Darkness

The darkness falls like a curtain, but this curtain of darkness is early, cutting the scene in half, catching the audience in mid-gasp. I cringe at 4 p.m. when my students and I finally leave our classrooms, fumbling in the darkness to lock the door. We walk blindly through the hallway, knowing the door is at the end, willing ourselves not to stumble and fall through the floor.

Okay, I'm being melodramatic. But dang! It gets dark early and it's a drag. I'm tired of darkness and I'm tired of being cold. And it's only November.

Enough.

Yesterday was a good day! (Trying, trying to be optimistic here. Work with me, people!) We had our regional Olympiad. I arrived at 8 a.m. to help Tatiana get ready. Several nearby village schools participated. Tatiana and I spearheaded the tenth and eleventh graders with two other teachers. Everyone gathered in a little chatty group, waiting for all the other students from various schools to arrive. I attempted to be friendly.

"Hello!" I said in Russian.

"..." said no one in particular. Eye contact was not made.

"Hi," I said in English to the nice-looking lady next to me.

"..." she said. Nothing, really. Perhaps a mutter of something, as she turned away.

Furtive glances were cast my way. I smiled broadly, hoping the human connection could be made. I tried to invite people to my Teachers' English Club. "It will be fun," I said, trying to keep the dismay from my voice. Tatiana sidled up to me and explained that the teachers wanted to meet with me, of course, but they lived 30 minutes away and really couldn't make the journey. Or they were so busy with this, or that, you know. Everyone is so busy nowadays.

What can I do? I felt so rejected by my peers. I was well-coiffed, dressed nicely in a Ukrainian suit, smiled, spoke slowly and softly, tried to project a general air of encouragement and glad-to-meet-you-ness, but to no avail. I've randomly met with these teachers now on five different occasions - three official methodology seminars, the Teacher's Day celebration in the forest, and yesterday - and every time I've made a huge effort to reach out and try to stir up some connection or interest. And every time I've failed.

I'm trying not to be discouraged. But during the Olympiad, the teachers were well contented to let me handle the tasks and run the show. When the students gave their speeches, the teachers chatted with each other and yawned. I kept notes on a chart I made to try to be objective and fair, and to try to explain my reasoning later to Tatiana, who was rushing in and out throughout the task. Part of the task is to have a dialogue with the student, so I invited the other teachers to ask some questions. "I never ask questions during an exam," sniffed one teacher in response.

Some of the teachers decided to leave early, leaving us to grade all the tenth and eleventh form tests. Tatiana and I were in the chilly English room until after 4 o'clock, pulling our hair out trying to decide on how to award points fairly and honestly. Then tonight, during our regular evening chat, she sounded really down. I asked her why, and she told me that she was disappointed with the way the other teachers had graded the eighth and ninth grade tests. She said there was no way to look at it but that they had been dishonest. She's planning on talking with the administration about it. "What to do, Sarah?" she sighed.

The gloom is settling on us all. My students are disrespectful and unruly. The teachers often ask me to let them do other tasks while I'm teaching - we're all pretty busy - and now I can't agree. With the Ukrainian teacher out of the classroom, the students go wild. I end up standing in front of the room full of kids, staring over their heads, my mind blank, thinking, "Bueller...Bueller..."

It makes me snappy and mad. I've taken to scolding the kids a little. I'm tired of finding they don't do their homework, they don't learn their vocabulary, they don't want to pay attention or work with me. They don't want to follow my directions or try the new things I propose. They don't want to talk with me or interact with me. They'd rather be kids.

Today in Lena's cabinet for tea, the regular crowd was there, being jolly - Marina, Lyuda, Tanya, Sasha (Nikitin), Vlad (Martianov), Sasha, Olya, Tatiana, and me. They were talking about a teacher's competition coming up, kind of like a talent show with skits, and I've already invited myself to be a part of it. I haven't heard anything since, and today was the first day they were talking about it again in front of me. They were having a great time talking about their roles, and I said, "What about me?" There was a little pause and no one made eye contact. Marina said, "We'll think of something, Sarah," apologetically and not very convincingly. I felt so left out. Doesn't anybody want to include me in anything???

I'm fighting off a cold, too. It's almost gone but it's been an uphill climb this week. I'm glad the holiday is coming soon. I'll get to hang out with some friends, destress and recompose myself.

Good things:

Grandma sent me the best care package ever!!! It's full of wacky, warm socks, long underwear, and wonderful, wonderful movies. She sent me Fargo, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Pride and Prejudice, The Grinch, A Christmas Carol, and a bunch of cartoons. This couldn't get any better - but it just did! She also sent me a bunch of cribbage boards and cards. I can't wait to teach my kids how to play.

Tatiana and I are hoping to organize a Christmas party. Hopefully we can have our kids put on little skits and read poems and sing songs. How to organize it and why and how to get our kids ready is another story. I wish it were simple, like some kids had time after school on certain days, but it always seems to change, and even when they agree to meet with me, there's always something that comes up and they don't show up.

Dang. I slipped back into negativity there. Thus ends the post. I don't like to complain, I'd rather think that there is no problem too difficult to solve, no situation so bleak it's worth complaining so much about. So tomorrow is another day, and perhaps it will be a better one.