The Apple A Day Project

The Right To Speak

Getting Reluctant Students To Speak in Class

You remember being in middle school and if you were anything like me you don’t look back on it fondly. The crushing insecurity and self-doubt, the constant analyzing of your peers’ every move, and above all, the terror, that you’d be singled out, embarrassed, and completely isolated.

What a great environment for a theater class!

Most middle school students are risk-averse, some more than others. One of my classes this year is virtually paralyzed by the social dynamics in the room. Cliques and bullying have left the kids, especially the girls, terrified to speak out. Every conversation is dominated either by the “smart kids” or a couple of girls who are clearly bullies and wield a lot of power over the rest of the class. Conducting a drama class with only four students speaking is totally pathetic, and waving a participation grade in front of their noses was not a good enough carrot for this group. I needed to do something. So I’ve cooked up two methods

The Ticket Method:

Cut up enough thin slips of paper so that each student can have two.

Pass them out and instruct your students to write their name on both slips of paper.

Begin the activity and tell the kids that the slips of paper are their “speaking tickets” Every time a student gives feedback to the group on stage I will take a ticket. Once your two tickets are gone I will not call on you again until everyone else has given up at least one ticket. The goal is for every person to be left ticketless at the end of class.

The verdict: It worked! I saw more participation and discussion today than I’ve seen all year from this group. There were only two students left holding a ticket at the end. Both of these students have some pretty serious social issues. For one of them it was the first time she’d voluntarily raised her hand in my class all year. I saw more participation from the quiet kids and more sharing the floor from the loud kids.I feel as if I was wrong about this class. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to participate, they just needed permission to do it. Having a ticket took away the social pressure.

The Team Method:

Divide your class into teams of 4 or 5. Place students with others you know will be productive with and separate those who clique together or antagonize each other.

Give the groups their assignment (in this case it was a series of tableaux) and let them get to work. I had them create silly team names because I felt the class needed a little camaraderie.

When they gather to perform tell them that each group will get a chance to give another group feedback. The first group performs. In the next group of 4 or 5 students, each student must come up with ONE positive piece of feedback for the group on stage. I started with only positive feedback because the atmosphere in the class was so fragile and I didn’t think the kids could handle direction from each other. Once the second group has shared their feedback they go on stage and the next group gets to give feedback. Keep going around until each group has had a chance to perform AND give feedback.

The verdict: This was effective but the ticket method generated a more lively conversation. This method might be a good starting point for a seriously paralyzed class but I wouldn’t use it more than once, I think it would get too stifling.

2012: 01/23
CATEGORY: arts education
classroom management
feel good
inspiration
Write comment

To Thine Own Self Be True

My mantra for the last year or so of my life has been a simple, “Be nice to yourself.”

Yeah, I know. No big giant goals, no lofty promises, just be nice. This revelation came after a period of stress and struggle in my life. Battling health problems had brought me to my physical and emotional limit. I realized that if I didn’t take care of myself I wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything else. So before all else, I had to be nice to myself.

Did it work? Well… this has probably been the year of my life that I’ve felt happiest and most content in my own skin, so yeah.

Now I am ready to set some new goals for myself. But this time, they are not goals about shaving off those last ten pounds or else. They are not goals about being the best at anything. But they are goals nonetheless. Here goes.

1) I will be kind to myself by practicing yoga every day, even if it’s only ten minutes a day, no matter what.

2) I will be kind to myself by cooking a couple of homemade meals for myself every week and making sure there are enough snacks and leftovers to nourish me through all of my activities.

3) I will be kind to myself by getting enough restful sleep every night.

4) In addition to my regular running, I will be kind to myself by walking outdoors at least two miles every day.

5) I will be kind to myself by not trash talking, punishing or restricting myself if I slip up on any of the above things.

And I’ll use Apple A Day to help keep me accountable.

How are you kind to yourself?

