Auntie Mame: Lucille Ball, Iconic Quotes, and the Legacy of the Classic Story

One of my favorite works of fiction is Auntie Mame—which has the distinction of first being a novel, then a fabulous stage play, then a film adaptation, and then a musical—which in turn was adapted into a musical, starring Lucille Ball, as Mame. One of the best lines in the entire oeurve is "Life's a banquet and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death." Here's the full clip for context for those of you who are starving for a little bit of Mame in your life.

   

Use this clip in your High School English Language Arts classroom with one of my "Quote Posters"! 

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"Only You're Different!": Notes on Gender Transformation in the Marvelous Land of Oz

Explore gender transformation in L. Frank Baum's The Marvelous Land of Oz. Discover how Tip, disguised as a boy, is revealed to be Princess Ozma in this classic tale. The following is a repost from the Stones of Erasmus archive.

Tip is the cap-wearing boy in L. Frank Baum's Oz 1904 sequel.

Gender transformation in literature is nothing new. Tiresias was said to be both a man and a woman at different stages of his existence. And by the way, he said that being a woman is better. So when I read The Land of Oz in the Fifth Grade, it was nothing out of the ordinary to read about it in L. Frank Baum's fantasy novels. It's a motif in fantasy fiction to be sure - just see this TV tropes wiki page.

The Boy Tip
Tip is a fictional character in L. Frank Baum's second installment of his famous Oz books - The Marvelous Land of Oz (later shortened to The Land of Oz). While the Scarecrow, Dorothy, and the Gnome King often get noticed from readers as amazing Baum creations, Tip gets looked over in the Oz canon because he is actually not a real person (well, in the sense that in the story he is not who he seems to be). And his tenure in the Oz narrative is temporary.

*spoiler alert*

Reflections of a Teacher: Navigating the Challenges of Education in 2024

So, it’s November, and I haven’t posted in a while. Initially, I intended this blog to be a repository of thoughts, ideas, art, places I’ve been, kids I’ve taught, and lessons I’ve learned from the classroom. It’s meant to chronicle museums I’ve visited, books I’ve read, and experiences worth reflecting on. I still want it to be that. But life—particularly my life as an educator—has been anything but static since September. Starting a new job at a new school has consumed most of my bandwidth, leaving little room for reflection.

A snapshot from one of my days in the classroom—circa 2021

For context, my teaching journey has taken me across vastly different landscapes. I began in a Catholic school in New Orleans, (and don't forget my stint as a Benedictine monk working in an academic library). I was a graduate student, moved to New York, worked at the New York Public Library, taught as an adjunct at a two-year college, and spent a year teaching humanities to sixth graders in Harlem. I devoted eight years to a school in Jackson Heights, Queens, where I taught middle and high school students a mix of humanities and ESL. Now, I’ve landed at a private school for twice-exceptional (2E) students—learners who are both gifted and face learning differences, such as dyslexia, persistent demand avoidance, autism, or attention deficit profiles.

Starting anew has been equal parts invigorating and exhausting. No matter its mission or demographic, every school presents its own challenges and rewards. Yet, the universal truth of teaching is this: it’s an all-consuming job. There’s always “pre-work” to do before stepping into the classroom. And, increasingly, the generational shifts among students—compounded by the effects of COVID—have made the traditional classroom experience feel antiquated. Students seem less invested in conventional academic structures but more hungry than ever for authenticity and relevance.

My current school’s emphasis on neurodivergent learners has shifted my perspective on what education should look like. The mantra here is, “The social is academic, and the academic is social.” At first, this sounded like educational jargon, but working with my students has brought it to life. Teaching here feels a lot like riding the New York City subway. To get anywhere, everyone needs to collaborate. You step aside to let someone off the train; you take off your backpack to make room. It’s not perfect, but it works and is the same in the classroom. We accommodate each other’s needs and create space for everyone to thrive, even when messy.

My class sizes are small—no more than six or seven students per group—yet the diversity of needs can make it feel like managing a classroom of thirty. Each student’s learning profile is unique, which means cookie-cutter solutions don’t work. I quickly scrapped my original plan to teach two courses to split between four classes. Instead, I stacked all the books I planned to teach across my courses, laid them out, and asked students to participate in a ranked-choice vote. It was a beautiful exercise in agency and choice—though, inevitably, some still complained.

