“When I’m 80 years old and sitting in my rocking chair, I’ll be reading Harry Potter. And my family will say to me, “After all this time?” And I will say, “Always.” – Alan Rickman

When I was eleven years old, I did not receive a letter, but I did receive a book called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was skeptical to say the least, because it was about magic and I’d never read something about magic. Now that I think about it, I can’t name a book I read prior to Harry Potter. I, with my frizzy hair and buck teeth, found myself drawn to Hermione Granger. I loved school, but she taught me to embrace that. I think I’m a better person for having grown up next to her.

After reading the first one, I flew through Chamber of Secrets and BEGGED my mom for the Prisoner of Azkaban. While my brother will possibly never understand why PA is one of my favorites, I will never forget the magic I felt reading that book. To me, Prisoner of Azkaban is a turning point for all of the puzzle pieces. It might have been the book that made me fall for writing. You would have been hard pressed to convince me that I hadn’t crawled through the tunnel under the whomping willow with Harry, Ron, Hermione and the others. I was hooked. It was one of the first times I can remember really starting to dig into the world J.K. was creating. I researched names. My brother and I were in awe over the fact that the caretaker’s name was Argus and we knew why.

When the forth book came out, I was in Tallahassee, a place where HP is forbidden. My mom drove me all over the city but we were only met with sold out signs. That was the last time that would happen to me. The forth book pulled me in even further. I remember being in the Riddle house. I remember feeling Harry’s fear when his name came out of the Goblet. I can see Hermione’s concern and feel Ron’s anger. I could go on forever.

It was about this time that the films were officially on their way. The next year, the first Harry Potter film was released and I was the pickiest critic I could possibly be. I missed the ghosts. And I wanted to see the potions room. I wanted to see the fire in the doorways. After that, I learned an important lesson. The movies and the books must be kept separate.

I was at each book and movie opening from that day on, excluding the fifth movie. The day before it came out, I had my wisdom teeth out. I woke up from surgery begging for a blanket and swearing to my mom that I was still okay and could still go to the movie the next day. Was this the summer after my first year of college? Yes, yes it was. And no, I am not ashamed. When I got back to Auburn, my sweet friends Rodger and Matt took me to see it again and laughed at me when I felt like scenes were missing (which is due to a combination of my intense imagination and pain killers).

There are so many things I love about these books. There are things that warm my heart like the fact that Hermione was able to fix her teeth with magic. And Luna’s yellow dress. And the first time Harry plays Quidditch. And the Quidditch World Cup. And the way Ginny handles all of her brothers, because I feel connected to that in far too many ways. And there are scenes that haunt me. And there are scenes that represent big questions and that remind me how much I owe these books. Harry Potter got me through so much. It taught me a lot about myself.

It continues to teach me a lot about writing. For example, I just reread the Order of the Phoenix. Aunt Petunia is fascinating. She knows about the dementors and tells Vernon what they are. Then, she says, “I heard that boy telling her about them.” That boy. Harry thinks it means his dad, but of course we know now that it means someone very different. Another thing J.K. does? In a list of things found while cleaning Grimmauld Place, it says simply, “a locket no one could open.” And it’s not mentioned again. There are not holes. She planned so much and did it so well. And the ghosts! My eleven year old self was terrified of the Bloody Baron and I found out I had plenty good reason when I read the last book. Ahhhh.

So, I started this blog with a quote. And I must say, I am in agreement with Alan Rickman.

Since internship ended, I’ve watched the last two seasons of Gilmore Girls and a Harry Potter book is sure to follow, because that part of my life is also coming to an exciting and terrifying end in a little over a month. After midnight on the morning of July 15, there will be no more HP for me to look forward too- childhood done. At this point, I’m sure it seems like I have little to no life (which is not entirely false right now), but I assure you I’m not just a lazy bum. Not yet, anyhow. I spent the last few weeks substituting and in the process read six books, so when I came home to a house that didn’t need too much cleaning and a complete lack of people to see since classes weren’t in session, I picked up the DVDs.

What’s the point of all this, you ask? I feel like I’m not going anywhere. Like Rory, I honestly thought I was a sure thing for my version of the Rustin Fellowship. I had an amazing interview and I had people I care about who I think care about me saying that I’d get it. I had someone on my back waiting for me to make a plan. It wore me out. Before I found out I didn’t get the job, I got the feeling. I knew I wouldn’t. Everything was too good. Somehow, though that I ended up on the outside everything. I sat by myself at graduation and it felt wrong and sad and dumb. AND to top it off, I’m not going anywhere and it doesn’t really feel like I’m doing anything different. I’m sure I’ll feel differently about graduate school when I get into it. I’m studying under and working with someone who is amazing. I’ll be working with some really intelligent people. But half of me wishes I was packing up m apartment and spakaling holes in walls.

