Oprah baby
At some point during Oprah’s recent farewell saga, my mom sent me a text message.
“You’re an Oprah baby.”
It was one of those moments when my head actually pivoted, turning to the side. Huh? Perhaps her comma was missing.
“You’re an Oprah, baby.”
Maybe she had adopted Oprah’s name as a new brand of person. I was going to be the equivalent of Oprah one day? The thought has passed my mind a few times, so why not? But this was unlikely.
Then, in a matter of moments (it came and went quickly) I clung to the reality that perhaps my mother was, in fact, Oprah.
But alas, I was wrong on all counts. It didn’t take long to realize what she meant. Oprah’s first season on the air was the year I was born. The Oprah show followed soon after, on September 8th, just a few days before my birthday.
Aligning stars aside, my relationship with Oprah is strong. Anyone who knows me knows this. They can attest to my ongoing defense of her antics, my special edition DVD of her 20th anniversary (which, I might add, many people have borrowed over the years), and my fond recollection of her advice. I love her. I just do. I mean, I’m not alone, so it’s not as if I’m novel or anything. I just happened to develop a strong rapport with a television personality who happens to be really charismatic. Not out of the ordinary.
As a young kid growing up, I watched Oprah on a daily basis, coming home from school and hearing her listen to people’s stories, sometimes giving advice, but often just listening. I think I learned a lot from her. Empathy, compassion, emotional intelligence. She, along with my family, gave me a solid footing when it came to relationships with people. I saw people’s mistakes and triumphs on television and understood the importance of what she was doing for those people, and for me.
I was exposed to people’s stories from a young age and didn’t seem so surprised when the reality of adolescence set in. Divorce, poverty, coming out. All these challenges, wherever I saw them, were not unfamiliar or isolating. I had seen them all before and knew I was not alone in facing them. And that’s gotta be her appeal for most people. She made connections when we often are forced to do it alone, or not at all. For all that, I’m grateful she exists. Like many historical figures of importance, Oprah isn’t perfect or alway right or a saint but I can take from her what is useful and leave the rest.
I haven’t watched her show in years. Since college, she has become just a portrait or headline, usually accompanied by a story about her give-aways or proclamations. But despite this distance, she has remained relevant.
I think of her, among others, whenever I’m faced with challenges. How would Oprah handle this? How would she react? I don’t really know, and don’t really care. I find the fact I’m even asking the question means I’m on the right track. If Oprah inspired anything in me, it was to think, to consider, to ponder.
- Jeff
The boxes are multiplying
They have a life of their own. One by one, sometimes even two by two, they appear in my bedroom and in the basement. I’ll walk away for a moment and then return and there’s another box. I guess that’s what happens when you spend an entire weekend packing. Delusions have taken control and the future that awaits me is becoming more of a mirage than a reality.
Am I really moving? Is there going to be a life waiting for me on the other side? Will it be better? Different, that’s for sure. But not too different, at the rate I’m holding onto things.
Letting go of this life is one thing, letting go of the physical representations of this life – quite another. The little things are easy for me to discard. I’m donating or trashing a lot of my clothes and knick knacks. There’s a vacuum in that pile I found on the side of the road (thinking I was rescuing it for a better home) that never worked. Stuff like that I don’t mind leaving behind.
It’s the sentimental stuff, and the fancy stuff, that I have a hard time parting with. Like this desk I’m writing at right now. I love it. It’s kind of funky but I love it. I’ve written some good stuff here. And my mom helped me paint it green and black, which is really unique and cool. And there’s the purple shoe bench I found (and this was definitely a rescue mission) and restored. These are the things I’m having a hard time just selling off.
Thankfully, I don’t have to. My work is providing some relocation money (whoever heard of that for a teacher?) and so I’m shipping some of my favorite things just because. As my Memorial Day packing weekend comes to a close, here are a few tips for folks moving cross country (or any far distance) that I found helpful:
- PODs are expensive and there are a lot of hidden fees
- Amtrak ships boxes (not furniture) to and from any Amtrak station – $250 for 500 lbs
- Greyhound has a shipping service that does ship furniture for about $1 a lb + fees
- Fly Southwest – you can take up to 200 lbs for just $100 in baggage fees
- Sell everything you don’t want (even the little things) on craigstlist – you’ll make $
And if you’re not moving any time soon, look around. You’ve got it good. Now stay put with the things you have and don’t get too attached – you may not have it for too long.