2011: 11/08
CATEGORY: Uncategorized
Write comment

The Lady Was A Champ

As some of my readers already know, this year I lost someone very special to me, my grandmother, Rose. It was my distinct honor to be able to give the eulogy at her funeral. I’ve wanted to share it with others for a while but until now the feelings were just too fresh. After getting together last night with my ladyfriends to honor some of the awesome women in all of our lives, suddenly the time seemed perfect.

So here goes…
Recently a friend asked me, “What kind of woman was your grandmother?” Believe it or not, I had trouble answering. She was so many things to me, and I know she was so many things to all of you too as evident in all the different names we’ve had for her over the years. To some of you she is mother, sister, to others she’s Auntie Rose, or Big Nana, or simply Rose. To me she was nana, but as I explained to my friend, she was more than just my grandma, she was my Special Little Lady, my hero, my friend.

So what kind of woman was Rose? I’ll let the lessons she taught me speak for themselves:

Lesson Number 1) Your sister is your best friend: Many of my nana’s stories began with the words, “We were four girls.” Rose and her sisters Mary, Carmie and Josephine shared everything. Growing up on Marion St. in East Boston during the great depression they even shared beds. I’ll always treasure those afternoons my sister and I spent around the kitchen table with nana and her sisters drinking coffee and laughing and telling stories. I loved hearing about how when Mary was born she was so tiny that they had to put her in the stove to keep her warm, how Carmie got stuck on the Nahant Ferry with a handsome young man who looked like Errol Flynn, and of course, how Rosie got a dashing young man named Ollie to notice her by pretending to drown at the beach at Wood Island Park.

Even though they were poor, they never lacked anything because they had each other. The way they grew up always sounded like so much fun to me. Growing up with nothing they had to make their own fun. There were amateur theatricals in the backyard of the triple decker they lived in, great grandfather’s storytelling, and of course the seemingly endless parties and dances and dates with the neighborhood friends they they’d remain close with for the rest of their lives.

The Giardolo sisters had the reputation of being some of the most stylish girls in the neighborhood, a tradition that my sister Kay and I more than live up to, if I do say so myself. So how did they stay looking sharp? As my nana put it, anytime one of the sisters needed something, they’d just make it or borrow it from one another. They took care of each other. Nana once told me that as a teenager when she didn’t have a job, one of her sisters was always there to spot her with pocket money to go out on the town or to borrow a dress from. As an adult I’ve realized that the close relationship I have with my sister was no accident, I grew up with the most powerful examples of sisterhood I possibly could have had, my nana and her sisters. I was raised to believe that having a sister was a gift, more than a gift, a treasure that I should hold dear. My nana and her sisters taught me that lesson.

Lesson number 2) Live your life with a positive attitude: Rose was simply one of the most optimistic and open minded people I have ever met. To her the glass was not just half full, it was always joyfully overflowing. This wasn’t because her life was easy, far from it. For most of her adult life she struggled with MS, a disease that left her weak and fatigued. Did she let this slow her down? Well, maybe a little. But she refused to sit out of life, there were parties to throw, trips to Florida to have, grandchildren to cuddle and friends to visit far and wide. Rosie just kept on shuffling along at her own pace, determined to make the most of life. I never once heard her complain about her condition. Rather, she always had a wise saying to bouy herself along, “You do the best with what you’ve got”, or, “Que sera que sera”, were words of wisdom I frequently heard from my nana. The message was clear, when life gets tough, you don’t give up.

Never in my life did I ever hear my grandmother speak ill of anyone or be judgemental of anybody elses’ life choices. Why? Because Rose understood what was important in life. When asking my sister and I about our lives she would say, “Are you healthy? Are you happy? Well then that’s all that matters.” And she truly believed those words, she lived her life by them.

Rose’s open mindedness didn’t come from any social or political agenda. She wasn’t out to change the world or fight a battle, she simply understood what matters in life. People matter, relationships matter, love matters. She spent her entire life bringing people closer together. Whether it was through holidays and family reunions held at Nana and Papa’s big old house in Lincoln, a house, I suspect that was designed with the purpose of entertaining their beloved extended family, or simply sitting around the kitchen table laughing and telling stories. Rose brought people together. She brought generations together.

