Warning: pet peeve follows

I've discovered that most people aren't really interested in discussing ideas.

Many of the people I've met in the last six years seem to already have formed opinions and gear their conversations towards recruiting for "their way." I feel like most people don't' listen when they're in the middle of a conversation with someone else. While of course it's doesn't help if they feel extremely strongly about the subject matter, it doesn't even have to be something they're emotional about. People seem to be strongly invested in their beliefs and ideas. Considering the big world we live in and the rate at which everything around us changes, this strikes me as odd.

In today's world, I always have to reconstruct my ideas and opinions about things. What might have appeared as obvious to me yesterday becomes really complicated today. I think that being surrounded by tons of people gives me the huge luxury of having different perspectives on issues, daily. I also feel like each person has a different, yet just as significant point of view about life.

Who am I to say my opinions are the right ones? Who am I to say my morals are the right ones?

I think most things in life aren't as clear-cut as I, a person with a very mathematical mind, would like them to be. By sticking to my own opinions with a closed mind, I'd miss out way too much in life. I also feel like this means I don't value other people's experiences, which takes me back to "who makes me the boss of it all?"

I think if more people listened to each other instead of coming into a conversation or situation with a preconceived agenda, it would make life a lot more pleasurable. Maybe that's why I'm not particularly fond of many politicians. I feel like they already have their mind set up. For a person who's job is to represent a group of individuals to not listen to each individual seems really counter-productive, or even downright rude. I understand that the mechanics of listening to each individual might be unrealistic to manage, but we all know what you make out of u and me when you assume. And if you are too busy convincing everyone else to think like you, are you truly representing them?

Besides the conceitedness of assuming "my way is the right way" I'd also hate the idea of everyone thinking exactly like me. How incredibly boring would life be if everyone thought the same way I did? Really boring. Trust me.

I guess I just wish people would respect the fact that we all go through different experiences in life and we all have differing significant contributions we can bring to the table when discussing an issue. The more information I hear about an issue, the more informed my choices can be. And maybe I am naive but at least I listen.

So I really don't understand why some people even bother having a conversation with others when they already formed all their opinions on the subject matter. Why waste your time and mine?

pet peeve over

Seven weeks and at least nineteen hours of diversity conversations later, I still don't know what wording to use.

I was born and raised in Istanbul, Turkey, a place that lacks the racial diversity of the United States. So I apologize ahead of time if this issue is plan as day for others but it's gotten to be extremely complicated for me.

I know that this is a sensitive issue for many, which is exactly why I need help. I apologize ahead of time if anything I write is insensitive or plain offensive. I can assure you it's not meant to be that way. If anything it stems from lack of experience or knowledge. Not that it's an excuse, but it is the truth.

Ok, with that disclaimer I'll explain my dilemma. I am about to start teaching in a school where I am racially in the minority, and people seem to claim that the reference issue will come up quite often. As in, how do I refer to each racial group?

If I say African American, I'm assuming the person's family originated in Africa. What if they are not from there? The same goes for European American. Let's not forget Latin American or Asian American. What if the student's not even American, like me?

I've been told black is offensive but white is not. Caucasian sounds way too odd to me. Latino also assumes Latin American roots. I'm not sure if Hispanic is offensive or not. Don't even get me started on the word colored. White is the sum of all colors and black is that lack of any, so I can't even figure out how that terminology began.

I genuinely don't know what to do and would be open to any and all advice on this issue. I am extremely concerned that in my lack of knowledge I'm going to offend someone and that's the last thing I want to do. I am obviously not going to refer to my students or their parents by their skin color, so that's not the context in which I fear the issue will come up. I am thinking of a case where we're reading a book or talking about a third party and his or her race becomes a part of conversation. I don't want to avoid the issue because I don't know what the right words to use, but I also don't want to offend anyone.

So I am open to suggestions. What wording is the best? Which one would be least likely to offend anyone? What's my safest bet?

Thursday was possibly the worst and best day of the last month for me.

On the good side, I finally got a placement, which meant I knew what school and grade level I was going to be teaching in the fall. My grade level might still change (and please please cross your fingers for me that it doesn't) but my school is pretty much set.

