What I Did Over My Summer Vacation

The mood to write doesn't strike me as often as I'd like. When I am overworked, stressed, or just plain tired after each day of hard work, I find I am simply uninterested in the prospect of sitting in front of my computer and doing anything productive.  I'd much rather sit back and enjoy mindless amusement in as passive a manner as possible.  And usually that's what I do.

This summer I have been working at a Jewish day camp for children ages 5 to 12 and Friday was our last day.  It has been an astonishing experience and I finally have the wherewithal to sit down and reflect on it.

The camp was located on Staten Island which, though technically part of New York City, has a fair share of roughly wooded areas that are home to a number of summer camps. Every day I took a yellow school bus full of young campers over the Verrazano and into a campground where instead of car horns and angry commuters I heard insects and laughing children. Every day I enjoyed escaping the right-angled city to a place with open-sided shelters and winding gravel paths, preferring the shade of trees to the shade of apartment buildings. I came home covered in bug bites, dirt, and tan lines, (although honestly, I think I've sustained more mosquito bites from the couple of mosquitoes living in our apartment than I did all summer at camp.) and I was happy.

My position at the camp was a Division Head, and I was in charge of all the campers and counselors in 2nd grade, known at camp as the Grapes Division. I developed and enforced systems and procedures used in our shelter, supervised and directed all the counselors in the division, responded to all parent questions and concerns, and worked closely with the directing staff to ensure a successful summer for everyone. I worked a great deal beyond the 7.5 hours we spent at camp five days a week, but although the hours were long I enjoyed the summer immensely.

Never before have I been in a supervisory or administrative position, and I am incredibly happy I took this opportunity. At first, I thought the most challenging aspect of the job would be working with parents and their anxieties. I was warned there would be crazy parents, kind parents, aggressive parents, and over-sensitive parents. It was true, I encountered all those types of parents, but what they didn't tell me that all most parents are looking for is to be assured and reassured that their child is receiving the best care possible when they aren't around to supervise. And once I was able to calm or assuage their concerns and fears, it was usually smooth sailing from that point forward.

What they didn't tell me was that the most challenging part would be supervising high school and college-aged counselors who are not as receptive to suggestion or reprimand as the average 2nd grader. While I am confident in my classroom and behavior management skills as an elementary school music teacher, I found that reminding a 20-year-old to hand in progress reports on time or reprimanding a slew of staff members for their poor attendance was not nearly so straightforward. I constantly wondered how I was doing: if I was too harsh or not harsh enough, too friendly, too standoffish, too accommodating, too forgiving. You name it, I considered it. I compared myself constantly to the other division heads whose personalities and supervising styles were so drastically different from my own. By the end of the summer I knew that my counselors liked me, but did they respect me? Was I effective?

Ultimately, I think the answer to that question is yes, I was effective, because the Grapes Division was among the most well-run on camp and had some of the happiest counselors. Still, I am already thinking of ways to change and improve for next year.

Unlike the other Division Heads, I had no prior experience at a day camp. When I was younger I attended an overnight camp for four weeks every summer, but the two camping experiences are drastically different in many ways. (In fact, I remember all of us campers dreading the week when the young kids from the affiliated day camp came to see what sleepaway camp was all about. I regret that we made fun of them mercilessly behind their backs. Day camp simply wasn't nearly as cool as sleepaway camp. We were clearly just obnoxious teenagers.) Not only have I never had experience at a day camp, but I had never so much as worked at a camp before this. I was truly jumping into the deep end with little more than a bachelor's, a teaching license, and ambition to keep me afloat. Now, at summer's end, I can honestly say that not only did I not sink, but I swam with the best of 'em.

While I'm sure Tomm would tell you a different story based on my occasional rants at home, I really did have a wonderful summer. Today I got so many hugs by campers and counselors alike, and my directors told me in no uncertain terms that they intend to see me next summer. I feel buoyed by the success of the summer, especially considering it was a job that required a very different set of skills than what I use during the school year. I was challenged, I learned, I taught, I guided, I planned. I used my skills and developed new ones. I grew. And so did my campers and counselors.

I am still a music teacher. I will still return to the public school in a few weeks to teach lessons on steady beat and dynamics and playing rhythm sticks. I am still dedicated to the pursuit of education through sound and song. But spending my NYC summers in a forest with sun and mosquitoes and smiling children doesn't seem so bad. 