As I grew up I came to regard her as more than just a grandmother, she was also a dear friend and someone I look up to and strive to be like. It was Rose that made me realize that a 21st century woman like myself could have so much in common with her octagenarian grandmother and aunties. We all love laughter and storytelling, entertaining, fashion and a good joke. After hearing about all the backyard theatricals, sewing, drawing and costuming that her and her sisters did I know exactly where Kay and I got our artsy genes from.

She loved hearing what was going on in me and my sister’s lives whether it was our exploits teaching art and drama, my latest play, or our nights out on the town seeing live music and going to parties (the PG-13 version, of course). And she loved seeing pictures of it all on our iphones. Another thing Rose was open minded about was technology. “Did you ever think you’d live to see the day when you could send a picture through the phone?” She’d say. She was delighted by it and genuinely interested in everything her grandaughters were up to, no matter how unconventional. She was supportive of all our endeavors whether it was my sister’s trip to do volunteer work in Nicaragua or my choice to move in with my boyfriend (now fiancee) gasp… before we were married. While my mother worried, my grandmother simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “Are they healthy? Are they happy? Que sera sera.”

Lesson number 3) As one of the greatest bands of all time, the Beatles said, all you need is love. If my grandmother had been born a generation later I’m sure she would have agreed with that statement. She had so much love to give and continued giving, all the way until the end. Even when she moved to the nursing home she continued to reach out to everyone she met and make new friends. She told everybody she interacted with there, from her fellow residents to the nurses and orderlies that she loved them, and they always replied, “We love you too, Rose.” She is living proof that you get what you give in life.

Last year, shortly after my grandfather passed away, I was on the phone with nana. She asked me, “Are you going to do a reading at the party for papa?” “What party?” I asked, then I realized that she was talking about my granfather’s funeral. I don’t think that she used the word party just because it was too difficult to say the word funeral. I think she chose the word party because she wanted to view the funeral as a gathering of loved ones, something positive instead of something depressing.

And now, although our hearts are heavy, I invite us all to celebrate my grandmother’s life the same way she lived it, with acts of love. Anytime I choose a positive outlook instead of giving up in the face of adversity, I am honoring my grandmother, when I open my arms and accept others instead of being quick to judge, I know that she will be right there with me. And I invite you to do the same, gather your loved ones together, tell stories, spread laughter and choose to see life as a celebration. This is the greatest legacy that Rose will leave us blessed with, a legacy of love.

2011: 11/07
CATEGORY: boston
feel good
feminism
inspiration
mothers
Write comment

Costumes That Could Have Been

So I’ve really dropped the ball on Halloween this year. Not only was my teacher costume crumbs (all black and “witchy” striped stockings, really Ms. Apple? D for originality.) but I completely flaked on a grown up costume too.

If I keep it up at this rate I’ll be wearing holiday themed sweaters in no time:

(This poor lady had her head blocked out of this picture for obvious reasons.)

It’s not that I don’t have great ideas, I just don’t have the time to execute them.

For about 5 years I’ve been meaning to dress up as Sally:

But the trouble is that I keep forgetting I want to be sally in time to make the yarn wig from scratch and sharpie all the stitches onto a pair of white tights and well, you get the idea. What, buy the costume you say? Not a chance. And I sure as hell won’t be dressing like this either:

Sexy Sally. Errrm…. no thank you. Some things in life just don’t need to be sexualized. Actually, lots of things in life don’t need to be sexualized. Sally is one of them.

I’ve also thought the Lichenstein girl would be a fun one:

I could have a real good time with the makeup for that one.

Or I could just end up stabbing myself in the eye with a makeup pencil, swearing and crying and showing up late for the costume party with last year’s ratty old kitty ears on.

Riversong, my ultimate feminist hero:

Or while we’re on the Dr. Who theme:

You gotta love the sexy Dalkeks. (For some reason, sexualizing alien robots is totally fine with moi. What does that say about me?)

