv show or movie where the characters do “normal” things, but just happen to be Catholic? I’m not sure, but those conversations are certainly more likely when pop culture gives us avenues for discussion like ubiquitous rosaries.

Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she wonderful? Isn’t she…fabulous? Mary Thérèse, also known as MT, is a 2008 Chevy Aveo. It’s the Jetta of Chevys, and I love her. She’s got 1550 miles on her after the trek from Maryland and driving back and forth to school every day, but we’re going strong. Michael will be washing her soon, and in exchange he has wrinkle-free shirts. (We have an arrangement.) I’ve never owned a car before, but I’m excited. MT is just part of this new adventure called ACE.

I teach ninth- and tenth-grade English at my high school. There’s only one other English teacher at my school; she teaches the juniors and seniors. It was a shock to come right out of college and have the reading, writing, and communication skills of half a school dropped into my lap. I have so little experience; more than once I’ve thought, “I can’t do this.” My planning skills are mediocre at best, and I never quite feel like I’m doing it right. I keep going back every day, though, and I will for the next two years.

My saving grace is ACE. The support structure is exactly what I needed. Teach for America horror stories make me so glad I committed to ACE (though I considered applying to TFA as a backup plan). My community is amazing. They celebrated my birthday in bits and pieces over nine days. I’ve never had a novena birthday before, and I’ve never felt so loved by people I’ve known for such a short time. It started the Saturday before my actual birthday. I’d decided that dinner at IHOP would be the perfect birthday meal, but Brendan and Michael were going away for the weekend, so they surprised me two hours before they took me there for a late lunch. (They knew a kidnap was out.) On Tuesday, after community prayer, they gave me my present: a Maryland state flag to hang on our flag wall. On Saturday, Brynn and Sarah decorated my door, and we ordered Papa John’s and got Breyer’s ice cream and Chardonnay to celebrate. On Monday, they took advantage of my general obliviousness to bake me a birthday cake. It was the longest and best birthday I’ve ever had. Our community has its moments (or maybe it just has moments with me…), but we’re all in this together (cue High School Musical) and we’ve all got God.

Besides the grace of my ACE community, there is the grace of God. I may not always know what I’m doing, but I know that God does. He’s given me a love for teaching, learning, books, and language, and the awesome opportunity to combine and share those gifts. I have less time for my personal spirituality than ever, but I know that when I can retreat into the stillness of my heart, he is there. He’s waiting to comfort me and guide me through this new, crazy life called ACE.

Mayonnaise on burgers and leaky trash water,
Reruns of Top Gun and Welcome Back, Kotter,
Checks on Doc’s* homework, his frightening smile,
These are some things that I really revile.

*Doc Doyle is our Intro to High School Teaching professor, who is also in charge of the ACE M.Ed. program. He’s an excellent teacher and incredibly knowledgeable (one of the Montgomery ACErs is teaching at a middle school named for him!), but he intimidates us every second he’s not helping us learn or making us laugh with joy.