Greetings. Time has flown; and now it will have to land in another location as I change my subscription to a new address.
I will capture this update in 10 words or fewer:
Futility and resignation, rejection yet inspiration, new city, new job.
After more frustration than I can relay in this space, perhaps I shall dare to write a chapter in an extended memoir someday, the decision to resign from Teach for America was reached.
After nearly a quarter century, and the development of the pre-frontal cortex is complete, one might think that he would have quite an excellent understanding of the mechanisms fueling his planning and decision-making processes. However, he would be wrong.
While outwardly an obviously extroverted person, my internalization of life concerns, serious quandaries, and troubles is really quite extreme. Therefore, when I shared with my roommates my letter of resignation without previously having discussed the aforementioned openly, they were quite surprised to say the least. Shocking the threesome again, my decision to move to D.C. hit them hard - ranging from an emotional hurt denial to a chill nod of the head.
Lesson learned:
Thinking it ≠ Saying it.
Sunday brings a big move. For the time being I shall house myself under the roof of hospitable family friends and will interview to the best of my abilities with two organizations next week.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Fighting Cultural Defeat: Let Your Feet Meet the Beat
(Favorite current song: Echo by Gorilla Zoe)
I wanted to edit and add to the piece I posted a couple of months ago. Rethinking this dance in a context outside of the intimate lounge in which it occurred, I have extended the metaphor into the realm of cultural differences defined along lines of gender, race, class, sexual orientation, disability, etc.
From the speakers to the floor to your feet to your heart, the bass sends you into cardiac arrest faster than a 70-year-old on speed. Logic lost to passion, hips to the beat, your everything is seduced by the scarcely lit, sophisticated hideaway. The DJ spins the table hard, transitioning seamlessly as one beat flows into the next. God of the alcoholic waterfall, the bartender releases a biblical flow of charismatic cocktails.
The dance floor? Impossibly empty. Indeed, potential performers abound, however, all seem powerless to contest the vacant abyss. Carefully, an inspired group of males form a dancing crescent moon, their solidarity protecting them from the social anathema of dancing alone.
Plagued by the perilous rhythm, the urge to resist can no longer subsist. With a swing of the hips and a suggestive hand, I tempt a friend into the heart of the musical inferno. Heat burning from the eyes of the crowd sets our pores ablaze, but we care not. Our bodies are overwhelmed with the universal music; our minds wonder whether all consider the dance floor, let alone the establishment, an exclusive arena. The tempo just barely prohibits our modest unease surrounding our too obviously unique appearances. For beyond claiming the sole bodies on the dance floor, we also share the possibly burdensome role of the lone White individuals among the primarily African-American clientele.
As the night progresses, performers emerge from lurking in safer shadows and make their way to center circle. A soft brush upon my left shoulder beckons for my attention. Turning my head to meet my admirer, the words “time to battle” caress my ear. A challenge awaits. A crew? Yes, I came with-- ah, a dance cr-, yes, well I-. Pick someone?-- Before I process what has transpired, I have entered my first dance battle. The first challenger is chosen; indeed sir, time to battle.
Kicking, bouncing, sliding and gliding, his feet carry him onto the floor. The rhythmic motion is smooth but repetitive. Unclear on the logistics of dance battles, I hesitantly inquire as to the exact timing of my turn. A familiar tap on the shoulder and now it is I who stands to show the crowd my rhythmic prowess. “Go girl!” sails above the beat, “Get it girl!” What is more? The dancing itself or the shock factor that the body is white? No time to consider; only for I to meet the beat that it speaks.
Turns are taken and the finale awaits. Foreign to the proceedings, I am shaken by the presence of two members of the opposing crew sharing the floor with my original challenger. With neither an official rules handbook on dance battles nor a referee, I am clueless as to the merit of a one-on-one skirmish transitioning into a two-on-one affair.
No matter.
One opponent leaps with sky high jumping jacks while another drops to the floor to push up against the pounding. Inspired by their athletic motions, I jump in, completing a triangle at the center of the room. With a jumping jack of my own I dive downwards onto the ground, only to push it away. I break out a fish flop move and find myself on my back. Wearied by the lactic acid rushing my thighs, I hope to God that I can successfully complete the sequence. Push, thrust, kick! My body projects upwards and I land on my feet. The rush of adrenaline can only be pacified by a smooth 360° spin and the relief that I have triumphed.