Buuutttt… it turns out I did none of those things. I wasn’t invited to a single costume party. In the last 5 years Halloween went from a season that required multiple ironic costumes to wear to multiple hip house parties to a holiday my friends with babies celebrate in pumpkin patches and send me pictures of.

Youth…. why have you forsaken me!????!

I cannot, nay will not, be too old for Halloween. Next year I’ll dress up and be utterly irresponsible. I might even egg a house or two. You’ll see.

Do you still dress up? Do you dress up at school? Do you still celebrate? Does wanting to make me pathetic?

2011: 11/01
CATEGORY: current events
fashion
feel good
feminism
inspiration
Public Schools
reminders
US House
work life balance
6 comments

This is what hypocricy looks like?

So people, you may have noticed that this is supposed to be a blog about teaching but I haven’t…erm… written about teaching in a while.

Why? I feel like I have nothing to say. I’m discouraged, demoralized, disappointed and downright depressed about the state of education. I’m sick of writing letters. I’m sick of trying to fix the system from the inside. I’m sick of getting my hopes up only to be let down.

What’s a girl to do? Well, I could go Occupy something, but tear gas really fogs up my glasses. Or I could do what countless other teachers are doing, hunker down and do the best I can with what I’ve got.

I always thought my career, my calling in life, was going to be more than just doing the best I can with what I’ve got. But with the economy and the state of education the way it is right now, that’s all I can do, and I feel lucky that I have that.

A few days ago a friend of mine who is going into education asked what kind of skills and talents a teacher needs to succeed. My first thought was to answer, “Don’t become a teacher!” but I haven’t become that cynical yet. Instead I came up with a bunch of honest answers that nobody in their right mind would put on a resume.

So here they are, my top 10 unsung crucial teacher skills:

1. Ability to hold your pee for marathon lengths of time.

2. Knowledge of swears and dirty words in a variety of foreign languages.

3. Ability to go to bed and wake up at ludicrously early times of day or night.

4. Great self-esteem so it won’t phase you when kids say things like, “Are you pregnant? You look like my mommy when she was pregnant with my little brother.”, “No offense Miss, but did they even have computers when you were my age?” and, “Why is there a hair sticking out of your chin?”

5. A killer immune system because you’ll be fighting off every cold, flu and virus that your drippy nosed students get. All 500 of them. In constant rotation.

6. Independent wealth so you can spend it all on basic classroom supplies that your district refuses to pay for.

7. Excellent hearing and peripheral vision.

8. Poor olfactory senses. This is especially key if you teach in the, “post puberty but pre-deodorant” age range.

9. Extreme stubbornness. This will keep you from giving up on the kid who seems beyond help, from rolling over when your administrator is unreasonable and get you out of bed on those mornings when you feel like getting up is useless because no matter how hard you try you’ll always be wining battles but losing the war.

10. You better really love kids. I mean seriously. And not just the cute, well behaved ones whose moms always remember to get you a gift on the holidays. All kids. Well, most kids. And when you can’t love a kid, you need to at least be stubborn enough to help that kid (see #9) because even if you don’t like a kid, all kids deserve a chance. Even the obnoxious ones.

What would your top teacher survival traits be?

2011: 10/26
CATEGORY: Uncategorized
2 comments

All Good Things Are Wild and Free…

Every once in a while somebody asks me why I run. A lot of people seem to equate running with pain and torture, or at least a tedious thing that one does out of virtue and not for pleasure. As one ladyfriend of mine so eloquently put it, ” How can you do that? I only run toward cupcakes and away from monsters.”

This is not to say that I’ve never asked myself the same question. When I’m tired and achy and my ipod runs out of juice and I still have miles to go before I get home, I wonder why I run. When I go out in just a t-shirt and it starts to rain as soon as I get to the farthest point from my house, I wonder why I run.

But running just for virtue’s sake? People, I’m nowhere near disciplined enough to do that. So why do I run? Here’s a few reasons:

1. It makes me feel free. I’m never more in touch with my wild animal self than when I’m running or riding a bike. I’m the type of person who needs a little, “wild animal time” every day.

