Where are you going, Cotton-Eyed Joe?

 I know I rarely post here anymore. Maybe I'll finally start again some day. This site isn't even really titled correctly, as I'm not really a Muslim English Teacher anymore. Yes, of course I'm still Muslim after some seventeen years, which is a considerably long time. I just looked it up and it was the 29th of Muharram 1425. What a long journey. I guess this is just a quick, random, and disjointed post. I have work to do, so I'll have to make another appearance at a later date. See ya

Truth

 Not gonna lie, I really miss teaching.

Found Poetry

I had students create found poetry using an article. I just had to share this one line:

Sometimes it's good
to start a better life
while the rest of your friends
are being kidnapped
by human traffickers

A small update

It has been almost three years since I last posted on this blog. And before that there could have been a gap of many years. It's amazing how time passes and what occurs during that time. My last post was about The Sparrow, which I had recently read. Currently, as is usual for me, I am reading several books. The most recently finished one, however, is Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Like The Sparrow, this was a high school book, but unlike The Sparrow, I actually read it in high school. This was actually one of the books that set me on a path to discover who I really am, what is really important in life,  and ultimately leading me to Islam.

They say that you never read the same book twice, meaning that the book itself does not change but it's actually you who changes. I experienced this many many times, but most particularly with this book Siddhartha. There are several phases throughout Siddhartha's life, and while I identified with them in a more general way when I was young, the connections I made this time through were much more significant as I had experienced in one way or another much of what Siddhartha had experienced and reacted much in the same way that he had reacted.

Indeed Siddhartha's journey does not conclude early in life but rather the journey continues on for most of his life, just as my journey has not yet reached a conclusion. I'm now thirty-three, which according to Prophet (sallahu 'alayhi wa sallam) is the ideal age and age of the people in Jannah. I have two kids and one on the way, and I'm still trying to figure out who I really am and what I'm really doing in life. This is normal, and we all go through the motions as if were confident and sure about her place in the world, but in reality we don't know.

So anyway, I'm hoping to continue this blog, posting my thoughts and reflections and hopefully a little humor as I continue my path as a Muslim English teacher currently teaching in somehwere in Chicago (which is no longer Englewood, alhamdulillah).

The Sparrow

I was recently reading a book called The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell and came across a quote that I found to be foundational for me. Before I get into that, I would like to talk about my history with this book. 

I had first been "assigned" to read it before entering my senior year Humanities class. As I had been a late arrival for the class, I did not get to read it over the summer. I began reading it, but found it dry and slow. 

Many years later and still many years ago, I tried again to the same result. This year, however, I began reading it and found it to be quite astonishing. 

The quote that really struck me was: "So many people buried the soul's pain in their bodies, Edward thought." As I was writing about this with my students (because I just had to give this to them as their "Do Now"), I began reflecting on how I not only agreed with this but also realized that this is a foundational belief for me. 

Before I became Muslim, I felt a sort of emptiness in my soul, and rather than answer this call and try to find the truth, I attempted to silence it with bodily pursuits. Whenever I would drink, however, I would still find myself wandering away from others for personal reflection, as if that was what my inner nature really desired. 

It all ties back to one of my favorite poems on this theme, one that I mentioned briefly during 'itikaf this year: Bluebird by Charles Bukowski.

Bluebird

Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I'm not going

to let anybody see

you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he's

in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

you want to screw up the

works?

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,

so don't be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and it's nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don't

weep, do

you?

Found this while cleaning

Spring Winter Cleaning

The softness of a touch
The cleanliness of a kiss
The calmness of a love
The potential of a wish

Beautiful...

"What wonderful thing didn't start out scary?" - Issac Marion Warm Bodies

From a Kombucha bottle...

“And the day came for the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~ Anais Nin

Stories

“We all think an exception is going to be made in our case, and we’re going to live forever. And being a human is actually arriving at the understanding that that is not going to be. Story is there to just remind us that it’s okay.” – Ken Burns

Take a Moment to Reflect

Note: This was written as my final exam for one of my master's classes. Since the professor said "Well said! I think this is something worth sharing!"  I figured I would.