Upon first sight, most might have labeled me an outsider, including myself. As we walked into the lounge only a couple of hours before, I had wondered if the establishment would accept us. Would we be ignored? Shunned? Judged? A test of the unknown crowd’s approval would prove my initial judgment of the majority as exclusive and me as too uncommon, wrong. Filling the place of distrust and uncertainty, musical harmony and improved cultural confidence surfaced through a challenge of motion and rhythm.
Do not mistake my point, I do not propose that history books decades from now dedicate a chapter to World War IV: the Epic Dance Battle, 2009-2014. Nevertheless, I do argue that the uncertain fear, terrifying apprehension, and threatening dissimilarity that is inherent in cultural difference is too often confronted through ironically non-confrontational solutions. Encouraging a culturally-blind approach to social issues, whether it be color-blind, gender-blind, or otherwise, does not represent a long-term solution to conflicts with centuries of strife behind and before them.
The alleviation of tension related to social difference will not be achieved through resolutions centering on the production of the invisibility of social differences. No solution that so blatantly misjudges the value in these differences as solely conflict-rousing evils will serve us well. Indeed, the most paralyzing fear of all is the fear of cultural fear itself. Admittedly, some of the most daunting, challenging, painful, and uncomfortable experiences come from confronting our fear of cultural difference. Too often do we succumb to the powerful negative emotions associated with overcoming this fear. Unfortunately, this ultimate submission to the fear of exploring variations in humanity rob us of the tremendous intellectual influence, artistic development, and simple joys that only bridging cultural divides can produce. We have admitted fear of social difference, as millions in deaths and millennia in wars verify; this fear must end; we know its perils too well and it must be renounced.
The rhythm of difference continues to beat, but it remains unanswered. Too often and too long has it been ignored, suppressed, and made invisible. It is time to battle: turn up the volume; pick a challenger; simultaneously terrifying and yet infinitely enlightening, we must meet the beat that the rhythm speaks.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Last Post
My last post reads like an idealistic, unrealistic, dreamy joke to me. I will update soon.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
It is pretty amazing really how little time is left until the summer. Although the weeks may seem slow one-by-one, blended together, it is unbelievable how quickly this year is rushing by. Indeed, summer does not seem close enough at times, but once it is here, our anticipated relief and release from the shackles of school may actually be more of a reflective longing and unexpected nostalgia. Only time will tell how we will really feel on that last day; on that evening when we will all sit together outside somewhere, thinking about how the past 10 months have meant different things to each of us, but to all of us an experience hard to explain, yet filled with a present and perhaps future lifetime’s inspiration.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Dance Battle! - i.e. last night
From the speakers to the floor to your feet to your heart, the bass sends you into cardiac arrest faster than a 70-year-old on speed. Logic lost to passion, hips to the beat, your everything is seduced by the scarcely lit, sophisticated hideaway. The DJ spins the table hard, transitioning seamlessly as one beat flows into the next. God of the alcoholic waterfall, the bartender releases a biblical flow of charismatic cocktails.
The dance floor? Impossibly empty. Indeed, potential performers abound, however, all seem powerless to contest the vacant abyss. Carefully, an inspired group of males form a dancing crescent moon, their solidarity protecting them from the social awkwardness of dancing alone.
The beat begins to stir my feet; I can no longer contain the urge to resist. Tempting a friend with a swing of the hips and a suggestive hand, I lead a friend into the middle of the musical inferno. Heat burning from the eyes of the crowd sets our pores ablaze, but we care not. Our bodies overwhelmed with the universal music, our minds wonder whether all consider the dance floor, let alone the establishment, an exclusive arena. We are not simply the sole beings on the dance floor, but very clearly a part of the small percentage of White individuals in a business frequented by primarily African-American clientele.
As the night progresses, performers who had previously lurked in safer shadows make their way to center circle. A soft brush upon my left shoulder beckons for my attention. Turning my head to meet my admirer, the words “time to battle” caress my ear. A challenge awaits. A crew? Yes, I came with-- ah, a dance cr-, yes, well I-, pick someone? Long before I realize, I have entered my first dance battle. I choose my first enemy.