- Jeff
Decisions
Sometimes decisions are made for you.
I started applying to leadership programs in the fall, and have spent an enormous amount of time since then thinking, writing, interviewing and waiting. And here we are – 8 essays, 11 interviews and 2 trans-continental flights later.
If you think I’m tired, I am. I put myself out there in a way few people get the chance to. I was analyzed and dissected and prodded. And with that close examination, I was forced to take a good look at my own self. It was an introspective process that took place under a microscope. I made myself vulnerable and and some decided I was ready, others did not. In the end, I was rejected from KIPP and NLNS and accepted to Columbia, Berkeley, EdPioneers and a teaching position in Richmond.
No one is keeping score, thank god. But if they were, I’d be surprised if they didn’t think I won. I’ve learned so much about myself, my ambitions, my strengths and the places I still have to grow. And I’ve got a great year ahead that will give me some time to figure out who I am and to get a better idea of what it means to be a school leader. I’ll be enrolling in Berkeley’s Principal Leadership Institute starting this summer. I’ll be joining the staff of Leadership Public Schools – Richmond as a high school history teacher in the fall, and will graduate the following August with a M.A. in School Leadership and my administrative credential.
From there, who knows.
Actually, I’ve got a pretty good idea.
- Jeff
Purposeful pause
A whirlwind.
It’s how my TFA alumni coach described my next few weeks and months. After taking up the better part of my life and winter vacation, my applications were complete two weeks ago. I wrote about how relieving it was to let go of inadequacy and hesitance in favor of being ambitious and unapologetic. It was a good thing, and it allowed me to embrace the next steps as they came.
A quick update: I moved forward to the second stage of the process for KIPP and Columbia and had phone interviews this week. It meant I had an interview each night, Tues – Fri. It was daunting, to say the least.
But I managed it, and pretty well at that. It has gotten to the point now that I’m so ready to talk about myself, my experiences, my future outlook, that I can answer just about any question with two examples to boot. And to avoid sounding like a robot reading a note sheet, I’ve had to start taking purposeful pauses between them asking me a question and me offering an answer. Where I could just start talking when they trail off, I take like 5 seconds of silence to make it more natural, to make sure I’m checking my list twice. It’s kind of cool to be back in the swing of things. I hadn’t interviewed for anything in three years, so I’m glad I’ve not rusted over too badly.
That’s the thing with these programs – if you can get to this part, when they actually get to hear you and get to know you, you’re golden. Because even if you don’t end up “in” you know they at least gave you a fair shot. You got to show them you, not the essay-you, but the real you. And that makes the joy of getting “in” all the better or the sting of not getting “in” all the easier.
At any rate, I’m feeling pretty good about where I am right now. Still not certain of what will happen next year, I’m planning to take this time to purposefully pause things. All the sound and fury of the school day, all the tasks piling up on my to-do lists, all the pushing and pulling in different directions. For right now, at this very moment, I’m paused. It’s giving me ample opportunity to appreciate how far I’ve come, and smile at the thought of tomorrow. I could just pick up and ramble forward, my thoughts haphazardly landing somewhere for some amount of time. But no – I’m taking a cue from this week and pressing pause.
Anxiety gone. Nervousness gone. Inadequacy gone.
Just calm. Just confidence. Just relief.
- Jeff
Self help
I have a bad habit. More than a bad habit, it’s an ugly habit.
Some people bite their nails. Others can’t stop shaking their legs sitting down.
I do this to my thumbs. (and yes, that is me)
It’s a combination of picking your cuticles and biting your nails. I’ve been unable to kick the habit since the 6th grade. I actually remember the day it started. I was showing off some weird hand trick with my fingers and a group of kids started making fun of me. And at that moment, I retreated and it began.
Over the years, it started to actually feel good – a repetitious movement that could both distract me from something nerve racking and provide a sense of control when I was out of it. Sometimes it gets so bad I bleed. Pale skinned band aids are my hallmark product. I’ve probably worn out thousands since middle school.
But as embarrassing and annoying as it is, I still do it. I’ve tried to stop so, so many times. I’ve filed the rough edges of my skin, carried around lotion to keep things smooth, used band aids and gels to cover them, and tried to develop other, less harmful habits to take its place. I even made it a challenge for one of my students to catch and stop me in the act. Nothing has worked.