On the bad side, we got our lease renewal contract on Thursday night. I have lived in the same apartment for the last six years and Jake's been in it with me for the last five. Each year, when the lease renewal form comes, we have weeks of agonizing conversation. They all start the same way:

He: "We really need to move."

She: "Must we? It's such a pain."

He: "We're paying way too much here and we don't even like it."

She: "Yeah, you're right but it's such a pain!!"

And from there, he gets progressively more practical whereas I get progressively whiney.

The fact is, it's a pain to look for an apartment in New York City. You have to call 900 people to see 10 apartments, 2 of which are maybe in livable conditions. I don't have the time or patience to travel all over the city to look for apartments. Especially this year cause we're also looking in the Bronx, Harlem and Brooklyn. Talk about all traveling over the place.

Assuming we get even close to finding a decent apartment, I then start having nightmares about the moving process itself. Jake and I are both packrats to the nth degree. I'm talking computers from Freshman year in college, ten years ago, or newspapers that are now three years old, or wrap of a gift a friend gave me five months ago. We have five bookcases, floor to ceiling, that are all triple-stacked in each row and we still have books piling up on our dining room table and the floor. We have every issue of Wired, and New Yorkers for the last two years.

A few years ago, I read a book on simplifying your life. It suggested putting a bunch of things you didn't use into a box and then putting the boxes away. If you didn't open the box in six months, you could throw it away since you obviously didn't need the stuff. I decided it was a good idea and filled about six boxes of stuff. The boxes are still in my closet.

I just simply cannot throw anything away. It's as if each item has a piece of my soul attached to it. talk about dramatic, eh? Well, this is why moving is giving me nightmares once again as it's time for the yearly "we should really move out of here."

This time, I agree with Jake even more so than before. I'm ready to move into a new neighborhood. With my recent salary cut, I'd love to pay less. I like the idea of shedding some of my stuff which I assume the move will force. It's like sort of starting over.

Tonight, we're going to see a place in Brooklyn. Cross your fingers for me. I want this year to be the year we didn't renew our lease.

My friend Jenn has just resigned from Teach For America.

Jenn and I spent countless hours of the last forty days together. I probably, scratch that, I certainly spent more time with her than I did with Jake, my husband. We planned and replanned lesson plans. She gave me amazing ideas and copies of her materials. She helped me write up numerous directions, poems, and lists on chart paper (my handwriting still needs considerable work). She's the reason we started our Thursday night dessert runs (even though I'm concerned about my next weight watcher's weigh in, it was totally worth it). She spent hours talking to me when I was crying so much that my words were more like babbling mumbles. She made me laugh and helped preserved my sanity.

This might not seem like much to you, but try putting it in context of all this:

Seventeen summer school students who had one teacher on the first week of summer school, only to find out that they had three more the next week.

Fist fighting between two girls at 11:20am on our first day at school.

Changing the seating plans at least eleven times in the course of four weeks.

A girl on the first row who incessantly raised her hand, knew the answers but made loud disappointment noises each time she wasn't called on.

A boy who raised his hand before we even asked a question because he wanted to participate so badly, but rarely answered correctly.

A really intelligent boy who had no patience for our simple assignments, would lose patience quickly and start walking around the classroom or belittle the other students.

A small boy who hit every girl taller than he any second we looked away and would deny any wrongdoing vehemently.

A quiet, sweet girl who couldn't read at all.

A boy who continually walked in late and proceeded to sit at his desk and do nothing. As time progressed, he's tap or bang on his desk. He also made fun of the other students.

A boy who never listened in class but responded thankfully and with interest during one-on-ones.

A quiet boy who didn't get much attention as he deserved.

A boy who could never physically sit in his chair.

Two girls who chatted incessantly no matter how far apart we seated them.

A boy who got moved around no less than eight times because he'd behave no matter where we seated him and thus got the default leftover seat.

A boy who came to school tired everyday and couldn't hold his head up.

A boy who cared, listened and shared.

A girl who slept or felt sick every day.