Kicking, bouncing, sliding, his feet carry him onto the floor. The rhythmic motion is smooth but repetitive. Unclear on the logistics of dance battles, I hesitantly inquire as to the exact timing of my turn. A familiar tap on the shoulder and now it is I who stands to show the crowd my rhythmic prowess. “Go girl!” sails above the beat, “Get it!” What is more? The dancing itself or the shock factor that the body is white? No time to consider; only for I to meet the beat that it speaks.
Turns are taken and the finale awaits. Foreign to the proceedings, I am shaken by the presence of two members of the opposing crew sharing the floor. One leaps with sky high jumping jacks, while the other drops to the floor to push up against the pounding. Inspired by their athletic motions, I jump in, completing a triangle at the center of the room. With a jumping jack of my own I dive downwards, only to push it away. I break out a fish flop move and find myself on my back. Wearied by the lactic acid rushing my thighs I hope to God that I can successfully complete the sequence. Push, thrust, kick! My body projects upwards and I land on my feet. The rush of adrenaline can only be pacified by the relief that I have triumphed.
As we walked into the lounge only a couple of hours before, I wondered if the establishment would accept us. Would we be ignored? Shunned? Judged? A dance battle earning the respect of the crowd later, and the cultural plunge has been completely successfully. Indeed, upon first sight all would have labeled me an outsider, including myself; however, a test of the unknown crowd’s approval would prove my initial judgment of them as exclusive and me as too uncommon, wrong. Next time I take a cultural plunge, I shall not hesitate to bridge the gap.
The dance floor? Impossibly empty. Indeed, potential performers abound, however, all seem powerless to contest the vacant abyss. Carefully, an inspired group of males form a dancing crescent moon, their solidarity protecting them from the social awkwardness of dancing alone.
The beat begins to stir my feet; I can no longer contain the urge to resist. Tempting a friend with a swing of the hips and a suggestive hand, I lead a friend into the middle of the musical inferno. Heat burning from the eyes of the crowd sets our pores ablaze, but we care not. Our bodies overwhelmed with the universal music, our minds wonder whether all consider the dance floor, let alone the establishment, an exclusive arena. We are not simply the sole beings on the dance floor, but very clearly a part of the small percentage of White individuals in a business frequented by primarily African-American clientele.
As the night progresses, performers who had previously lurked in safer shadows make their way to center circle. A soft brush upon my left shoulder beckons for my attention. Turning my head to meet my admirer, the words “time to battle” caress my ear. A challenge awaits. A crew? Yes, I came with-- ah, a dance cr-, yes, well I-, pick someone? Long before I realize, I have entered my first dance battle. I choose my first enemy.
Kicking, bouncing, sliding, his feet carry him onto the floor. The rhythmic motion is smooth but repetitive. Unclear on the logistics of dance battles, I hesitantly inquire as to the exact timing of my turn. A familiar tap on the shoulder and now it is I who stands to show the crowd my rhythmic prowess. “Go girl!” sails above the beat, “Get it!” What is more? The dancing itself or the shock factor that the body is white? No time to consider; only for I to meet the beat that it speaks.
Turns are taken and the finale awaits. Foreign to the proceedings, I am shaken by the presence of two members of the opposing crew sharing the floor. One leaps with sky high jumping jacks, while the other drops to the floor to push up against the pounding. Inspired by their athletic motions, I jump in, completing a triangle at the center of the room. With a jumping jack of my own I dive downwards, only to push it away. I break out a fish flop move and find myself on my back. Wearied by the lactic acid rushing my thighs I hope to God that I can successfully complete the sequence. Push, thrust, kick! My body projects upwards and I land on my feet. The rush of adrenaline can only be pacified by the relief that I have triumphed.