With this year wrapping up for our school teachers, we are now given the chance to reflect of the past accomplishments and failures of this school year. As is usually the case, teachers use this time to find the shortcomings in their curriculum and make revisions as deemed necessary. As leaders of these organizations, we should take a lesson from our teachers; we should also use this time to reflect on our leadership role and the success of our schools specifically, and more broadly, we should reflect on the overall state of education in this country.

One of the most pressing concerns for educators today is the problem of testing and accountability. As Diane Ravitch mentioned in her book The Death and Life of the Great American School System, “Our schools will not improve if we continue to focus only on reading and mathematics while ignoring the other studies that are essential elements of a good education.” We cannot only narrow our curriculum to what is on the test. This inevitably robs our students of a proper and whole education.

But what is the point of education if it is not to pass a statewide test? Charles Taylor, the Canadian philosopher, said that teaching deals with the meaning of becoming human. As John Dewey had stated in his landmark Moral Principles in Education, “The business of the educator-whether parent or teacher-is to see to it that the greatest possible number of ideas acquired by children and youth are acquired in such a vital way that they becoming moving ideas, motive-forces in the guidance of conduct.” The question of what it means to be human is an ancient one explored by writers from the Greeks to Philip K. Dick (Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?) and beyond. Nevertheless, as educators, this is our goal. We are charged with taking children and molding them into human beings, not just mindless workers. It seems that these days we have lost sight of this goal.

With the massive cuts to the humanities and the heavy reliance on testing and accountability, our schools are becoming devoid of the true art and craft of teaching. So what can we do? These problems run deeper than the school or district level. This is a nationwide problem, and it will take a nationwide conscious effort to correct.

If we look at models of success, we can often take lessons to guide our own practice. Finland, for example, is leading the world in education. But what makes them so successful? A large amount of the success lies in the investment they have given in teacher preparation. In The Flat World and Education, Linda Darling-Hammond has summarized the core principles of Finland as follows: “Resources for those who need them most, high standards and supports for special needs, qualified teachers, evaluation of education, and balancing decentralization and centralization.” I highly recommend that anyone who has any desire to change the state of the American education system to read Hammond’s book. Unlike many of the “reformist” texts out there, Hammond paints an optimistic picture of our education system, one then can, and God willing, will be improved.

But I digress. Teacher quality is something greatly lacking in this country. Educators need to focus on this operating core, which is really the crux of the entire school. Schools need to move into a more professional, teacher-centered model of organization. This can only happen, however, when the teachers are given the skills and tools to make proper decisions. When I graduated from my teacher preparation program, I did not have the tools to help administrate a school; I could barely run a classroom! If schools begin to invest in their teachers, they can comfortably move to a system of expertise in which teachers are trained in curriculum, instruction, and leadership and then given decision-making ability. This is the real model for success, as is showed by Finland’s example.

We all need to really take as step back and reflect upon what we are doing. Are our policies in the best interest of our children, who are the primary stakeholders in our schools? Where have our goals and priorities gone? Are we trying to educate students to become mindless workers or trying to create human beings, freethinkers who embody the creative spirit?

The hope for our education’s success lies with qualified teachers that are trained with the proper skills to be part of the decision-making process.

WE

Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side, 
Withstand the winter's storm, 
And spite of wind and tide, 
Grow up the meadow's pride, 
For both are strong 

Above they barely touch, but undermined 
Down to their deepest source, 
Admiring you shall find 
Their roots are intertwined 
Insep'rably. 


-Thoreau

I remember back in the day everyone had Xanga. This was the beginning for us. I started using Facebook in 2004 but quickly got off recognizing the inherent dangers.

Recently, however, I joined Twitter in order to follow professionals and experts in the education field to keep up to date on the current happenings in education. I was on there for at least a week, constantly checking for updates. Last night I felt it was too much and shut down the account on a whim. Sometimes you get these impulses to do something good, whether it is avoiding a potentially bad situation or giving charity. These need to be acted on immediately before logic takes over and you change your mind.

Freedom!

When I awoke this morning, I went on the computer and felt locked. After checking my email, I didn't know what else I was supposed to do. With no Twitter to check updates on, my time feels so much more open. It feels like I dropped an addiction. Then why am I posting here? :)

There are these moments of permission
by Camille Dungy


                Between raindrops,


                             
  space, certainly,


but we call it all rain.