For 12 years, half my life, I’ve been doing this to myself. I want to stop. I need to stop. And I’m coming to you here for some help. While I welcome any advice and tips you have, by simply making it public I’m hoping to face it like I never have before. My thumbs are usually shy around others – you won’t catch a glimpse unless you’re really looking. But hiding isn’t giving me any inspiration to stop.
So, there it is. I said it and I showed it. And while you might be a little disgusted, I hope you can take part in helping me overcome whatever it is that’s causing me to do this. If you’re a friend, bring it up. If your a stranger, check in with me. I’ll be posting updates every now and then through the summer in an effort to stay conscious and work toward breaking the habit.
If this is sounding like a cry for help, it is.
- Jeff
Be like me
I’ve been failing at male relationships my whole life. And what I mean by that is…I’ve never really been able to connect with other men in the same way I connect with women. Ever since I was a kid, I preferred my female friends. I was doing flips on the playground bars and made breakfast in bed for my sister’s friends when they had sleep overs. On the weekends, I made sure I got to go shopping at Ross with my mom when my dad was doing yard work. Women became my go-to, and somewhere in the mix, my ability to bond with men was weakened. The few male friends I had in school either turned out to be gay or are out of touch. And still today, I find my relationships with women far outnumber and outflank those with men.
And so it was a challenge when I decided to take up the task of leading my school’s boys mentoring group, Boys II Men. I’ve documented this before when we made our first visit to the local jail. Since then, we’ve collected toys for families during the holiday and volunteered at a church. This month, I wanted something tangible for them to walk away about a topic I know many of them have encountered (or will) in their own lives: domestic violence. I found a local organization that does outreach in the public schools and set up a workshop for the boys after school. A month in the making, the workshop took place this afternoon.
Within the first 10 minutes, I was back in my place – awkwardly trying to feel them out as they were creating ruckus in my room. The guest had arrived, and none of the boys were listening to my pleas to sit down and get settled. Not being quiet, I knew they had heard me. I knew they were ignoring me. In that moment, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me – I needed to catch my breathe. At the surface, I was just plain frustrated with the situation at hand. But deep down, I was being reminded (in a very explicit way) of my own insecurities. I feel trapped between doing what feels right, and altering my approach to fit their idea of masculinity and authority. If there was a class about how to be a male role model, I’d consider paying a hefty fee. While I acknowledge the fact that you can’t learn this stuff, I still feel like I need some help understanding where I fit into all this. Because, right now, I feel like that last puzzle piece that fell under the couch – obviously important but just not in the right place.
Most of these boys just don’t respect me as a male role model. Their actions show a complete disregard for my intentions and are an assault on my alternative approach to discipline and relationships. They view me as weak, emotional and – ultimately – irrelevant. I’m not like their fathers or their cousins or their neighbors. And I’m certainly not like some of the other men I work with – who have my student’s instant respect upon entering the room. Unlike them, I have a quieter voice, a less aggressive demeanor, am far more patient and understanding, and have lighter skin. I am a foreigner. When it comes down to it, I don’t think too many of these young boys want to be like me. And that’s kind of a hard pill to swallow.
- Jeff
P.S. I really don’t need a slew of reassuring comments to follow – just had to get this off my mind.
Awards & honors
Congratulations are in order. I found this on my desk at the end of a long, hard day. And I didn’t even know I was nominated. Despite its lack of objectiveness and legitimacy, that it’s written on scratch paper horizontally and my name is spelled wrong, I’m considering listing it on my resume. Someone might believe it. She apparently does.
It’s strange how sentimental things like this can make my day. Too easy to please? Maybe. But if your looking to cheer me up, take a cue from Jazmine.
- Jeff
The parents who went on vacation
One of my 6th grade students wrote this short story and showed it to me today. It was her homework, and it was shoved in my face at 7am. Overall, I’d praise her for her vivid use of detail and proper use of pro-nouns (although a bit overkill with the parenthesis). My one piece of advice was that she should try to grab the reader’s attention in the first lines of the story…not the last. Read on.
So…what do you say to something like that? Well, at 7am in the morning, you take a picture of it with your phone and try to laugh. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.
- Jeff
Thoughts on 11/24
A lot happened today (actually, a lot has happened this year) that has led me to realize something: I want to start my own school one day. Without a doubt. It may be soon, it may be far away, but it will happen. There’s an unfamiliar confidence in me saying this that tells me it’s real. Kind of scary. But more than that, kind of reassuring.
- Jeff
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