As we walked into the lounge only a couple of hours before, I wondered if the establishment would accept us. Would we be ignored? Shunned? Judged? A dance battle earning the respect of the crowd later, and the cultural plunge has been completely successfully. Indeed, upon first sight all would have labeled me an outsider, including myself; however, a test of the unknown crowd’s approval would prove my initial judgment of them as exclusive and me as too uncommon, wrong. Next time I take a cultural plunge, I shall not hesitate to bridge the gap.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Score Reports
Here is the data from the Algebra 1 final. It is organized by teacher. Note that the scores of the teacher on the left dramatically stand out. It is rumored that this teacher may have doctored his scores in some fashion.
Overall, all teachers have absurdly low scores, but in comparison, my students' scores aren't bad!
Overall, all teachers have absurdly low scores, but in comparison, my students' scores aren't bad!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Website!
Check out this website that I created for my UNCC classes!
http://sites.google.com/site/letstacklewordproblems/Home
Also, good times in ISS (in school suspension). Three of my kids were in there today (this is a punishment for "acting a fool" in class - they go to a room and do word searches all day unless teachers give them work.) Gathering the three around me, I talked them through the lesson for the day. It is a great way to ensure that they don't feel totally lost when they get back to class from ISS and for them to see that I care. Hopefully they don't abuse this and try to get into ISS on purpose!
http://sites.google.com/site/letstacklewordproblems/Home
Also, good times in ISS (in school suspension). Three of my kids were in there today (this is a punishment for "acting a fool" in class - they go to a room and do word searches all day unless teachers give them work.) Gathering the three around me, I talked them through the lesson for the day. It is a great way to ensure that they don't feel totally lost when they get back to class from ISS and for them to see that I care. Hopefully they don't abuse this and try to get into ISS on purpose!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Recent Events!
Goodness has it been long! Overall I am much, much happier! Life at school is calmer; I know students are learning better and I am far more mentally and emotionally healthy because of it .
Here are a few recent highlights:
1) Making a player run a significant sprint after cursing in practice.
I have recently taken an assistant coaching position at a local high school (although this school shares similar to demographics to my school, the team is all white with the exception of two Asian players). The dynamic is totally different from that between me and my students. There is an automatic level of respect that the head coach and I receive that is not exactly as inherent at school. Lax practice has become the saving grace of my day, something that I look forward to when I wake up, at lunch time, and when I go to sleep at night. Our game schedule extends from March until May, so it will help carry me through this spring.
2) Relationships with students are far better than last semester.
While I continue to bounce students who are too behaviorally challenging to stay in the classroom if we are to learn anything, my relationships with even these students are filled with greater trust and support than last semester's. Whenever I ask a student to leave class that day, I make a strong point to hold a brief discussion with the student in the hallway. It usually ends in the student's apologizing for his or her behavior and our leaving on decent terms.
3) Referrals rain from the sky at times.
Indeed, I have been called a B far less this semester and more importantly, with less sincerity (now it's more to show out in front of peers than to express true disdain for me); however, student disrespect to one another is extremely high. Not a day goes by without a student flagrantly cursing out another student, calling someone stupid, a faggot, a stank a** b****, or at the very least mouthing f*** you to a peer. But! I am remaining calm, which is the most important thing to relax a verbal altercation and get the class back on track.
Shout out to Midd Women's Basketball! After a solid run this year, their season saw it's last game come and go this past Saturday. I wish all those on the team good cheer and high spirits in the painful, awkward first week of dead time after the season. My thoughts go out in particular to the seniors who ended their college athletic careers this weekend and those who decided not to play this year, may all be content with their time and decisions. If you have lost passion for the game, rekindle some this spring through maintaining and fostering strong friendships through playing some spring ball!
Here are a few recent highlights:
1) Making a player run a significant sprint after cursing in practice.
I have recently taken an assistant coaching position at a local high school (although this school shares similar to demographics to my school, the team is all white with the exception of two Asian players). The dynamic is totally different from that between me and my students. There is an automatic level of respect that the head coach and I receive that is not exactly as inherent at school. Lax practice has become the saving grace of my day, something that I look forward to when I wake up, at lunch time, and when I go to sleep at night. Our game schedule extends from March until May, so it will help carry me through this spring.
2) Relationships with students are far better than last semester.