2. Fresh air, nature, beautiful scenery and the chance to check out what’s happening in my neighborhood without the hinderance of trying to get somewhere. What can I say? I’m nosy.

3. It’s cheap. I don’t have to join a gym to do it and all I need is a good pair of sneakers and a good sports-bra.

4. I can do it on my own schedule. I don’t have to remember to show up for a class or deal with the gym being closed or whatever. I already feel over-scheduled enough as it is, I can’t deal with my workouts being on a tight schedule on top of all that. Anytime I feel like running is a good time to run.

5. It clears my head.

6. It’s me time. Put away the computer, turn off the phone and go. I like that nobody can “get to me” while I’m out on a run. Whatever it is can wait until I’m done running.

7. It’s taught me how to take care of my body and appreciate it for what it can do. What’s the old running saying? “Rest days make you stronger”. For every day I push it hard my body needs an equal measure of stretching and relaxation. You can’t just pound on yourself and be a successful runner, at least not if you don’t want injuries. In this way running has humbled me and taught me how to respect my body.

8. It gives me a goal to work up to. I don’t really feel like I can do that in the gym. And no, I do not consider watching a full episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians while I’m on the elliptical a goal to work up to.

9. It makes me feel like I’ve gone from clumsy to capable. Growing up I was the kid who couldn’t even do the mile run in gym class. Not only that, but just a few years ago I was so weakened by an injury that I couldn’t even do a squat without falling over. Now with a combination of running and strength training I’m feeling stronger and more coordinated than ever. My balance has improved so much I can now dead lift a ten pound weight while standing on one foot. This would have been impossible for me only a year ago. Running gives me an incentive to keep up with my exercises too, if I don’t keep my strength up I can’t do those longer runs. And when I run I can really feel how much my fitness has improved.

10. It makes me feel like a badass.

The days are getting shorter now, and the next time I feel like giving up, hopefully I’ll think of these things and lace my sneakers up. With the busy pace of our lives sometimes it can be difficult to justify doing something that’s just for you.

What about you, how do you find reasons to keep up your hobbies and interests be it exercise or something else?

2011: 10/13
CATEGORY: biking
feel good
inspiration
running
Write comment

The Agony and the Ecstacy

Was Michelangelo a runner? Supposedly that sack of flesh is his self-portrait of how he felt after painting the Sistine Chapel. After yesterday I can relate.

Yesterday I ran my first 10k, the Tufts Health Plan 10K for women. It may have only been 6.2 miles but it felt like a marathon. Nothing about it was fun, but I can’t wait to run another one.

Here’s my mile by mile internal monologue:

Starting Line:

Wow it’s crowded. Look at all these women! An olympic gold medalist is speaking to us! Music is pumping! Wahoo! This is so exciting!

Mile 1:

Wow it’s crowded. And BTW, why did I bother trying to stand with my seed time at the starting line when it doesn’t seem like anybody else did and now there are walkers, walkers, in front of me and it’s so packed on Beacon street that it’s like impossible to pass them? Starting out slow is a good thing, right?

Mile 2:

Oh, hey, it’s my favorite view in the world, the view of Boston from the Mass Ave Bridge. Hello Citgo sign! Hello Statehouse! Hello kayakers on the Charles River! Oh, hey, here come the elite runners! the tiny tiny shorts! The massive quads! How inspiring!

Mile 3:

We must be almost done by now. Wait, we’ve only ran 3 miles? Why is it that my 3 mile time is 10 minutes slower than my 5K time? Damn, it’s hot out. So hot that the Charles River is starting to look good for a swim.

Mile 4:

Damn, it’s hot out. Remember those training runs I took? The ones I ran at 5PM on breezy Autumn days on a mostly shaded route? Yeah, this is not it. I forgot how much I hate running in the heat. I’m a vampire runner, I like the shade. I signed up for a race in October so I wouldn’t have to deal with the heat, dammit! Oh, hey, a water station. Don’t mind if I take two and pour one over my head.