I was home this past weekend and I drove my brother to his friend’s house, which was by my high school. I drove back home the way I used to drive home from school. I went down the same streets, past the same cemetery, and behind the same hospital. I didn’t drop off my then “best friend” and I couldn’t even point to the house that was hers because I think it got torn down. I didn’t feel anything you’re supposed to feel when you do cheesy things like that. People in my family talk about how great so-in-so is doing and I constantly hear about everyone in Statesboro. Most of my graduating class never left high school. They moved south and lived together. And now they’re coming back and teaching and coaching and all that stuff. I don’t get it. I don’t want that life. And one of my brothers thinks that I’m stupid for not just moving home and getting a job there because I probably could. Grad school is at least a step forward. WR is a step back.

And while I wish a call was coming my way for a job that was on the road and interesting, I’m just here for the summer. Or maybe home. Who knows? Who cares? So the title of this post? Rory calls Lorelei and says what’s up? And Lorelei goes on and on about this pickle truck that turned over between Stars Hollow and Woodbridge a couple days ago and these pickles that are baking in the sun and this god-awful smell that has engulfed Stars Hollow because the wind blew their way and she finally finishes the story and Rory tells Lorelei that Logan showed up. And Lorelei says “that’s pre-pickle news!” You let me go on and on about pickles and you have actual news. And then Lorelei tells Rory that Chris is coming to dinner at her parents. And Rory says, “Mom, that’s pre-pickle news!” And they decide the call is a failure and have a do over. Lately every phone call/email/visit I have just winds up with me talking about pickles. Not even grad schools seems to be actual news to anyone. Pickles, pickles, pickles.

A few days ago, following my brother’s graduation from Birmingham Southern College, I stayed the night in Tuscaloosa. Scenes like the one above were all too common. The damage goes on for miles and miles and miles. I’ll admit that driving into Tuscaloosa, I was knocked out. My mom tried to wake me several times with no success. That evening, however, I found my heart broken for that town and for the people living there.

When we drove into town, you could see the path of the storm. It swept over Hobby Lobby and flattened Big Lots. It took out the historic district and wiped out student housing just left of the hospital. The fact that the hospital is untouched is nothing short of a miracle. We saw cars covered in the houses they were once parked in front of, steel draped on the limbs of trees, and people lined up to get food or to do their laundry at the Tide tent.

The next day, my aunt took my mom and I on the “tornado tour” and I hated myself for pulling out my camera. Sitting in the backseat, listening to the stories, I didn’t know what else to do with myself. A ninety-year old woman died on the day of the tornados. She was ninety-years old. I can’t imagine all of the life that she’s survived and instead of dying quietly in her sleep, her life was taken violently by a storm. A man crouched over his family in a bathtub, listening to his house be ripped away sits up, and takes a stand in the name of his faith, and shouts at the storm, “Give us all you got.” He’s picked up and tossed ten feet, like he’s just another sack of potatoes. But he survives. His God is bigger than the storm, and while they don’t have a house, his family will survive. One woman is still searching for her daughter. One student died in his closet as his apartment building fell down on him.

And following the storm? Families have to show identification just to walk down their street, but looters have already swooped in and taken any televisions or other electronics that survived. Another man and his wife went to his place of business, because he heard it was hit by the storms. The police made him show all sorts of identification and still wouldn’t let him come see what was left of his lively hood. Finally, the cop told him to take his wife home and come back. The area was full of bodies and they didn’t want her to see it, but would allow him if he insisted. The roads are clean, but the sides are stacked high with branches and pieces of people’s homes. There are houses with tarps for roofs. There are cars sticking out of piles. A new elementary school was taken back down to the foundations- luckily, the students were evacuated before the storms hit. The whole car ride, my aunt was telling stories and showing us where so in so lived and why this and that was so tragic, but there were things she kept repeating. She would say, “This was student housing, but you could never see this far in. There were so many trees.” And, “It’s strange that you can see all the way to so-in-so street. It was all trees.” The worst part of it all, is we’re seeing the town three weeks after the fact and as one of my aunt’s friends so eloquently put it, “The damn thing only took twelve seconds and my neighborhood was gone.”

