Sure, 'nuff, it was right behind me on one of my shelves...from 1995. I used comic sans font. My thinking was vague. Most of my entries were vague, but the creativity was oozing from every page. I was 23 and full of life (in fact, while student teaching I also wrote a novel, Yucca, based on my imagination and an albino squirrel from the University of Louisville's campus).
And then I found the VHS. Similar to the requirement of my student teachers, I had to document 60 minutes and reflection of my own teaching. It was a VHS, so I knew I wouldn't be able to view it, but leave it to a Jesuit, parochial university to still have chalk and VCRs in every room. I couldn't help but pop in the tape.
Um, no. Not a good idea. My hair was all the way down my back and my voice was even squeakier and more immature than I remember. I was trying so hard to look like I knew what I was doing and it was obvious I was performing for the camera. In other words, it was torture to view. I lasted 10 seconds and shut it off. I now want to find the courage to watch the whole thing.
I'm not from the video generation like my niece, Nikki, who has video footage from every milestone of her life. I think that is why it is so weird to suddenly see a variation of who you once were suddenly appear before your eyes. I wish I could say I cracked up. Rather, I tucked deep within my shell and murmured to myself, "pathetic."
Yes, it is torture to mandate video and video reflections of student teachers. I hated it then, and I feel bad assigning it now. It's just gross...necessary, but gross.
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