Mile 5:

Sometimes you start running faster not from any renewed stores of energy or heroism, but because you want the damn race to be over. Now I’m remembering the words of every yoga teacher I’ve ever had, “For proper hydration you may need more than just plain water, you may need a sports drink, coconut water or a banana with some salt sprinkled on it.” Oh shit, I’ve done none of those things. Why haven’t I been chugging coconut water for the last week!? Fool!

Mile 6:

My head is pounding. I feel nauseous. But on the upside, my legs feel great! That iced coffee this morning was a really bad idea. Am I dead? I think I might be dead or at least having an out-of-body experience. Time to walk for a while. Walking good. Ugh, look at those smug women who’ve already finished the race jogging back to encourage people. Look how refreshed and energized they are. Hate them.

Mile 6.2:

OMG, I can see the finish line. People are cheering, music is blasting. Time to run again. I can’t be one of those weenies who walks across the finish line. Time to jog. Hey look, its’ Mr. Apple cheering from the sidelines. Never been happier to see him.

Finish Line:

No time for hugging, Mr. Apple, I need a nice, soft, cool patch of grass to lie down on. I must look really shitty because a nice lady is asking me if I want her to pour water over my head (I do) and sending her daughter to get me a banana. She also suggests that I take my shoes off to release some more heat. That feels good.

Aaaah… much better.

OMG I need salty snacks right now.

On The Way Home:

I’m leaving my number on so people will know that I look like ass right now because I just ran a race.

I’ve sweated so much and had so much water poured on me that I look like I’ve peed my pants. Great.

At Home:

Shower. Nap. Bliss.

Later That Night:

Leftover Chinese food. Damn I’m awesome. When can I run my next race?

2011: 10/11
CATEGORY: races
running
3 comments

Homework

Just in time for my personal crisis, A Practical Wedding posts a really insightful article on the name change thing.

If you are married or getting married, heck if you are at all interested in gender politics, and you haven’t checked out APW yet you really should. Just when your head is spinning around with talk of color schemes and invitations and gift bags comes some refreshingly honest conversation about what really matters about weddings, the marriage, duh.

Finally there is a feminist, inclusive, sane place on the internet to discuss weddings and the myriad of personal choices we make around them. If you are longing to commiserate with other people who don’t think that the biggest decision you’ll make about your wedding is bone white or ivory, check it out. Reading it makes me feel like there’s a place for me to be, “out of the closet” about being a feminist bride.

2011: 09/28
CATEGORY: feel good
feminism
3 comments

What’s In A Name?

So, gentle readers, I am engaged. That’s right, Mr. Apple has finally decided to make an honest woman of me. I’ll save all the squee for my personal life but suffice it to say, he asked, I said yes (and cried a lot), I’ve never been happier.

Apple A Day will still be an education blog, but I’ll also be writing about marriage, particularly as it pertains to my professional life and my identity as an artist and feminist. And because I’m human I’ll occasionally post pictures of cute shoes. Don’t pretend you don’t love it.

Engagement brings up all manner of happy things. In the past few weeks we’ve received more love and positive energy from our community than I ever thought possible and I know it will only grow as we get closer to the wedding. So many people want to share our love with congratulations, words of wisdom and hugs. It’s kinda overwhelming.

Engagement also brings up some sticky things though. Things I was kind of putting off confronting. Like the name change thing.

I’ve always had a love hate relationship with my last name. It is an Eastern European mishmash of consonants that is nearly impossible to spell or pronounce, so much so that when I need to give someone my last name I just spell it out instead of forcing them to struggle with it. As a kid I resented it. It rhymed with too many embarrassing things and it’s cadence invited far too much unfortunate alliteration. It was one more thing that made me different.

I remember listening to my 4th grade teacher call roll and thinking that I just couldn’t wait to get married so I could change my last name. I hoped my future husband would have a very plain last name like Smith.