While I continue to bounce students who are too behaviorally challenging to stay in the classroom if we are to learn anything, my relationships with even these students are filled with greater trust and support than last semester's. Whenever I ask a student to leave class that day, I make a strong point to hold a brief discussion with the student in the hallway. It usually ends in the student's apologizing for his or her behavior and our leaving on decent terms.
3) Referrals rain from the sky at times.
Indeed, I have been called a B far less this semester and more importantly, with less sincerity (now it's more to show out in front of peers than to express true disdain for me); however, student disrespect to one another is extremely high. Not a day goes by without a student flagrantly cursing out another student, calling someone stupid, a faggot, a stank a** b****, or at the very least mouthing f*** you to a peer. But! I am remaining calm, which is the most important thing to relax a verbal altercation and get the class back on track.
Shout out to Midd Women's Basketball! After a solid run this year, their season saw it's last game come and go this past Saturday. I wish all those on the team good cheer and high spirits in the painful, awkward first week of dead time after the season. My thoughts go out in particular to the seniors who ended their college athletic careers this weekend and those who decided not to play this year, may all be content with their time and decisions. If you have lost passion for the game, rekindle some this spring through maintaining and fostering strong friendships through playing some spring ball!
Monday, January 26, 2009
First Day - Take Dos. Time to be straight up.
A section of the speeches I gave to my Intro students today (keep in mind that it is a remedial math class).
"You are in this class because of one of three reasons. Either one, you are lazy and didn't do your work last year or last semester; two, you skipped class and failed due to attendance or missed material; or three, at some point in your educational career so far, whether it was in elementary school or middle school or at home, you got severely screwed over by either a teacher, your school, and the system."
"Some of you guys didn't have a teacher for an entire year of your education. Others had a teacher that just passed out worksheets and sat in the back of the class. Well I am making a promise to you today that I am not going to be that teacher that quits on your halfway through the semester, that hands you a sheet of work and sits in the back of the room, or tells you that you will amount to nothing. I will do everything I can to make sure that you are as successful as you can be, but you need to fulfill your end of the bargain and work hard with me."
One-on-one with a student, in response to a student saying he didn't like one teacher last semester because she got in his face and told him he wasn't doing anything for himself and wouldn't make it. "Boo, I am not going to get in your face like she did. Well, actually, I might. But if I do it will only be to tell you what an amazing student you can be and how much of a shame it is that you are not living up to the great things you can do. Is it ok if I get in your face for that." Response: nod and shy smile.
Fun one of the day: Student moves tongue in cheek mimicking a sexual endeavor; my response: "Austin, save it for your dreams or for after school." Austin laughed, and returned to the task at hand.
Overall, a solid day, complete with a roommate discussion of just how screwed up our schools and the educational system are.
"You are in this class because of one of three reasons. Either one, you are lazy and didn't do your work last year or last semester; two, you skipped class and failed due to attendance or missed material; or three, at some point in your educational career so far, whether it was in elementary school or middle school or at home, you got severely screwed over by either a teacher, your school, and the system."
"Some of you guys didn't have a teacher for an entire year of your education. Others had a teacher that just passed out worksheets and sat in the back of the class. Well I am making a promise to you today that I am not going to be that teacher that quits on your halfway through the semester, that hands you a sheet of work and sits in the back of the room, or tells you that you will amount to nothing. I will do everything I can to make sure that you are as successful as you can be, but you need to fulfill your end of the bargain and work hard with me."
One-on-one with a student, in response to a student saying he didn't like one teacher last semester because she got in his face and told him he wasn't doing anything for himself and wouldn't make it. "Boo, I am not going to get in your face like she did. Well, actually, I might. But if I do it will only be to tell you what an amazing student you can be and how much of a shame it is that you are not living up to the great things you can do. Is it ok if I get in your face for that." Response: nod and shy smile.
Fun one of the day: Student moves tongue in cheek mimicking a sexual endeavor; my response: "Austin, save it for your dreams or for after school." Austin laughed, and returned to the task at hand.
Overall, a solid day, complete with a roommate discussion of just how screwed up our schools and the educational system are.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
First Day Number Two: Bring Out the B
Leadership is about being respected, not liked.
The Pat Summitt of Introduction to Math has arrived in the building.