Counting my blessings

I'm suffering from a bad cold and it's well past my bedtime. I have to be up in about six hours (which is barely sufficient for me), and I have a 13-hour day ahead of me. But I am anxious - for mostly good reasons - and sleep is evading me, so I turn to my very neglected blog.

Though the NYC public school year doesn't finish until the end of June, my daytime position at one school has come to an end. The principal wanted to make sure the program wrapped up before the end-of-year craziness really began, and I can't entirely blame her for that decision. I was kind of looking forward to a bit of a break myself, despite how sad all the students (and teachers!) seemed upon learning that Monday was my last day with them. To make my departure even more emotional, I received an enormous number of handmade Thank You cards from students which made me smile like a crazy person as I read them on the subway.  But I promised them all I would be back next year, and the principal and I hugged on it to make it official.

As for that break I was hoping for before my summer camp job starts in June, that was only wishful thinking. Two weeks ago my supervisor asked if I'd be willing to fill in as the music teacher at another school for the last seven weeks of the year.  The regular music teacher is apparently unable to complete the year, so I agreed to take on the position. This means an additional 9 hours of teaching a week (plus 5 per week of prep and meetings), on top of the after school position I'm still doing through June.  I was hoping I would have a week to prepare things after finishing the other school, but nope! I start tomorrow morning.

Naturally, I'm nervous and apprehensive, as I suspect most teachers are before their first day with new students.  It doesn't help that I have a cold which has left me feeling stuffy, sneezy, sleepy, and a few other dwarfs (with Doc making me chicken soup when he's home), so I'm definitely not bringing my A Game.  Still, I'm looking forward to it and I'm excited to use these weeks to strengthen some of my lesson plans and try out some new ones.

I also found out fantastic news today: I was accepted to a graduate school program! Starting in September, I will be working towards my Masters of Music in Music Education in addition to teaching.  I'm equal parts excited and anxious, but I have a few months before I really have to start freaking out about it.  I'm just glad I'm in and that two years from now I'll have another advanced degree under my belt.  

Y'know, riding the subway every day gives me a lot of time to think. I don't always use the time wisely, but occasionally I think about all the luck Tomm and I have experienced since moving here. He's nearly done with his first year of residency and we both agree it hasn't been quite as atrocious as we expected it to be. Together we are making it through his residency, we're beginning to establish ourselves in a new Jewish community, we have found a great apartment in a wonderful area (the keys to which we should be able to get tomorrow), and he even got his first vacation request for next year so we can celebrate Pesach with my family.  On a personal level, I found two jobs fairly quickly after moving here, I have organized and prepared for successful concerts both as a teacher and as a performer (with the BSO), I have made connections that led to a long-term subbing gig and a full-time summer job, and I have been accepted to grad school.  But maybe "luck" is the wrong word; perhaps "blessings" is more adequate.  My father-in-law reminded me today that he is always praying for his children. Worrying and praying. And I know he's not the only one.  Both Tomm and I are surrounded by so many people who love, support, care for, and pray for us that it's a wonder we ever worried about whether or not we'd be able to survive in big bad New York.

Maybe that's why I get these colds so often.  They are annoying and sometimes keep me from getting things done, but they also help me recognize all the bright and good things in my life.  If being sick occasionally is the price I pay for being blessed in so many ways, then keep the Vicks and tea coming.  I can handle it.

Back to the blog

John Lennon once sang "Life is what happens to you when you're busy ignoring your blog."

Or, y'know, something like that.

In any case, it's been well over a month since I last wrote and you can generally assume that I haven't written because I've been busy.  First it was preparing for Passover (spring cleaning with a deadline, as my mom likes to describe it), complete with making my very first seder.  Then it was actually Passover, which was surprisingly busy. Then it was full-tilt concert preparation, hard core apartment hunting, New York State teacher's licencing tests, applying for graduate school, and a few other obligations.  Thankfully, most of the hard work of the last two months appears to be paying off.

Big news number 1: I made it through my first really, truly, honest-to-goodness, did-it-all-by-myself Pesach!  Passover is one of those holidays that requires so much work and has so many laws, traditions, and procedures associated with it that I avoided "making Pesach" whenever I could.  As a college student, I either went home for the holiday or stayed with my aunt and uncle. Even in my apartment last year I ate as many meals as I could elsewhere so I didn't actually have to buy new food, new dishes, or cover my countertops.  This year, however, I couldn't get out of it.  Not only that, but I was also making a small seder for three for the first night.  Thankfully I think I pulled it off, and it wasn't even quite as scary as I thought it might be.

