Crossing Party Lines

I am a music teacher....I live in my little end of the building, quite happy and often times blissfully oblivious of things going on elsewhere in a couple of rather large high schools.

Because of my introverted nature (I know some of you are laughing at that statement) I'm often accused of being cold and distant and sometimes downright scary. I've come to accept that. Its how I am. I learned to observe and listen, before opening my mouth, a long time ago.

Four weeks ago the Central Utah Writing Project began, I was thrust so far out of my comfort zone that I couldn't even see the border of where my happy place was! I was a music teacher in a room full of English, Language Arts, and other "core" teachers. I had to remind myself that I wanted this. I had applied and committed to it - after the first day I came home and nearly cried.

Diligently I went to class, every morning. At 7:40 I would walk out the door and drive to American Fork with the little voice in my head saying, "you shouldnt be doing this, its out of your league, how could you ever hope to be a writer or do anything effective (thanks Jon) with your students." Every morning I arrived my name tag was shifted to a different table. Every morning I cringed as I sat down among a new group hoping people wouldn't think I was dumb, refusing to be very social, lest I open my mouth and remove all doubt.

I think it was the second or third day of class we scribbled about poetry. After we scribble the floor is open for sharing, I raised my hand - what the hell was I thinking??? Too late now. My heart was pounding so hard I couldn't breathe. I started reading. At one point it became emotional, I couldn't talk, I swallowed, I kept going, my voice cracking. They clapped and the facilitator asked "anyone else?" I distinctly remember Kristin saying "How are we supposed to follow that??" Thank you Kristin. That was all I needed, and that statement came to mean more as I got to know this amazing woman - her classes at Provo High must be awesome!

That was that day that my anthology piece was written. I ended up changing very little about it, it just came. I appreciate Jenna, Heidi and Teri helping me make it perfect, you guys were great.

My demo lesson had me panicked too. The day before I was to present I went to Karen and nearly broke down - I knew it was going to be just dumb compared to the other lessons that had been presented.  I kept wishing I could bring one of my groups in and just run a rehearsal so these people could see that I wasn't a complete idiot, that I (mostly) knew how to teach.

I gave my lesson, I know it wasn't great, but I made it through.

In one of our discussions the topic of mode and genre was addressed. I thought about this on the way home after our last day of class. What genre am I? Where would I be cataloged? Where would my fellows be cataloged? Would they be cataloged with me? Or would I be the lone book on the outskirts of the CUWP shelf?

Educator > Music > Orchestra
Educator > Public > Music > Strings
CUWP > Educator > Public > Music > Strings

Was there another way?
Educator > Writer > Musician

Or should it be the other way around?
Musician > Writer > Educator

I know that I could be shelved in any of the following ways:
I am an educator, period. I teach many things whether I like it or not.
I am a musician. It is who I am, not just what I do.
I am a writer. It is part of who I am as well, I'd forgotten about that part of me, its been buried a long time, but I enjoy it and I am going to strive to bring that part of me back into being.

I liked crossing party lines and hanging out with the English-y crowd. (and the history and geography guys and spec ed and even the psychologist!!)

I'm not sure that I have a specific mode or genre, I'm not sure where you would catalog me in the bookstore. Maybe I'd be in several different places so several different types of people could find me - but that would be ok by me, it means I would have that many more friends, resources, helps, and encouragement in that many more facets of my life.

Thanks, CUWP fellows - or should I say -  family.