The tornados swept through, never staying anywhere more than a moment, but the damage is lasting. My aunt spent the day hidden in her bathtub. After the storm, she received text messages saying “just tell me your okay” that she couldn’t respond to because the network was down. There are still people missing. And there are even more people who have no home and no job because of the storm. And it’s going to take months for Tuscaloosa, and everyone affected in Alabama, to heal. And it doesn’t feel right to be okay and not know what to do or how to help because in reality, there’s not a whole lot any one person can do besides give money and supplies here and there. And pray for Alabama.

While two of those are self-explanatory, I’m sure I need to explain my complaint about the Auburn family. Yesterday morning was crazy hot. In Jordan Hare, they’d laid out this big white floor, which probably just reflected the sun right back to are black gowns. It had potential to be completely miserable. Auburn fixed that as much as they could though: we were handed a small bottle of water as we came in to be seated (~845 a.m.). Full size bottles of water began floating through the seats by about 930, when it started to actually get hot. There was a room set up for anyone that was overheated that I am told was filled with ice, water, and food- not to mention air conditioning. Several people took advantage of this, but when they had received they’re Auburn creed, they left. Slowly but surely, the people in Jordan Hare were blinded by the white floor and white chairs on the field because those who walked across the stage deserted them. By the time the College of Human Sciences (yay Katelyn) walked across the stage, there might have been a hundred students on the other side, when there should have been 1500. I was so disappointed and slightly disgusted. I was one of three in my program that stayed for the whole thing. The other ten left quickly. I wish I knew a better word than sad. When they asked us to turn our tassels, there I was, by myself, and incapable of getting excited. Isn’t graduation supposed to be exciting? Aren’t you and the people in your program supposed to be there and be happy? Graduating from Auburn hasn’t been the experience I thought it would be. It was just me and my parents and my brothers-hanging out. I love them. We had fun, but usually our family makes a bigger deal out of graduations.

On another happier note, this summer will not be. If I had to describe my summer plans in one word, it would be non-commital. I’ll be subbing until May’s out, then babysitting and possibly throwing in a few hours at copycat if I have to. I’ll go home some. More importantly, I’ll read LOTS of books. So far, I’ve read Lewis Carol’s Alice in Wonderland, Melanie Benjamin’s Alice I Have Been, and Anna and the French Kiss (whose author I can think of). On the list for the summer? Gods in Alabama, The Awakening, Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, and more… We’ll see where the summer takes me. I’ve got about ten more books on my shelf.

Oh, and for graduation, we’re going to Harry Potter World, which me and Claire were going to do anyway, but now there’s more people.

Here I am- twenty-three years old and graduating college. Internship is over and it’s time to move on. I’ve had some options (sort of) and I’ve come to some decisions. I had a wonderful interview that didn’t result in a job, and two days later I received an email saying I’d been accepted to graduate school. If ever there was a neon sign, I guess this was it. Unfortunately, it’s not the neon sign I wanted, but I guess that’s a part of life. He’s got a plan for me and in many ways, I’d like to fight it, but He knows better. After lots of talking, crying, listening and praying, I accepted my offer of admission to the Master of Arts program in English at Auburn University. I’m going to have the chance to work closely with some of the professors who have inspired me in the last two years. I’m going to get to meet some writers. I’m going to broaden my literary horizons. I’m going to work as a program and research assistant, though I don’t know what that looks like just yet. I’m going to teach two classes of freshman composition. I’m going to write massive papers and pursue writing again. I did choose the creative writing track, though I am certainly stronger in literature. I want to be able to teach writing well on all levels, so it only makes sense to pursue the field in which I feel the weakest. In the fall, I’ll be back in that dreadful place we call the Haley Center, only this time, I’ll have an office. I’ll be taking three classes- Fiction Writing, African American Literature and the GTA course. I’ll be thrown right back into the world of not knowing people and I’ll lean on the ones I love more than ever before. I’ll meet people who are driven. I’ll meet people who have lots of opinions and no experience. I’ll meet people who are entirely too smart for me and, if I’m lucky, at least one who shares my cheesy/immature sense of humor and through that-I’ll survive.

I don’t believe that I’m smart enough for all of this, or driven enough, but that cushion might be the reason I succeed. Part of me wishes I was teaching, but mostly, I’m thrilled to have been accepted to such a fine program and excited to begin working with people I admire.