Big news number 2: We found a new apartment!  Although our current apartment is a total steal in NYC and the hubby is a block away from work, the neighborhood leaves something to be desired. Since finding a synagogue and community that has yet to disappoint me, we started looking for an apartment closer to that neighborhood.  It was a long and arduous search, but I am happy to announce we found a place only a few blocks from shul and we're signing the lease on Tuesday.

Big news number 3: My spring concerts for the Pre-K through 3rd grade classes at my school has been a source of great stress for me the last few weeks, but after a few hours of very successful rehearsals on Friday, I'm actually looking quite forward to them.  The theme is "Music Through the Decades," and each class has a song to represent a particular genre and decade.  Early American folk, 30s swing, 60s R&B, 70s pop, 80s hard rock, you name it.  The kids have worked so hard, and after hearing them on stage I am extremely excited for the performances next week.  Admittedly, though, I'm not sure if I'm primarily excited for the concerts or for them to be done.  Either way, I'm looking forward to it.

Big news number 4: Applied for grad school.  Will hopefully get in.  Will keep you updated.

Tonight after Shabbat I had every intention of finally tackling some of the house chores that I have been putting off for the last two weeks, but somehow I'm sitting at the computer instead.  For the first time in two months I'm feeling like things are actually under control, and I am so chilled that even the piles of laundry on the floor aren't bothering me.  It'll all get done. The worst of it is over. And pretty soon, I'll be able to relax in a brand new place to call home.

The It Crowd

This past weekend was the holiday of Purim, a Jewish festival celebrating the victory of the Jews over the evil vizier Haman in ancient Persia under the rule of King Ahashverosh (who is most likely King Xerxes I). It is a joyous holiday during which we read from the Book of Esther (known as the megillah), eat hamantaschen (triangle-shaped pastries filled with jam, poppy seed, chocolate, or other goodies), dress up in costumes, and imbibe.

It is one of the most rambunctiously joyous holidays in the Jewish calendar, yet I've never been a huge fan of it.  Since I became old enough to decide on my own costumes instead of my parents putting me in whatever mask they wanted, I realized that I was very bad at making costumes and so I haven't dressed up much in the last few years.  I don't like drinking, nor do I enjoy being around people who drink copiously, and big parties usually aren't my thing.  So I've come to ignore Purim, more or less, and prefer to focus instead on the holidays I'm good at.

But this year, as with most things in my life since moving to New York, things were different.

This year I attended a giant party at a huge Reform synagogue which was co-sponsored by at least three congregations and a couple Brooklyn Jewish social organizations.  There were multiple readings of the Book of Esther to accommodate the different communities represented, then we all coalesced afterward in the social hall across the street for a giant costume and dance party. 

With a guest list of nearly 300, this is not typically the kind of event I would attend, especially without a group of friends to go with.  But in the last few months I've been getting to know some new people and have even made a few friends with whom I've hung out outside of Jewish events.  A few of them said they would be there, so I went hoping that I'd at least be able to mingle momentarily with a few people here or there.  I didn't expect to stay too long or involve myself much in the party, but at least I would have the experience and be able to say I was there.

I decided to get together with a new friend beforehand and walk with her to the event.  She is even newer to Brooklyn than me, so for once I was the one familiar with the area and the people.  It felt pretty cool to know what I was doing, where I was going.  When we got there I started looking for the people I knew from the shul I've been attending regularly the last couple months, and I wasn't disappointed.

After the megillah reading, we slowly made our way over to the social hall where the party was getting started.  It didn't take long to get separated from my friend and lost in the crowd (and it didn't help that I was probably the shortest person in the room), but eventually I found another friend who I knew would be there.  She introduced me to her friends and while talking to them someone else bumped into me.

"I'm sorry!  Oh, hey!  Great seeing you here!  I'm going over there, but we'll talk later!"

I recognized the girl, but could not for the life of me think of her name right away.  Where had I met her?  How did I know her?  It took me nearly 15 minutes to remember that I had only met her a week prior at another event for Jewish Brooklynites, and I think I remembered her name.  But what's really cool to me, what I consider to be a major milestone in my social exploration of Brooklyn, is that not only am I just randomly bumping into people I know, but others are recognizing me, too.