The result? Four completely different curriculums for four unique classes. While this approach has made my work exponentially harder, it’s also been rewarding. My students’ engagement rises when they feel ownership of their learning. But this level of customization requires constant energy, and by November, I’m spent.

I’ve been reflecting on the school labor divide—between teachers, administrators, and support staff. Despite being in a supportive environment, I sometimes feel the disconnect between those in the trenches of the classroom and those shaping broader policies or initiatives. It’s a gap that underscores the growing challenges of education in 2024. What does it mean to be a teacher today? What does the future of schooling hold?

For now, I’m left with more questions than answers. I know that teaching requires empathy—for students, colleagues, and, perhaps most importantly, for myself. It’s easy to be self-critical, to feel like I’m not doing enough or doing it well enough. But then, moments of connection with students remind me why I do this work.

One thing I love about my new job is how honest the kids are about their needs. They realize they have "lagging skills," even though they don't always buy in to my strategies to help (but, hey, that's human). I did have a breaking point a few days ago—when I realized that I was emotionally drained—but there is no rest for the wicked in education. You got to do it all over again the next day. But my students gave me a lift when we read a scene from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—and everybody gave their best effort in doing an American southern accent. It was a blast. I am so happy we are reading this play—it's fantastic!

So, here’s to embracing the exhaustion, the messiness, and the uncertainty. This post is less a polished reflection and more a snapshot of where I am. Let’s call it a work in progress.

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Navigating New Beginnings: Reflections on Teaching and Personal Growth in Jackson Heights

Discover a teacher's reflections on personal growth and career transitions, inspired by deep connections with students in Jackson Heights.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step" — Lao Tzu

Jackson Heights in Queens is Aglow with May Flowers

On Leaving

Jason, whom we'll call by that name, arrived in the classroom accompanied by Corey, also a pseudonym. They exclaimed, "Mr. Roselli, are you leaving? You're my favorite teacher!" Indeed, there is a departure, but the term "leaving" should be viewed more as moving forward. The accuracy of being their favorite teacher might be debatable, yet what truly resonated in that moment was their genuine concern. Their warmth and optimistic demeanor were unexpectedly touching, especially since adolescent boys often oscillate between being reserved and taciturn or loud and brash. This encounter was a proud one, as it reflected a significant connection made.

Existential Moment

I find myself in a place in life that I haven't experienced in a long time. I'm just wrapping up eight years of teaching at my current school in the Jackson Heights neighborhood of Queens, where I've had the honor and pleasure of working with a host of wonderful, curious students. I've gotten to know and work with these students over the years. The current seniors I'm teaching this year have been my students since they were in fifth grade. I taught some of them a research class in sixth grade, an ethics class in middle school, and English in 10th grade. Some I also taught as their history and humanities teacher in 11th grade, and now they're seniors. 

I find myself at a precipice because I am leaving my current school to venture out into a different world. Just like the phoenix, I am ready to rise from the ashes in a new place. This transition has prompted me to reflect on who I am and where I am in life. I am very proud of the work I have done, not only in the past eight years at my current job but also over my entire 13-year career teaching secondary education, covering grades 5 through 12. Just last year, I finally received my professional teaching certification in New York State, which is now part of my official records.

From One Place to Another

I find it fascinating to consider what teaching truly involves. We plant our feet in a specific place, within a specific community. And Oh! The places we go. Whether it is the New Orleans where I grew up, or the many visits I have made to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I am a sojourner. I've had the privilege of traveling to China with students and teachers and visiting other students in Beijing, Suzhou, Shanghai, and Xi'an. This past February, I traveled with 51 students and 10 teachers to London and Paris. And what about the journey of writing, of reading? I sometimes say you really don't need to leave a place to visit the world. Open a book. Think about it. Since 2017, I have created over 270 unique educational resources, sourced from the public domain, the New York Public Library’s digital collections, and various humanities-based topics, ranging from Socrates to Angela Davis. I can't be done yet, no m'am!

Teaching Humanities, adolescents are exposed to different ideas. And that is an exciting space to carve out in a classroom. While I definitely have my own opinions, and beliefs, and I inhabit the world in a certain way, I wonder how distanced from myself I need to be as an educator to allow my students to begin thinking independently and not merely parroting my ideas (or someone else's). Today, someone asked me about the concern that teachers might indoctrinate their students, which made me think about how we barely have time for that in the classroom. I can be completely myself, yet also create a space for dissenting opinions, which I appreciate as long as we adhere to basic human integrity principles and aim to share rather than harm. I always start my humanities classes with this principle: We state our own opinions and ideas; we do not attack others’. For example, instead of saying, "Deborah thinks capital punishment is illegal, and she’s stupid for thinking so," we say, "I believe capital punishment should be legal in the United States." We take ownership of our ideas, and this is how I conduct discussions in my classroom. 

