Debbie Downer is on hiatus, proceed without caution ...
My second trip to Gallaudet in 2 weeks proved to be just as entertaining and hectic as the first. I had an important appointment that lasted longer than any human being should have to endure, followed by a quick buzz around campus and finally a visit to my department.
The quick buzz was great - old friends, busy schedules, homework this and that, job this and that, relationships, romance, and scurrying off to the next segment of an exhausting to-do list. Our 5 minute vignettes of complicated lives and stories that are due more attention- all in a flurry of fingers and hands that are complete gibberish to the people living just outside the gates.
I had been apprehensive about returning to my department, but after such an intense day I could have seen T.J. Holmes and reacted without much hype (ok ... that is a boldfaced lie). I did not know how I would be received.
Weird. It was like a homecoming; except it was for a place that had never felt like home. It was oddly warm and welcoming. What had changed? Me? The faculty? Both? Or perhaps even neither- maybe all that had changed was our perceptions of each other.
Which is not to say that this negates everything that happened, or how it was handled (on both ends). After all, even if you bury the hatchet, the hatchet is still there. But around and through it can sprout fresh spring flowers, opening their faces sun-ward once more to the winds of change and chance. Awww flowers are the cute ....
And as life has its way of coincidentally placing certain events close to one another to really pack a punch, last weekend I had a run-in with an ex-- one that I had hurt a while ago. He had this amazingly mature attitude-- one that appreciated our time together, and didn't continuously resent it- and it really slapped me in the face. I'm always squinting to see the silver lining, but for him it was as radiant as a star despite the pain. Wow. Maybe I need new lenses.
*strokes chin in pondering pose*
Ok *gathering notes* so ... pain is crappy but normal, anger is there to protect our ego but can eventually damper our spirits, people make mistakes but they usually have good intentions ...
Why is it that these lessons are the hardest to remember? Damn ... I miss calculus.
Showing posts with label education. Show all posts
Showing posts with label education. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Return to Gallaudet
It's been a while since I've had the chance to return to my soon-to-be-Alma-mater, right there on the magnificent Florida Avenue in NorthEast (excuse me, crack whore, but which way is the Metro?). I haven't had much reason to go back to campus since I finished my courses last May; my internship was off-site and most of my friends had graduated and cut loose.
And so there I was yesterday, 9 months later, back at a place which was so incredibly indescribable when I left it. My last dwindling moments at Gallaudet were tedious and disturbing ... like waiting for a relative in a coma to finally pass and be out of pain. That's exactly how I felt that final semester at Gallaudet- like I was in an emotional coma.
Yesterday there was the usual ritual of reuniting and catching up that always accompanies any event/location that involves Deaf people- within a half-hour I had already "bumped" into 6 people that I knew. I do miss that part of Gallaudet; there is always someone close at hand (wink) that you're connected to in some way. It's such a social place- like a dog park where you can fervently sniff all the crotches you want to and ignore the world just outside the park gates.
I went through the lines at "Gradfest", Gallaudet's one-stop shop for all of your graduation needs (4-hr long DVDs of identically-dressed persons taking fake diplomas, paying library fines, ordering rings that you'll never wear, cap and gown, etc.). And as I looked around, I realized how lonely it was to be the only person from my academic year not graduating with the rest of my class.
The problem with an institution that has left such a memorable mark in my emotional memory is that it's hard to separate the good from the bad-- like mixing a cup of cow manure into a batch of delicious cookie dough. No matter what you pull out of the oven, it will still have that unmistakable stench. So it goes with Gallaudet.
So here is the question: to go or not to go to the graduation ceremony? If I'm having a difficult time keeping my mind off of the negatives, why put myself back in that situation? When my department gives me my graduate school hood and says "Yay you finally made it!", I'll only be thinking "Yay you finally noticed who I really am!" Can I genuinely smile and thank the people who made my experience so unnecessarily painful?
Two and a half years and $50,000 worth of debt later (Galladebt is the correct spelling, FYI) I stand strong and composed at the gates of a small university while the whisperings of extinguished memories sift softly into my consciousness: the best friend turned enemy (yes officer, she did in fact say she would be relieved if I died), the department that insensitively withdrew its support and warmth from my education (the counseling department- the irony), and the first guy to ever break my heart.