Fortunately, as I grew up I grew into my name. I wore it with pride. I was unique and original. I’d never be mistaken for anyone else. Even better, I’ve never had to deal with accidentally getting the mail of every other person with my same generic last name who has ever lived in my zip code. Since I was in my early 20s I have proudly proclaimed that I would never change my name. I’m the last of my generation with my last name and since there are no boys in my family if I don’t pass it on it will die with me. Yup, keeping it.

Then I got engaged. My family and my fiance are all supportive of my decision to keep my last name. It’s other people’s reactions that have really surprised me. For starters, I can’t tell you how many people have greeted me as saying, “Hey! It’s the future Mrs. Hislastname!” Hruuh? first of all, that’s not my name, that’s my future mother in law’s name. Second of all, have I even discussed changing my name with you? Nope. So it’s annoying that people assume I’m changing it. Look, I totally understand that calling me Mrs. Hislastname is a way of congratulating me and acknowledging my future union. Every time someone addresses me this way it is done in a celebratory spirit. So to correct them seems kind of mean.

On the other hand, I don’t want other people to take my lack of correction as a sign that I am changing my name. The longer I let it go and the fewer people I correct the harder it is going to be to inform everyone that my name will remain as it always has been. If enough people start calling me Mrs. Hislastname will it stick whether I like it or not? Will I just start answering to that name because it’s easier? Isn’t this going to confuse everyone?

Plus, I know that even if I advertise that I’m keeping my last name with a giant neon sign and a fireworks display there will still be people who insist on calling Mr. Apple and I Mr. & Mrs. Hislastname whether we like it or not. I know this to be true from observing what friends of mine who hyphenated their last names went through. Even though they were vocal about their decision to hyphenate well before the wedding, I watched cards addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Hislastname pile up on the gift table at their wedding. They send a holiday letter out every year with their hyphenated last names displayed on the letterhead and all of their return address labels have both their last names on it yet people insist on calling them, Mr. and Mrs. Hislastname.

Why do people do this? Do they genuinely forget? Are they being passive aggressive? Do they think that hyphenation or not changing your last name is just a silly little game that they don’t have to respect? Do they not recognize a woman keeping her last name as a valid legal choice? Do they think the mail won’t get to you unless it is addressed to Mr. and Mrs.?

Not since childhood have I had a piece of identity thrust upon me from the outside world without anyone asking me my opinion on it. I haven’t been told, “This is who you are”, by anyone in a very, very long time. It makes me feel angry and infantilized. Three weeks ago I was Apple, an independent woman who everyone saw as an individual, and now one simple act, an act of love that was genuine and pure and shared between two people has changed how others perceive me. Now I’m an appendage, an add on to his identity, not my own self. It makes people assume when they wouldn’t have before. Or maybe it allows them to make their assumptions public?

Then the creeping insecurity starts to worm it’s way in. Why is it so important for me to change my name anyways? I haven’t published any work or made any significant artistic achievements under my current last name so it’s not like changing it would cause confusion in my professional life. Most of my girlfriends have chosen to take their husband’s last names. Isn’t not changing your name kind of passe? Does this make me some sort of old school Birkenstock wearing hippy relic? A name is just a name, right? Changing it can’t change me. Plus, what if something happens, like I’m in a coma at the hospital and they won’t let Mr. Apple visit me because we don’t have the same last name on our IDs? When we have kids what if we’re traveling and somebody thinks I’ve kidnapped them, or Mr. Apple has kidnapped them because we don’t all have the same last name? By the way, making children have hyphenated last names is pretty much child abuse. Everyone will hate them. True story. Come to think of it, don’t you want the same last name as your precious little children you cold, heartless bitch?

Then my own voice rises again. My identity is not disposable. I don’t have to be a superwoman to “justify” keeping my own name, simply wanting to is reason enough. Since when have I cared what other people think of me anyways? There are ways around the whole, “proving you are related thing”. Children in Latin culture have always had hyphenated last names and as far as I can see they’ve grown up fine. And you know what, if wanting my children to have part of both their maternal and paternal heritage reflected in their names in child abuse, then guilty as charged.