          I hang in the undrenched intervals,


while Callie is sleeping,


                    my old self necessary


and imperceptible as air.

Almost noon...

Although I do not vouch for
The darkness in the room,
I do understand it,
The way it withdraws
When confronted.
Yet, the true affinity is
With the light,
Its pervaisivness,
Its strength.
Do not leave me
Oh Light!
But instead illuminate
My way and save me
From this darkness
That is always threatening
To consume.

Time for a change...

It seems as if I'm migrating somewhere else. Maybe you'll see me back here. Maybe you won't.

Is it seriously less than one week away? :)

Remember folks: You never know what's in your qadr.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajiun

Giving up Sins: An Easy Prescription
by Hazrat Maulana Yunus Patel Saheb (daamat barakaatuhum)

…Death visits – more often, very unexpectedly, and no true Muslim would want to be seized by the Angel of death when Allah Ta’ala is displeased. I often say : We now have instant tea, and instant coffee, and instant cereal and instant pudding and so many other things on the market are instant – we are also living in times when death is just as instant. So any sin is too much of a risk in the face of the reality of death. …The Hadith is explicit : That we will be resurrected on the day of Judgement as we have died and we will die as we have lived. …Would any Muslim want to rise up on the Day of Judgement in sin, for all of mankind to witness what kind of life he led?

Dear old students.

Dear my old students from other schools,

I'm sorry that I don't remember your name, where I know you from, or anything particular about you. My memory is really that bad. But it's not all my fault. You've grown a lot as well. But really it mostly boils down to my memory. I'm lucky if I remember my name sometimes. I'll leave you with a poem by Billy Collins. Although I haven't had that many students as of yet (this will be my fourth year of teaching), it does resonate with me.

“Schoolsville”
from Sailing Alone Around the Room by Billy Collins

Glancing over my shoulder at the past,
I realize the number of students I have taught
is enough to populate a small town.

I can see it nestled in a paper landscape,
chalk dust flurrying down in winter,
nights dark as a blackboard.

The population ages but never graduates.
On hot afternoons they sweat the final in the park
and when it’s cold they shiver around stoves
reading disorganized essays out loud.
A bell rings on the hour and everybody zigzags
into the streets with their books.

I forgot all their last names first and their
first names last in alphabetical order.
But the boy who always had his hand up
is an alderman and owns the haberdashery.
The girl who signed her papers in lipstick
leans against the drugstore, smoking,
brushing her hair like a machine.

Their grades are sewn into their clothes
like references to Hawthorne.
The A’s stroll along with other A’s.
The D’s honk whenever they pass another D.

All the creative-writing students recline
on the courthouse lawn and play the lute.
Wherever they go, they form a big circle.

Needless to say, I am the mayor.
I live in the white colonial at Maple and Main.
I rarely leave the house. The car deflates
in the driveway. Vines twirl around the porch swing.

Once in a while a student knocks on the door
with a term paper fifteen years late
or a question about Yeats or double-spacing.
And sometimes one will appear in a windowpane
to watch me lecturing the wallpaper,
quizzing the chandelier, reprimanding the air.

I am also what surrounds you:

Backdrop addresses cowboy

By Margaret Atwood

Starspangled cowboy

sauntering out of the almost-

silly West, on your face

a porcelain grin,

tugging a papier-mâché cactus

on wheels behind you with a string,

you are innocent as a bathtub

full of bullets.

Your righteous eyes, your laconic

trigger-fingers

people the streets with villains:

as you move, the air in front of you

blossoms with targets

and you leave behind you a heroic

trail of desolation:

beer bottles

slaughtered by the side

of the road, bird-

skulls bleaching in the sunset.

I ought to be watching

from behind a cliff or a cardboard storefront

when the shooting starts, hands clasped

in admiration,

but I am elsewhere.

Then what about me

what about the I

confronting you on that border,

you are always trying to cross?

I am the horizon

you ride towards, the thing you can never lasso

I am also what surrounds you:

my brain

scattered with your

tincans, bones, empty shells,

the litter of your invasions.

I am the space you desecrate

as you pass through.