Caroline in the Delta

Closing the Teach For America Blogging Gap
Mar 27 2012

Burn, girl, burn.

Caroline, on fire:

because I am full of sparks, burning blue and rising out orange flames. Brain as catastrophe: charter, public, district, homeschool, private. Grad school, MFA Art, principal’s academy, manager, MFA English. In Arkansas, in Connecticut, in New York, in Michigan. Older, younger, cooperative, not. Brother laughing with long-time friends, sister a two hour bus ride away. Potential. The happiness that comes with warmth and daylight savings time. The happiness that comes with cities and socialization. The happiness that comes with arriving to a school full of kids who write essays calling you “Teacher Mom.”

I am talking to sister on gchat, and spit out without warning: god I love teaching.

I don’t even know where this came from. (Yes I do.) Shocked by my own contentment. Driving back from the Little Rock airport at 11:30pm Sunday night, I slowed to laugh out the window, proclaimed to myself, “Stars! Stars, I forgot you exist!” Arkansas is a lot more than straight highways and centuries old biases. Arkansas is runs down long dirt roads with girls I never would have had the chance to love otherwise; Arkansas is stars all the time; Arkansas is autonomy in the classroom, is talent shows in the spring, is a girl who knows the phone number for ever major player in the community by memory and the confidence to call and ask for donations from each one. Arkansas is time to obsessively update my blog, is Brax and everyone like him, is racial and socio-economic and religious and personality diversity in every class.

Spring break won’t get out of my veins. While I refuse to do any kind of productive work, not for school or grad school or the talent show or anything else I should be doing, I am on fire. My brain will not stop. I attempted to explain to Laura just an hour ago, “My brain won’t stop. I am so happy–” What?! I am too happy to function or settle down. I’m surprised even typing it, but have no inclination to delete that.

My gut knows what I’m doing next year, but my mouth refuses to admit it.

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