It’s been a quiet weekend at home and I can’t wait for tomorrow. We’ve been doing our typical Easter activities… Good Friday Service. Saturday community Easter egg hunt, which was huge this year. Went to a movie (Red Riding Hood-more on that later). And tomorrow, Bill will go serve breakfast for the last time, because after this, he’ll no longer be in Senior Youth. Then, we’ll all go eat and hit the 9:00 a.m. Celebration service and Pastor Brighton will say, “He is risen.” And we’ll all say, “He is risen, indeed! Alleluia!” And joy will well up in my heart.

Teaching is this beautiful mess. You have to be a psychologist and a leader and a manager and a disciplinarian and oh yeah, a teacher. You have to be there and not be there. And if you’re twenty-three, you’re too young to smile because then they’ll know they can walk all over you. Some classes will have good days. Others will have great days. Others-even the same one that was great- will have terrifying days. And no matter what you have to be there. I hope I always want to be there the way that I want to be there right now.

What if I spent my afternoons like this?

I could also do some of this

And of course, I'd have to sit here and drink some of that.

And then I could watch sunsets like this

Would all of that make my life too easy? Jean Valjean leaves the convent life because he wants Cosette to be able to decide for herself if the world sucks. Is my experience in Auburn and Warner Robins enough for me to decide to live my life by the water? The would does suck. Fact. And I do feel called to help change that for the few students that come through my classroom, but teaching in such a blessed system has really shone me that no matter what classroom I’m in, there are students that need a teacher who cares, no matter their background. What’s cool about that is I know where ever the door for a job opens is where I’m supposed to be. And I’ll be happy. I didn’t originally think I’d want to teach in the system I’m interning in, but I’m basically obsessed. Today was the first day back and I was so happy to see all of their lovely faces. Even the ones who make me want to beat my head against a locker. I would be over the moon to get a job at the high school (the current possible option) and maybe even have some of these guys again.

But this weekend reminded me how much I love Fairhope. There’s an art and literary community that can’t be beaten. There’s a rockin’ bookstore/coffee shop. There’s that whole bay and beach thing. My grandparents, who take such great care of me, would be within twenty minutes of me. And I could still go stay there when everyone comes. And there’s the whole bay and beach thing. And in the summer there’s lots of music in the park type stuff. And the seafood. And the jubilees. And did I mention the whole bay and beach think? I am applying, but it feels to safe.

If you know me, you know it’s been a long road. It’s weird to actually have options. I’m not committed to anything after May 9. I definitely won’t turn down interviews from the bay area if I get them, but I love it so much that it seems too easy to actually happen. That’s the thing about spring break (with me anyway): It’s always such a good break, and a needed break, but it shows me that we are meant for community. I’m always ready to get back into the swing of things, because I wasn’t wired for vacation all the time.

And then more… It was the first time I got to hold the newest (and hopefully permanent) addition to our family. My aunt and uncle are foster parents and took in a child who’d been severely abused. She was seven months old and in a full body cast. She’s doing great and is still in their care. She might be forever, but nothing’s set in stone as of now.

Mardi Gras (the family friendly version in the area that started it all) has been sort of a mini-family reunion for my dad’s side of the family. This year is the first year in a long time we haven’t gone. The storms made that decision. It’s also been a great way to relax and eat seafood with some of my friends since I’ve been in college. It’s the best way to get a break from school. You can get lost on amazing walks. You can have a glass of wine everyday at five. You can wake up to the bay (and dolphins if LW is there). I really missed going this year.

Internship is still good. And difficult. And amazing. And frustrating. And better than I could have ever guessed it would be. I’m still absurdly tired, but I’m actually on top of the content. My students and I really get along. Class is fun, AND my students know what’s up with their novels and grammar and writing, so it feels like a win all the way around. I’ve gotten classroom management under control for the most part. I’ve learned how and when to be mean. Students still want to bond with me though, which is good. They’re buying what I’m selling- almost 100% in 2nd, about 90% in 3rd and 75% in 5th. They trust me with their education and they’re sharing their lives. Some are a little too comfortable with me, because they’re trying to get out of work, but I’m handling it. My students are awesome though, all the way around. While there are certainly days that I want to beat my head against a locker, because that would feel better, there hasn’t been a day that’s made me second guess who I am and why I’m there. I’m there for those students and loving every minute, even the ones that are hard.