Right now I’m not making any changes to my name. We’ll cross that hyphenation or not bridge when we come to it, probably when we have kids. I understand there is no way to honor both our last names without causing a little confusion, spelling things out, or having to correct people occasionally, you know, like I’ve been doing my entire life. And since when have I been afraid of being different?

2011: 09/20
CATEGORY: feminism
work life balance
4 comments

Back To Cool

Ah, fall. My favorite time of year. There’s a refreshing crispness in the air that means I’ll no longer break a sweat just going to get the mail. My sunburn will fade to a golden hued glow, I’ll bust out the cowboy boots and the cozy woolen socks… and then a pageant of pumpkin flavored treats will begin. Pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin beer, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin soups…

And of course, I’ll be back to molding young minds. That was my first thought, I swear! It’s back to school time, kids. My district began professional days this week. There will be no students until after Labor Day (as it should be, I find it cruel and unusual to bring students back to school in August) so the most excitement I’ve had so far is saying hello to missed colleagues and maybe a sneeze attack from unpacking dusty school supplies.

As a teacher, I’ve loved and dreaded the back to school ritual almost as much as I did as a kid. Out there in America right now, new sneakers are being broken in, names are being written on crisp new backpacks, pencils are being sharpened and summer reading assignments are being frantically compleated.

So what’s on this teacher’s back to school wish list?

1) Bern Bike Helmet

Back to school means back to bike commuting! I’ve been in the market for a new bike helmet that does double duty for style and utility for quite some time now and this Bern helmet fits the bill! It has a visor! And the shape of it means minimal helmet head once I arrive at class. It’s a keeper!

2) An iPad/Netbook

Emphasis on the wish part of wish list with this one, obvs. I see more and more teachers using iPads and it’s easy to see why. Especially for people like me who don’t have their own classrooms and move around as much as I do it’s an incredibly useful tool. Imagine having access to all of my lesson plans no matter where I go? Being able to plug and play with any smartboard in the district? If I get the idea to show my class a youtube clip of David Tennant’s Hamlet, voila, I can show them the youtube clip of David Tennant’s Hamlet! I could answer emails and schedule meetings with the tap of a finger anywhere I go. My middle name would be Productivity. Nay, my first name would be productivity. If I can find a way to make this gadget mine, I will.

3) New Dry Erase Markers

Want to get in good with a teacher? Fer chrissakes, don’t bring us any more apples. You don’t even need to bring us any coffee. Just bring us a packages of shiny new dry erase markers and we’ll love you forever. It’s that easy. Students seem to find dry erase markers infinitely theft worthy, or at least infinitely wasteable as evident by the freakin’ Guernica of doodles that seem to appear on any available white board the moment I turn my back. We always need them.

Ball point pens and hi-liters are a close second on the list of things that a teacher will fall to their knees and praise you for giving them. I live in a perpetual state of, “where’s my pen?”, I never have enough, and every time I think I do I turn around and they are all gone .

4) Classroom Sets of All My Favorite Plays

Since there is no such thing as an anthology of quality dramatic literature for the middle grades (trust me, I’ve looked) that isn’t full of hoakey shit that teens are “supposed to relate to”, when I want my students wrap their heads around a well made play I have to run around making photocopies and gathering up every dog-eared copy of, “A Raisin in the Sun”, I can get my mitts on. Kids don’t like handling large bundles of photocopies. Teachers don’t like brow beating kids when the large bundles of photocopies inevitably fall apart, end up missing pages or are crushed beyond recognition in the bottom of a backpack. Plus, I just think my students deserve the dignity of getting to read a real book. Another great gift for any teacher? A gift certificate to a bookstore. We’ll use it.

5) Some Respect

You didn’t think I was going to write an entire post without getting political, did you? Teachers all over the nation are expected to prepare students for the 21st century with resources and facilities that are outdated, inadequate and even sometimes unsafe and unsanitary. Great education doesn’t just mean great teachers, it means providing a resource rich environment for kids. With books, and computers and adequate heat and lighting. We deserve it, the kids deserve it. We shouldn’t have to fight for it.

Happy back to school, everyone. May this new beginning be a great one.