*somewhere a violin plays* ;-)
"Who can say if I've been changed for the better, but because I knew you I have been changed for good" -- all the gay boys sigh ....
Well the good news is that I'm happy now- and all's well that ends well, right? Hmm ... well then perhaps it's best to leave that dusty box of mixed Gallaudet feelings on its shelf in my emotional storage locker- and never unpack it again.
:-) It's amazing how quickly things change ...
And so there I was yesterday, 9 months later, back at a place which was so incredibly indescribable when I left it. My last dwindling moments at Gallaudet were tedious and disturbing ... like waiting for a relative in a coma to finally pass and be out of pain. That's exactly how I felt that final semester at Gallaudet- like I was in an emotional coma.
Yesterday there was the usual ritual of reuniting and catching up that always accompanies any event/location that involves Deaf people- within a half-hour I had already "bumped" into 6 people that I knew. I do miss that part of Gallaudet; there is always someone close at hand (wink) that you're connected to in some way. It's such a social place- like a dog park where you can fervently sniff all the crotches you want to and ignore the world just outside the park gates.
I went through the lines at "Gradfest", Gallaudet's one-stop shop for all of your graduation needs (4-hr long DVDs of identically-dressed persons taking fake diplomas, paying library fines, ordering rings that you'll never wear, cap and gown, etc.). And as I looked around, I realized how lonely it was to be the only person from my academic year not graduating with the rest of my class.
The problem with an institution that has left such a memorable mark in my emotional memory is that it's hard to separate the good from the bad-- like mixing a cup of cow manure into a batch of delicious cookie dough. No matter what you pull out of the oven, it will still have that unmistakable stench. So it goes with Gallaudet.
So here is the question: to go or not to go to the graduation ceremony? If I'm having a difficult time keeping my mind off of the negatives, why put myself back in that situation? When my department gives me my graduate school hood and says "Yay you finally made it!", I'll only be thinking "Yay you finally noticed who I really am!" Can I genuinely smile and thank the people who made my experience so unnecessarily painful?
Two and a half years and $50,000 worth of debt later (Galladebt is the correct spelling, FYI) I stand strong and composed at the gates of a small university while the whisperings of extinguished memories sift softly into my consciousness: the best friend turned enemy (yes officer, she did in fact say she would be relieved if I died), the department that insensitively withdrew its support and warmth from my education (the counseling department- the irony), and the first guy to ever break my heart.
*somewhere a violin plays* ;-)
"Who can say if I've been changed for the better, but because I knew you I have been changed for good" -- all the gay boys sigh ....
Well the good news is that I'm happy now- and all's well that ends well, right? Hmm ... well then perhaps it's best to leave that dusty box of mixed Gallaudet feelings on its shelf in my emotional storage locker- and never unpack it again.
:-) It's amazing how quickly things change ...
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Nutrition for kids
One of the main perks of doing a practicum at an elementary school (besides feeling like a genius because you know your times tables) is the occasional fieldtrip to the places you've always wanted to go but have never wanted to pay for.
One such fieldtrip was to Baltimore's Science Museum, a hands-on explosion of colors and sounds intended to entertain kids and tempt adults (and yes, I admit, even I lay on the bed of nails – and I made a tornado – and I put on an astronaut suit – and I played on the balance beam - and security had to come for me).
And then the most anticipated moment of the day; free lunch! To save a penny, our school personnel had packed a "complete" meal for these starving little ones. When I say complete, or even meal for that matter, I imagine a modest sampling of food from the major food groups (rendering a balanced diet to meet the demands of small bodies and even smaller minds).
Instead, our fatty toddler feast consisted of: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a small bag of Lay's potato chips, 2 medium-sized cookies, and an easily-disposable apple (seriously – Adam and Eve would have been pissed).
Even the (moderately healthy) bread of the sandwiches was thrown away! I saw children ravenously strip the peanut butter right off and gobble it ferociously while dipping their potato chips in mayonnaise and polishing it all off with a double-decker cookie-chaser.