More importantly, my sweet baby brother turned 18. Who knew? We really do have to grow up. I guess it shouldn’t, but it blows my mind that the world keeps spinning. This guy was my very own child as far as six-year old me was concerned. I really did raise that kid. He’s the best little brother, even if he has turned into a snarky pain in the rear to many of the people in his life. The hardest part about going to college was leaving him. He was in middle school. Middle school. And now he’s about to graduate high school. One day I went home and he was taller than me. He still makes me laugh more than most and nothing brings me quite as much joy as Bill’s face when he’s angry. He’s still got that sweet, cute Bill face to me and it throws me off when I have youth group girls begging me to bring him here because they think he’s so cute. He’s my little buddy, always and forever. I hope we live in the same town again one day, because I miss that kid a lot. And here, I shall post a few of my favorite pictures that I actually have on my computer.

This one is awesome, because Bill is actually screaming...

Lee still pulls out that smile sometimes and I love Bill's little suit

And finally a current photo

Internship. I’ve never been more tired on a consistent basis in my life. I’ve been tired before, sure, but it’s so constant. I don’t know how teachers do this every day, but I hope to learn soon. I once walked to Montgomery with the Committee of 19… I’m as tired as I was after walking twenty-seven miles in the sun, every day. Just like the hunger march, however, it’s a really good tired. I guess it’s the being on my feet all day, combined with the constantly creating, and copying and catching students up and asking them to settle down. It’s a good tired through, because even though it’s hard (harder than I expected), I love it and I know I have purpose. It’s a fantastic feeling to be so tired and still be able to smile. That’s how I know I’m doing what I need to be doing. It just feels right.

There’s so much to say, but it’s probably going to come out jumbled….

It’s surreal. There are things I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to. When I speak *most of the time* all heads turn toward me. And they listen. When I answer a question, it really does relate to their test. When we are reading Romeo and Juliet, it really is up to me what we talk about. I teach them and then they take a test, which I grade. I know, duh. But it’s weird to get used to. I made a reading schedule for Les Mis and I’m responsible for keeping the pace up and holding students accountable for their reading. If I want them to do a Socratic Seminar, they’ll do it. If I want to add more writing to their curriculum, they’ll do it. Students are placing their trust in MY content knowledge. Their success in 10th grade officially is my responsibility. It’s weird.

The students are also basically amazing. Which really helps. I think it takes a certain type of humor to deal with ninth graders all day and I totally have it. I told you one situation in my last post, but here’s some more. Every Friday, they don’t know what to do with themselves. They’re just in a good mood. On one such Friday, one of my students was in her desk and the person beside her was absent. She was just in one of those silly moods and asked if she could move because she didn’t want to be by herself. I said, “No, I think you’re okay. You’ll make it.” I smiled and turned around to make a correction on our sentences and when I turned back a second later she was gone. I looked around and didn’t see her, even sort of looked under the desk and then toward the door. She waved at me from a row over and a couple of seats back and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing! She was sneaky, sneaky, sir (to quote Big Daddy). I didn’t hear anything and there was no movement when I had turned back around. It was just hilarious!

The same student found out I was grading some stuff they were turning in electronically and drew me a picture of herself holding a smoothie and a sign that said “Ms. Hopf’s #1 Fan” to break up my grading. I love hearing them read Romeo and Juliet, because they do make it so they essentially call someone a “ho.” They also make saying “anon” a really funny situation. They love to talk about how stupid they think Romeo and Juliet are. One student gives me the DL on new lingo. They’re bringing me books to read and showing me their art projects. They are telling me that I’m always smiling, or always happy, or I just put them in a good mood– AND they’re coming to class and doing their work. They’re getting into Shakespeare! As fun as it is, we are working on our content.

Another funny thing, is that when they tell me it’s going to snow, I respond with “I don’t believe in snow.” Some just repeat it and start laughing. One got a super-concerned look on his face and told me that shouldn’t be a religion. He was relieved when I told him I was kidding. I think he understood why when it didn’t snow on Thursday.

I wish I could think of more specific stories! Basically, the point of this post is that while unfortunate things have happened recently in my life, I am absolutely in love with my “job.” I’ve always kind of felt like I would want 9th or 10th graders. Most people get really concerned when I say that’s who I have, but the Lord put that age on my heart for a reason. When some get frustrated, I find it funny and sometimes in fail in my attempts to keep a straight face. I love this age group. And I love being in the classroom. I’m doing exactly what I was meant to do, and no matter how tired I am, or how many obstacles I come up against, at the end of the day, I couldn’t ask for anything more.