Nearly eight months ago I moved here knowing nobody.  I had no social circle, no friends in the area, no network to speak of beyond Tomm.  The fact that I not only attended but thoroughly enjoyed a huge dance party last weekend is an enormous step for me.  I can confidently say I'm making friends and finding my niche in this big city.  Now that's an accomplishment.

At a Loss

I was never a fan of failure.

Throughout my education, I always strove for straight As and high marks; I sought praise like the teacher's pet I was, and I was rarely satisfied with anything less than the best.  Not my best, the best.  Sure, I could admit that certain subjects weren't my strongest - chemistry and P.E., for instance - but that was no excuse for doing poorly.

In hindsight, it was a pretty easy thing to excel in school.  Do the homework, write the papers, listen in class, get a good grade.  So long as my teachers were following a rubric as they graded my work, I was fairly confident.

And cocky.  Way too cocky for my own good.

Now it's biting me in the butt.

As a music teacher, I no longer have the privilege of having supportive teachers grade me with rubric in hand.  There are no percentages and letter grades, notes home or report cards.  But I still feel like I am graded, only this time my students are the ones with the metaphorical red pen.

Sometimes, I think my students are giving me an F.

I teach in two locations for two different programs.  The first is during the day at a public school in an affluent neighborhood where I am the primary music teacher.  I teach in the students' classrooms, usually with the teacher there to assist me if necessary.  The classroom teacher can also help quell misbehavior, leaving me to focus more on what I am teaching.  It's a pretty cushy job.

The other one is after school three days a week at a significantly less affluent school on the Lower East Side.  Past SoHo, past the cute diners, past the wine bars and American Apparel store.  If you go past all those you will eventually find yourself in an area where everyone struggles just a little more: families, children, and teachers alike.

In one particular Kindergarten classroom that I enter once a week to do music activities, the students have been getting progressively more antsy for the last few months.  Back in November they were a fairly mild-mannered bunch, at least insomuch as they could find their way to stay in one designated area of the classroom and participate in music.  They required a lot of guidance, reminders, and structure, but for a few weeks in late Fall they were functioning fairly well when I was in the classroom.

As the weather got colder and recess was more frequently moved indoors, individual students started posing more and more challenges to the overall harmony that had been fleetingly achieved. Like dandelions on a freshly mowed lawn, instances of misbehavior popped up everywhere and spread quickly.

Today I went in armed with a plan. I knew which activities I wanted to share with the students, including one that would review and reinforce the rules of our music time which have long been ignored. I intended to keep the energy high and everything moving along so the students would be swept up in the excitement in a way that would hopefully minimize disruptions. I was ready.

Of course, that was before I actually entered the classroom. And although things started off well, it didn't tale long for this girl to start poking that girl, that boy to crawl to the middle of the circle and spin on his knees, that boy starts crying because he wasn't one of the three children to offer an idea for the Hello
Song, and...well, you get the picture.

I tried to bring the focus back, and at some point I succeeded. For the next five minutes we had a rousing song session to review the music room rules, and they were doing great. But the moment that song was done they were back to their antics and I was wearing out. I tried transitioning to my next activity but it apparently wasn't nearly as interesting as I expected it to be and with ten minutes left I gave up.

Yup. I gave up.

The students were ordered to go back to their seats.  The other educational leaders in the room lectured them while I, the dejected music teacher, stood by and listened as if they were in fact lecturing me. "Come on!" my ear heard. "You're the teacher! You're the one with the actual certification and you've lost control, given up. You've failed your students."

There is truth to the idea that we are our own worst critic, but I can't help but feel that I really am failing at this particular venture. What am I doing wrong? Or maybe it's not my fault. Maybe it's just poor parenting and poor classroom management during the day and not enough play time outdoors and it's too late and they're tired and none of this can be helped. I know there are other teachers who, when faced with this kind of adversity, blame the system and claim they can't do anything about it, but I can't let myself believe that's true. So I blame myself.

After that class I felt empty of any conviction that I'm a good teacher, which is interesting considering how bolstered I feel when teaching music at the school across town. It's hard for me to objectively assess what the problems are and how they can be addressed, worked with, and solved. Part of that is because I'm still a novice, but the other is because of the clouds drifting slowly and ominously through my consciousness, obscuring my judgment. Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy.

Failure in and of itself might not be so bad if I were the only one affected by it, but when a classroom of students loses out on music because of my inability to keep their attention, I have failed 20 others. I can only hope they will forgive me and try again with me next week.