Ultimate Dork: Accepted

It's 1:23 AM on a school night. That's pretty late...or is it pretty early? 1:23. It doesn't matter which stance you take - I should be sleeping. But I can't because nightmares are keeping me awake. Well not "nightmares". Rather one particular thought. Whenever I close my eyes I am absorbed with the anatomy of the heart and can't stop my brain from repeating the path of blood. Superior vena cava, right atria, tricuspid valve (as it closes, you hear the "lub" of the heart), continuing into the right ventricle, pulmonic artery, pulmonic valve (as this one closes the following "dub" is heard)...etc.  It's not just the path of blood that consumes me, but I also visualize my gloved hand sticking my fingers in the orifices. Yes, I understand that it's quite weird. It is also robbing sleep from me. Am I allowed to blame my kiddos for sleepless nights? We started the cardiovascular system earlier this week and they wanted to dissect hearts. I told them human hearts were out of the picture, but if they brought in cow hearts (which are 4-chambered like ours) that we could do it. Did I actually think they'd bring them in? Nope. Did they actually bring them in? Yup. So I learned a lot yesterday. Top 3. Ready, go!

(1) Cow hearts are big. Big and heavy. No joke, I could do bicep curls with them and would probably benefit. Don't judge the size of my muscles. Just let a picture of a giant heart consume your thoughts. But don't think about it too much. You might be infected with my nightmares.

(2) Colombians eat cow hearts. I've never tried the delicacy, but I guess it's pretty popular. Popular enough that you can go to any meat market and request a heart. And to think, I doubted that anyone would actually be able to find one to bring in to dissect. Oh Leanne, when will you learn to think like a Colombian?

(3) I love gloves. Before class I skipped over to the nurse and asked her for a pair of gloves. Best. Idea. Ever. The majority of the kids were squeamishly prodding  the hearts with pop-sickle sticks and forceps while I just dove right in. I'd stick my little fingers right through the major blood vessels and have each group tell me the names. Kind of sweet but I wouldn't be doing it without hand coverings. That particular dead-meat smell tends to linger on the hands and makes me want to vomit.

Being a biology teacher is sometimes hard. Like when your cursed with anatomical nightmares. I guess there are worse things to keep me awake at night. This one just promotes me to ultimate dork. I suppose I accept.

One last thought as my eyelids get heavy: is that allowed in the United States? Just randomly bringing in cow hearts supplied by a meat market and letting kids hack away? These are things I take for granted in Colombia. Every day this country captures a larger piece of my heart. Ha! Pun intended.

My Special 10th Grade

Today is Thursday and I have the day off. It feels like a Saturday. Several times today I've thought about how I'm going to fill my day tomorrow. Maybe I'll make french-toast for breakfast, then read for a bit, hit the gym around 8:00 and meander to a cafe in the afternoon. My floors need mopping, my piano needs playing, and my cat needs brushing. Perfect.  But then I remember: tomorrow I have work. May 1st (today) is labor day, so of course the day is free. Tomorrow is May 2nd, which is not labor day and a Friday, so I have work. It seems logical, but it feels strange. It should be the weekend.

Due to my lack of class today, I was able to have lunch with some fellow gringas. I met a foreigner who works for a non-profit organization a few weeks back and we had been meaning to grab lunch. Today was the perfect day. A few of the volunteers she coordinates also joined us. As we made small-talk the inevitable question eventually came up, "So, you teach English, right?" I laugh. Well, at least on the inside I'm laughing. I find the picture of me teaching English quite comical. If you know me and my struggle with this silly language, you're hopefully laughing with me. Sure, I can usually speak half-way intelligently but the spelling and grammar of it? Yeah right! There's a reason I always make sure my mom is the first to read my blog. She sends me all my errors to correct (even though I read through it 5 times.) My brain just doesn't do language well.

So that brings me to what I really want to discuss here: what I teach.  I'm not certain I've ever clarified that in a blog entry. I teach in the high school: 9th grade general science, 10th grade biology, and 12th grade "environmental science" (Why the quotes around the last one? Well, that's a lame name to make the school look good. It's really remedial biology. The biology teacher these students had in 10th grade didn't fulfill his contract, left before the year was over, and they got jack-squat in their biology class. So instead of having 2 biology classes on their transcripts, the 12th graders now have "biology" and "environmental science". It looks snazzy, but don't be fooled, it's remedial biology.)

There we have it. I teach 9th, 10th, and 12th graders. It's fascinating having 3 different groups of kids because they each have their own personality. The 9th graders are crazy, the 12 graders are lazy, and the 10th graders...well...they're my special group. You see, I had all these students last year and they've been with me since day 1. They've been a part of my most amazing lessons and patiently endured my failures. They've seen me at my craziest and they've seen me at my lowest. They've made me laugh until my stomach hurts and they've even made me cry. We've been through a lot. When I leave in July, they will have been the only students that were with me my entire time in Colombia. And now I'm trying to put words to them. Is it even possible? It's worth a shot.

My 10th graders are my touchy-feely group. In the United States there are boundaries. Or rather, bubbles. First there are bubbles around the teachers and bubbles around the students. They don't come into physical contact as the fear of a sexual harassment charge is always looming. Second there are little bubbles around each student. This is called personal space. Neither really exists in Colombia and this lack of personal space is exaggerated even more in this 10th grade group. Within the first 10 minutes of class I will have been in physical contact with over 50% of my students. The hand shake. The arm around my shoulder. The hand on my arm as they ask a question. At first this was weird, but now, to be honest I enjoy it. Not in some twisted sexual-predator way, but in the fact that it makes me feel closer to them. They also touch each other all the time. Not too much anymore, but last year I probably said "Don't touch each other" about a million times. And no, I'm not exaggerating. None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.

My 10th graders are my incredibly bright group. It's not just intelligence with them. Yeah, there are a lot of smart kiddos, but more importantly they ask questions like crazy. I can hardly get through 5 minutes of lecture without someone interjecting a question. And these questions aren't just surface level, they dissect the material and desire to know the inner workings. They crave understanding. It's marvelous and humbling at the same time. Marvelous because of their curiosity. Humbling because there are several times when I have to answer a question with "I don't know." It's hard to be a teacher (the supposed expert on the subject) and have to tell an inquisitive mind that you don't have the answer. At first it was uncomfortable, but now I don't mind. What is my other option? Make something up? I respect them too much for that. So, they ask a lot of questions. None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.

My 10th graders are my continual company. If I leave my door open during any break in class, I'm sure to have a 10th grade visitor. Sometimes they want to do work on homework in my room. Sometimes they want to talk. Sometimes they want to pester me. Sometimes they want to stand in front of my fan. Sometimes they just want a place to hang out. Without fail, I won't be alone. None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.

There is one major problem that I should address however: my 10th graders mean the world to me. And this is a problem because they make leaving Colombia hard. Really hard.  None of my other groups really do this, and this makes my 10th graders special.