It's like the kids have a lard-locator within their (minute) cerebral cortex that can locate, identify, and obliterate any remains of sugar and fat within a five mile radius.
What are we feeding these monsters? We have gone from "the breast is best" to "the fat is phat". It's insane …
One such fieldtrip was to Baltimore's Science Museum, a hands-on explosion of colors and sounds intended to entertain kids and tempt adults (and yes, I admit, even I lay on the bed of nails – and I made a tornado – and I put on an astronaut suit – and I played on the balance beam - and security had to come for me).
And then the most anticipated moment of the day; free lunch! To save a penny, our school personnel had packed a "complete" meal for these starving little ones. When I say complete, or even meal for that matter, I imagine a modest sampling of food from the major food groups (rendering a balanced diet to meet the demands of small bodies and even smaller minds).
Instead, our fatty toddler feast consisted of: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a small bag of Lay's potato chips, 2 medium-sized cookies, and an easily-disposable apple (seriously – Adam and Eve would have been pissed).
Even the (moderately healthy) bread of the sandwiches was thrown away! I saw children ravenously strip the peanut butter right off and gobble it ferociously while dipping their potato chips in mayonnaise and polishing it all off with a double-decker cookie-chaser.
It's like the kids have a lard-locator within their (minute) cerebral cortex that can locate, identify, and obliterate any remains of sugar and fat within a five mile radius.
What are we feeding these monsters? We have gone from "the breast is best" to "the fat is phat". It's insane …
Friday, February 24, 2006
Kids say the craziest things ...
My practicum for the counseling department is at an elementary school, which means I am privy to the eccentric comments young children are infamous for blabbing (in this case, signing) without provocation.
One child, when asked by her teacher if she had remembered my name, signed that I was "cafeteria". Ironic … though her language was obviously delayed she was still able to hone in on one crucial aspect of my personality.
Later, in the cafeteria (er, in the David), I was having a lovely chat with an exceptionally bright 11-year-old girl. The topic was drugs and alcohol.
"I wish they had never been invented!" she complained.
"Indeed!" I signed back to her, although I was secretly anticipating a shot of Baileys for the upcoming weekend.
"They mess everything up," she continued. "I'm going to tell my brother that if he becomes President he'll have to make them illegal."
And then she added something that caught me off guard: "He's hearing, so…."
I paused and then asked her, "Why couldn't you be President and make it illegal yourself? You could be the first deaf female President."
The look on her face was incredible; she had never considered that she, as a deaf person, could actually be President.
Where do children learn that they are "limited"? Who tells them that they can't do or be something? What impressions does society make on individuals so that they accept without question what they are (in)capable of?
All of a sudden she was a flurry of signs: "You know I could … all I would need is an interpreter for all of the hearing people to understand me! I could make those bad things illegal, and make things better for deaf people..."
It was beautiful.
One child, when asked by her teacher if she had remembered my name, signed that I was "cafeteria". Ironic … though her language was obviously delayed she was still able to hone in on one crucial aspect of my personality.
Later, in the cafeteria (er, in the David), I was having a lovely chat with an exceptionally bright 11-year-old girl. The topic was drugs and alcohol.
"I wish they had never been invented!" she complained.
"Indeed!" I signed back to her, although I was secretly anticipating a shot of Baileys for the upcoming weekend.
"They mess everything up," she continued. "I'm going to tell my brother that if he becomes President he'll have to make them illegal."
And then she added something that caught me off guard: "He's hearing, so…."
I paused and then asked her, "Why couldn't you be President and make it illegal yourself? You could be the first deaf female President."
The look on her face was incredible; she had never considered that she, as a deaf person, could actually be President.
Where do children learn that they are "limited"? Who tells them that they can't do or be something? What impressions does society make on individuals so that they accept without question what they are (in)capable of?
All of a sudden she was a flurry of signs: "You know I could … all I would need is an interpreter for all of the hearing people to understand me! I could make those bad things illegal, and make things better for deaf people..."
It was beautiful.
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