Some people go to jobs every day where they come home frustrated about the dwindling spirit of humanity. I, on the other hand, get to go to a job every day where I come home with stories . Some of them are like static in my brain-space: stories of people being unreasonable. Some of them are like razor blades: stories of people being abused or hurt or in pain without any recourse or exit strategy. And then, there are other days where I come home with a story that is more beautiful than any garden, more refreshing than any barefoot day. And here is one of them: My speech class consists of nine students. At least five, as far as I can tell so far, are Advanced Placement students, preparing to place out of college courses with their knowledge and well-developed abilities. One seems to be more interested in his outside interest of rapping than school, and one is so quiet I'm not clear on who she might be yet. And then there is Mario and Isabe...
This blog will inadequately capture my thoughts on topics from art, to inspiration, from education to equity. I am who I am, who I create myself to be, so the nature of me will shine through: as a mom, a wife, a teacher, a leader, and a seeker.