New Haven Independent

May 25, 2006

This week’s theme is: “No Rest for the Weary.” I don’t know how I’m doing this, but between teaching, working at the restaurant, and tutoring, I’m getting only about four or five hours of sleep a night. Yikes. The bags under my eyes get bigger each morning. By the end of the week, I’ll be able to carry my books in them.

“Weary” is also a vocabulary word for my ninth graders this week while we’re reading Beowulf. They are also learning “moor” and how it differs from the “Moor” they met in Titus Andronicus, “mead,” and “vex.” Every day they have ten new words they need to know as they appear in the books in Beowulf. Today we talked about how the story was used to convert pagans to Christianity. We talked about exaggeration, boasting, the qualities of a good convincing story, and people’s perceptions of actions of outcasts—how those who look different, believe differently, and act differently are misunderstood and often labeled as “monsters.” One of my students said, “I think Grendel is not a monster. I think Grendel is a guy who has done some monster-like things, like murdering people. But I think he has a reason. Maybe society treated him wrong and he’s getting revenge.”
I met a teacher a few months ago who doubted my ability to read Beowulf, in its translated poetic form, with 9th graders.
“Beowulf with ninth graders?” she said, eyebrows raised. “Good luck!” with emphasis on “luck,” as if I’d need it. As if my kids weren’t able to understand or I wouldn’t be able to engage them with the tale.
I took it as a challenge, and I told my kids today.
“There’s people who think you can’t read this book,” I told them. The class went quiet.
“What do you mean, Miss? Like we can’t understand it?” one girl asked from the back of the room.
“Yeah. Like you can’t understand it, or you wouldn’t like it. So when that teacher said that to me, I was like, ‘Oh, it’s on now. Bring it on.’” My kids laughed, and the same girl piped up again:
“I get what you mean, Miss. When someone tells me I can’t do something, I do it even better just to prove them wrong. I know what you’re talking about.”
We ended the class with more vocabulary and a hefty homework assignment. I’ve made the lesson plans for the rest of the school year and I gave their work out to them. Tonight they’ll define words like “torment” and “tapestry,” and read about the death of an apparent “monster” named Grendel. They’ll come to class tomorrow and talk about God and monsters, about inequality and dominant culture. They’ll leave my classroom with more knowledge and more folds in their brains. I know they will because I won’t let them leave until they do. They live up to my expectations time and time again, some even far surpassing my expectations.
“Beowulf? With ninth graders? Good luck!”
It’s not about luck. It’s about knowing who you’re talking to. It’s about knowing the people you work with, holding everyone to the same high standards, and playing fair. It’s about presenting them with a challenge that they know they can overcome. And since I know my kids are into “proving themselves,”—on the street, in the hallways, with their friends—I know they will prove themselves again. Luck has nothing to do with proving yourself. In the act of proving ourselves, we work hard, and become weary. But we don’t give up. My kids are going to learn.