My Cardboard Balcony

I would be lying if I said that my mentors and teachers weren't the main reason why I decided to become a teacher myself. They have been a godsend to me, as both a student and a teacher. When my school's yearbook was distributed yesterday and today, I was prepared to deal with fall-out. And yes, despite an overwhelmingly positive reaction, some mistakes were made, affecting more students than I certainly would have liked. Still, I worked to rectify the problem. I empathized with the students and offered them the best solution I had. And I hope it helps. It's what I learned to do, in order to become a compassionate and problem-solving educator. My principal, colleagues, and fellow teachers have all served as wonderful mentors to me this year as I've navigated yearbook and my English classes. I have worked with an amazing mentor teacher for my induction, had the former yearbook teacher and her husband assist in creating the yearbook, and learned so much from my fellow...

One Year Down by Belinda Roddie It wasn't perfect, but I published it. My first yearbook.

She destroyed my house. She wrecked my car. And on top of that, she stole my heart. I knew that was a big mistake to love her, but it was mine to make. She was pure living TNT, and soon, she'd make a fool of me. She'd lead me down a twisted path and strand me in the aftermath. I'd be just like that automobile - a broken pile of junk and steel.

So Soon by Belinda Roddie So soon do stars bring weary men to sleep upon the rugged riverbed at night. They do not know what company they keep, nor, when morning comes, there will be light. The sun grows dimmer each cold, passing day, and frost grows even in the midst of June, painting landscapes a chilly blue and gray, forming icy cratered lips like the moon has kissed Mother Earth hard and rough enough to cause the warmth in her to dissipate, like watching heat being drawn from tough blood with a natural syringe. Yes, men wait to wake up in a world where we don't sleep and shiver in the summer snows so deep.

We met at the Channel Five coffee shop on a weekly basis, always ordering mochas and always waiting for a Channel Five news bus to be situated outside. We knew why the shop had that name, though - it was because the owner's last name was Channel, and he was the fifth child out of seven in his family. He went by Chan colloquially, and he always winked at me when he handed me my drink. "We're not dating," I'd always remind him, trying not to pay attention my attractive friend as she waited for me at the corner table.

I Could Be A Scotsman by Belinda Roddie I could wear a tartan frock coat with the colors of my clan - if I had one, at least. I could try to be a decent Scotsman, if I set my mind to it - if I hightailed it to the Highlands, if I brewed my feelings like tea or ale and drank it to keep myself stubborn. I could go back to Edinburgh and brave the rain, if only to see its glorious castle press its stony lips to the mist again. I could tattoo the name Galloway to my shoulder, as if it were my ID. I could be a Scotsman if I wanted to, but maybe I wouldn't be fully me.