Disrespect in the classroom for each other, for our mission, or for me will not be tolerated. Get on board, or get out.
First day number two coming up.
Bring out the B.
The Pat Summitt of Introduction to Math has arrived in the building.
Disrespect in the classroom for each other, for our mission, or for me will not be tolerated. Get on board, or get out.
First day number two coming up.
Bring out the B.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Thoughts from UNCC Grad School Class - Online Forum
How many years have I taught? In the classroom, 0.5, on the court, 6. This first semester of teaching represented my initial attempt to command the attention of 25 students at a time and impart essential academic knowledge. My current challenge deals with 9th graders: resentful, sleep-deprived, hormonal machines.
The teaching philosophy I adapt markedly parallels that of my coaching philosophy. The coach must serve as a paradigm of poise, patience, respect, and endurance for learning. However, the coach, or teacher, in the end may not be the individual from whom a player or student learns best. In fact, rather to the contrary, the greatest learning often is divulged through the support and guidance of a peer. The ideal learning environment through this philosophy, therefore, would consist of peers’, rather than teachers’, not only fostering the understanding of a concept in fellow peers, but actually introducing new ideas and theories. While ideal on paper, this is far more difficult to realize in a classroom outside of one’s fantasies. However, recently I have found my own piece of this dream in my own classroom. Having introduced a student to a new concept in tutorial one afternoon, I relinquished the soap box to this young woman during class the following day. With the attention of 24 adolescents, K. enlightened her classmates about the ways of compound inequalities. This model of peers teaching peers is one that I found to both promote positive class relationships as well as highly affecting teaching and learning. It is one that I will surely make every attempt to repeat in the upcoming semester.
The high school in which I work is far from being a competitive member of the CMS team. It has been targeted as a school that needs immediate drastic improvement; indeed, immediate improvement. Whispered rumors in the copy room of Dr. Gorman’s secret mission to close the school abound. Illegal actions such as restricting access to students’ enrolling in EOC classes for fear of their scoring below proficiency on the EOC have been taken by our principal in order to prevent our school from sinking to the front page headliner “Beyond the Market; Depressed Times for Education: Another School Closes.” In a school with one of the highest free or reduced lunch rates, an often depressed, disillusioned staff, and devastating lack of teachers, one could argue that there is less than a glimmer of hope for our school.
I would like to argue differently. A new teacher recently informed me of her severe distaste for the complacent school culture in reference to the forced curve on math finals. The curve is dramatic, for example changing a 36 to a 60. She passionately pointed out that we will never help students by lowering standards. Teach for America has indoctrinated me with this notion. That makes 2 of us at the school. How many others will it take? The answer: All. Even more than pushing my own students to success I must charge myself to morph the mindsets of fellow teachers to raise their standards and motivate their students to achieve their best, despite incredible obstacles.
To close, three things truly valued by me about teaching are safety, encouragement, and passion. Safety because I have the opportunity to create as safe an environment as I can for my students; an environment where they face no physical or emotional harm. Encouragement because I can serve as a positive motivator in my students’ lives, for some I may be the only one who makes an effort to fill this role. Finally, passion. I can pass on a passion for learning, a passion for change, and most of all, a passion for social transformation that if passed on efficiently and securely, will prepare my students with the reason, will, and academic confidence to create a lasting positive change for the community in which they grew up.
The teaching philosophy I adapt markedly parallels that of my coaching philosophy. The coach must serve as a paradigm of poise, patience, respect, and endurance for learning. However, the coach, or teacher, in the end may not be the individual from whom a player or student learns best. In fact, rather to the contrary, the greatest learning often is divulged through the support and guidance of a peer. The ideal learning environment through this philosophy, therefore, would consist of peers’, rather than teachers’, not only fostering the understanding of a concept in fellow peers, but actually introducing new ideas and theories. While ideal on paper, this is far more difficult to realize in a classroom outside of one’s fantasies. However, recently I have found my own piece of this dream in my own classroom. Having introduced a student to a new concept in tutorial one afternoon, I relinquished the soap box to this young woman during class the following day. With the attention of 24 adolescents, K. enlightened her classmates about the ways of compound inequalities. This model of peers teaching peers is one that I found to both promote positive class relationships as well as highly affecting teaching and learning. It is one that I will surely make every attempt to repeat in the upcoming semester.