Reflecting on Mid-Life

Approaching middle age-I'll be 45 in December-I feel confident yet exhausted, and curious about what's next. Maybe that curiosity is what's pushing me to explore a new direction. If Dante, in his classic epic, can find himself guided to new places, where he is "mid-life in his journey," then so can I?

Right? Listen! 

I saw Jason and Corey again; this time, it was during lunch, where 1 sat with two very quiet, amazing teachers and about thirty loud teenagers. They had some stories to tell me-like, 'Remember that time you taught an entire lesson dressed up as Doctor Who?' or, 'When we were being rowdy, so you climbed on the table in your classroom to get our attention?' Yes, those anecdotes are most likely true. By nature, I am an ephemeral person; not much of what I do is permanent. Often feeling like a visitor in my own life, I am comforted when others can validate my experiences. For sure-my tombstone will not merely read

'Greig—he washed his dishes!'

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Fostering Textual Ownership: Passionate Teacher Explores Literacies & Strategies. Periodt. 📚

Passionate cisgender gay teacher encourages student engagement & creativity in literature. Explore diverse literacy forms. 

My students often tell me, "Mr. Roselli, you make us do stuff." They mean I encourage leaving our fingerprints on texts. As a passionate and caring cisgender gay teacher, an inhabitant of this planet, and a member of the home sapiens species, I deeply appreciate literature—especially adolescent literature. I love reading students' creative writing and introducing them to diverse forms of literacy, including film, lyrics, art, primary source documents, and more. I'm dedicated to sourcing mentor texts to enrich my teaching. Other teachers describe me as funny, intelligent, and curious. I'm eager to experiment with new strategies based on evidence, always learning and adapting to engage students across Bloom's taxonomy. I draw inspiration from ancient texts like Plato's "Apology," connecting past and present to enrich humanities teaching. Encouraging students to speak and express themselves is crucial—I incorporate podcasts and discussions to foster accountable talk and solidify thoughts in writing. Speech offers immediate engagement in the classroom, enhancing learning experiences. This video documents my teaching journey as a builder, always seeking to innovate after thirteen years in secondary education. As a quirky humanities teacher from South Louisiana, I find inspiration in New York City's vibrant art scene, using it as a palette for creativity and expression. Living in NYC fuels my passion for teaching and exploring new ideas.

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Zeus Ammon at the Met: A Greek-Egyptian Syncretism in Stone

🏛️ Museum Musings 🏛️ I'm at the Metropolitan Museum of Art today.

Just laid eyes on the fascinating 2nd-century bust of ‘Zeus Ammon’ and I can’t help but marvel at the blend of cultures captured in stone. As expected, you’ll find the grandeur and aesthetic of Classical Greece, but what truly captivates is the god’s syncretic figuration as the Egyptian god Ammon—notice the distinctive ram’s horns!

With the great temple of Zeus at Olympia lost to time, pieces like this offer a glimpse into how the supreme ruler of the Olympians was once revered. It’s an extraordinary testament to the interconnectedness of ancient civilizations. 

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Exploring Cuneiform Tablets at the NYPL: The Ancient Roots of Homework

Hey, y’all. I’m at the 42nd Street Stephen A. Schwarzman Library on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, discovering the treasures within. 

Today, I’ve found some intriguing tablets written in cuneiform. As many of you know, I’ve been a teacher for 13 years, and every year, I get a question that’s especially popular among middle, but also high school students: “Who invented homework?” 

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 A fascinating answer might be the Mesopotamians or Babylonians. The tablets we’re talking about were used by students for writing practice, likely within the home of a scribe or a master. The pieces you’re seeing now are mainly literary texts that the students were required to copy and submit as demonstrations of their skill. There’s also a tablet featuring mathematical equations among them. Yes, the New York Public Library has a significant collection of these cuneiform tablets. 

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Pro tip: The Morgan Library on Madison Avenue also has an impressive collection of these ancient educational artifacts. So, indeed, do your homework, kids.

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