He says the problem with teachers is
What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life
was to become a teacher?
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true
what they say about teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite conversation.
I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor.
Be honest. What do you make?
And I wish he hadn't done that— asked me to be honest--
because, you see, I have this policy about honesty and ass-‐kicking:
if you ask for it, then I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor
and an A-‐ feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time
with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you go to the bathroom?
Because you're bored.
And you don't really have to go to the bathroom, do you?
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
Hi. This is Mr. Mali. I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something your son said today.
To the biggest bully in the grade, he said,
"Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?
It's no big deal."
And that was noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make? I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write.
I make them read, read, read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math
and hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you've got this,
then you follow this,
and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this.
Here, let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
Teachers make a goddamn difference! Now what about you?
If any of you have been reading my blog, you may have seen posts about this "Cheating scandal". I just find it amusing how people are still following this and are trying to put the Patriots at a disadvantage during the Superbowl. Personally, I think that this case should be dropped and left in this past, for just one PSI could not have altered a game's outcome by such a dramatic amount and if anyone one of you have been on youtube recently, you could see that even Bill Nye proved this scandal to be faulty. I just home that this case gets solved and the Superbowl plays out the way it should.
Hello all, This week has definitely been a busy one. I have had to work on Bio labs and projects, WW Fenn, and Global tests. In this post, I would like to focus on my WW Fenn Piece, "What Teachers Make", by Taylor Mali. I really liked this poem the second I read it. I felt like it had a good message and spoke out for those who needed to be spoken to. I look forward to working on it and hopefully recite it for the whole school to hear.
As Thursday settles upon me I have countless thoughts tunning through my head.I am overwhelmed with stress caussed by the heaping pile of work ahead of me. I was absebt for the introduction of the E.coli lab and i am about to running through minefield attempting to complete my labreport. But, i am not here no vent, for in this world I am a blogger. I am waiting to see what happends as the Patriots cheating conflict unwinds and a punsiment is delt out. On the other hand, I am feeling so relived that all the applications, recomendations and SSATS are submitted. Now, all i have to do is wait till march 10th . As my time runs up while Fitz calls us in, I look forward to writing more and expanding my blog to its greatest potential.
As the glorious anual speak contest approaches us, I am always faced with the task of selecting a piece to recite. This year, it did not come easy, for their where more restrictions and expectations. After countless poems passing by I have found the right poem for me. This poem is "Out.Out" By Robert Frost. This poem really spoke to me as it told its story. I look forward to practicing it and hopefully be able to recite it for all of Fenn to hear.
BY ROBERT FROSTThe buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them ‘Supper.’ At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap--
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all--
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart--
He saw all spoiled. ‘Don’t let him cut my hand off--
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!’
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Any takers, anywhere?
Here lies a boy who wont play fair
Id it the courage of a lion
Or the patience of a sloth
By the end of this show you'll be on your knees
Oohing and aweing like im the goddamn man on the flying trapeze
Sometimes rhymes are futile
They'll leave you confused
Why didnt I buy that boy
Was it his articulate tone
or those beaming little eyes
My words can compel
My words can corrupt
My words can confuse
it is up to the wielder of my weapon
i can sell glasses to the blind or beef to a vegan
I can move others with my words for good or for bad
Ohh is someone could buy me id be so glad
But if you walk out the door with the change in your pockets you will only see me mad
See i am persistant
I can outlast others
For my pain is temporary
While my pride is forever
It is a battle with my hear
that even the greatest of the greatest wish to not start
As my time runs up and so does yours
Ill be standing outside wishing to be yours
As i sit down in my chair, I have a lot to think about. What will I do? How will I do it. See, I have had a lot do deal with in the past week. Finishing applications and going out to Arizona to visit my father's ill cousin whom he retains a close bond with. As some of you may have noticed, I was not here on Thursday and Friday due to the aforementioned reason. Being absent has put me in a bit of a stressful position with two tests to make up while trying to keep up with current tasks. Other than that, there is one thing that I wish to talk about, and that is the "Inflate gate" cheating conflict. I dont know how others think, but to me this seems like total BS. First reason being that it was only stated by the play who intercepted the ball, and he said the the ball felt a little off. So, I dont think that we should be listening to just one person. The second reason why I think this conflict is BS, is because the refs check the ball after every play, and if they found something suspicious they would say so. My last reason is that the Pats completely destroyed. Although I am no pro football player, I would say that the state of the ball could not alter the game's outcome to that extent.
Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more to come.
Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.
One cannot change without pain, for you are the sculptor and the stone. Poetry is worth the fight and it pays off tremendously. Poetry for me, was not a task,but a challenge. I felt as if I had to set a record for myself and if I did not set the record my work would be inadequate. Poetry for me, is a thing that you get out as much as you put in. It is an investment of ones time to create readable art. Poetry is one of the only things that feels natural to feel proud of my work. One I have finished a poem that I think is good, i know it and I am proud of what I have done. The thing that I liked most about poetry is the great description of images. It is up to the poet to determine how much or how little he or she wants the reader to know. With that, they can do unbelievable things with their ways of description. If the author wants to make the reader think they will make the description more indirect, but if the poet is to the point he or she will have no problem stating so. Poetry was also an activity that I found to be quite soothing. Say if I was all wound up about a sports game, all I would have to do is write a few lines of poetry and then thats it, Ill be all fine. Overall, I found poetry to be a great thing to lear here at English and I wish to write more then I already have. Although poetry is difficult to adjust to, I am willing to push even harder to becoming the best poet I can be.