The high school in which I work is far from being a competitive member of the CMS team. It has been targeted as a school that needs immediate drastic improvement; indeed, immediate improvement. Whispered rumors in the copy room of Dr. Gorman’s secret mission to close the school abound. Illegal actions such as restricting access to students’ enrolling in EOC classes for fear of their scoring below proficiency on the EOC have been taken by our principal in order to prevent our school from sinking to the front page headliner “Beyond the Market; Depressed Times for Education: Another School Closes.” In a school with one of the highest free or reduced lunch rates, an often depressed, disillusioned staff, and devastating lack of teachers, one could argue that there is less than a glimmer of hope for our school.
I would like to argue differently. A new teacher recently informed me of her severe distaste for the complacent school culture in reference to the forced curve on math finals. The curve is dramatic, for example changing a 36 to a 60. She passionately pointed out that we will never help students by lowering standards. Teach for America has indoctrinated me with this notion. That makes 2 of us at the school. How many others will it take? The answer: All. Even more than pushing my own students to success I must charge myself to morph the mindsets of fellow teachers to raise their standards and motivate their students to achieve their best, despite incredible obstacles.
To close, three things truly valued by me about teaching are safety, encouragement, and passion. Safety because I have the opportunity to create as safe an environment as I can for my students; an environment where they face no physical or emotional harm. Encouragement because I can serve as a positive motivator in my students’ lives, for some I may be the only one who makes an effort to fill this role. Finally, passion. I can pass on a passion for learning, a passion for change, and most of all, a passion for social transformation that if passed on efficiently and securely, will prepare my students with the reason, will, and academic confidence to create a lasting positive change for the community in which they grew up.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
refrigerator poetry
First, thank you so much to those who have shown endless love and support in these tough times. I would not still be here without you.
Second, I have a new air about my teaching. Over winter break, I realized just how unhappy I had been here. This was evidenced in some refrigerator poetry that I wrote with some friends at home. It seemed as though only negative thoughts were in my head:
smelling purple lies there
repulsive lust rips the tongue
will she fall like frantic shadows
stop moon
cry of power
gone
trudge through black winter
time can boil screams
To get a better idea, here is an exert from a recent email I wrote to my program director:
I am constantly uneasy at school, stomach churning and hands shaking between blocks, always on guard for a student to disrespect or emotionally abuse me. With megaphones blaring in the halls, constant verbal and physical conflict among students and ubiquitous complaining and frustration among staff members, I work in a hostile, unwelcoming, and uninspiring environment that breeds depression and ill-will.
However, realizing just how low I had gotten and the pressures that I was putting on myself helped me realize that I need to lighten up and just do the best that I can. If I did absolutely everything that I could, bending over backwards for my students, I would still have kids checked out, not doing anything in class, and disrespecting their classmates and me - and certainly not reaching 80% mastery.
Finals week starts on Wednesday. Time for these students to really crack down.
Second, I have a new air about my teaching. Over winter break, I realized just how unhappy I had been here. This was evidenced in some refrigerator poetry that I wrote with some friends at home. It seemed as though only negative thoughts were in my head:
smelling purple lies there
repulsive lust rips the tongue
will she fall like frantic shadows
stop moon
cry of power
gone
trudge through black winter
time can boil screams
To get a better idea, here is an exert from a recent email I wrote to my program director:
I am constantly uneasy at school, stomach churning and hands shaking between blocks, always on guard for a student to disrespect or emotionally abuse me. With megaphones blaring in the halls, constant verbal and physical conflict among students and ubiquitous complaining and frustration among staff members, I work in a hostile, unwelcoming, and uninspiring environment that breeds depression and ill-will.
However, realizing just how low I had gotten and the pressures that I was putting on myself helped me realize that I need to lighten up and just do the best that I can. If I did absolutely everything that I could, bending over backwards for my students, I would still have kids checked out, not doing anything in class, and disrespecting their classmates and me - and certainly not reaching 80% mastery.
Finals week starts on Wednesday. Time for these students to really crack down.
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