Good Dads

I was thinking about my first year of teaching. On one of my first days ever as a teacher, one of my little girls, T, was crying at dismissal. I bent down and asked her what happened. Another teacher came up to me and said, "Oh, Gesch, don't worry about it, she always cries at dismissal because one day last year nobody came to pick her up after school," kind of in a nonchalant, it-is-what-it-is type of way. I was kind of shocked that someone thought it was no big deal that a 7-year-old was crying for this traumatic reason, but it's an attitude I came across often: brushing off the real emotions of children. I don't say this as an offense to the heart of my coworkers; on the contrary, many of my coworkers in East Garfield Park were some of the most amazing individuals with the biggest hearts for kids I've ever met. More so, it's a comment on the intensity of life in my old school's neighborhood: if you got worked up every time a kid got a little worked up, you'd be burned out by Thursday. And you have to last all year. A few people didn't even last all year. But there was T anyway, tears streaming down her (beautiful - and I mean that - she really is a beautiful kid) face. And I started to think about that.

As it turns out, she was supposed to be picked up by her dad that night. Perhaps it was a miscommunication, maybe it was an innocent mistake between her mother and father in a game of phone tag about who was picking up T that night. I don't think her parents were terrible people, just people who had a lot on their plate and were capable of making mistakes, just like I am. I don't know all the details of why, exactly, she was forgotten. Being left at school was a watershed experience for T, as she continued to cry at dismissal every single day after school for the first few months of school. We would get into the routine of me hugging her for basically the whole time until someone picked her up. She wasn't forgotten today, whew. She could wipe her tears. Crisis averted.

It made me think of our world, and how mistakes, large or small, may be seemingly insignificant to us adults, but how deeply real they are to kids. It makes me think of kids like T, who was picked up at the end of a long 4 hours at a police station, 8:00 pm on a school night instead of the usual 4:00 pm, horrified that nobody was coming to get her, so uncertain of what was going to happen to her, defenseless against anything.

My dad. 

As I go on through this third year of teaching, I am, ever so slowly, sussing out what the last two years of my life have really meant. I'm just now starting to process the impact that my experience with Teach For America left on my heart. A lot of it, to be honest, is depressing to rehash and think through in hindsight. I think of T and how she buried her wet cheeks into my leg while I stood on the lookout for her car. I think of how she was afraid that her dad forgot about her. I think of dads in general and how rare it is to have a Good Dad in our world, to have a dad of character, who is there for you, who always comes through. I think of my dad and of Brian's dad, and how good they are, and how lucky we are to have them. It makes me despair a little bit that dads like ours are so rare, that so many in this world go without a Good Dad. It all gives me a shot of pessimism toward our world's future.

Then, I zoom out and get a little historical perspective on how my own dad came to be the person he is. He also came from a Good Dad, my Grandpa Gesch. A hardworking, strict, hilarious, intelligent, kind, principled, faithful man of integrity. An example. A Christian leader. That's who my Grandpa is. Where did my Grandpa learn to be all of those things? By watching his own father? Actually, not at all. I never met him, but I hear that his dad was a little bit of a tough dude. In an effort to avoid slandering my own ancestors, let me just say that my great-grandfather, my Grandpa's dad, was not setting forth a loving Christian example and leave it at that. And yet, God intervened anyway, and he grew up little Wilfred Gesch to be a leader, a teacher, a believer, a father, and the patriarch of a large faithful family of Christ-followers. It's amazing how good of a dad he has become. He didn't learn it through an earthly example. He learned to be a Good Dad through following the person of Jesus Christ, setting forth a chain of events leading to an immense impact on his (massive) family. I know that my Good Dad wouldn't be who he is without the influence of his own father. It is a beautiful cycle of God's love sent down through generations by the means of  Providence and Faithfulness and the mysterious work of the Holy Spirit. It is a beautiful testimony, my family.

So what does some German guy have to do with T, crying on the sidewalk, waiting for her dad to pick her up? These intersecting stories in my life give me a small dose of optimism; they point me to a larger picture of what is possible and the Hope we have in this dark world for progress, love, and redemption. My Grandpa Gesch didn't need a Good Dad on earth to understand how to be one himself. T doesn't need to wait for a Good Dad to come around. She doesn't need to have a perfect earthly example in her life to make the choice to begin something new in her own life, in her own family.

The truth is that T already has a Good Dad. He is of the heavenly sort, who already shows up and comes through when he says He will and will be faithful to His word. We all, T included, have access to this dad who will be consistent to His promises, true to what He says He will do, even if the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. This heavenly father is the kind of Good Dad who comes down to fill in the voids that human parents tend to leave conspicuously wide open. In a world full of imperfect dads and moms, it is beautiful to think of that.

So whether you have a bad dad, a mediocre dad, a good dad, or maybe even a dad who is gone from this earth, I'm sure you will be confronting that situation soon over the holidays. Family gatherings have a way of making us come to terms with our own dad and mom situation. Maybe it will be a happy time, but perhaps it will be difficult or even sad for you to think about the impact (or lack thereof) your dad has had on your life. Whatever that situation may be, perhaps it might help to think of T, and to know that you are not alone in shedding a tear or two. I hope that you and I can remember the Good Dad we all share who is faithful to us: a refuge, a strength, and an always-present help in trouble. 

The Week from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks

This week did me in. Please excuse the title of the post. Childhood Anna would have been slapped on the mouth for saying that one. My mother raised me better than to allude to that. But it was a rough, rough week on me, and I suppose one of the perks of adulthood is permission to write quasi-vulgar blog post titles.

In some cruel coincidence of the darkest of forces, our school's standardized testing week coincided with Teacher Depreciation, oops-I-meant Appreciation Week. 

The test, THE test, that our kids take in order to evaluate the teachers, happened this week. Can I tell you something that makes me sad? It makes me sad that six and seven-year-old children have the pressure and weight on their shoulders to perform on a computerized test for around forty-five minutes to gauge how well their teacher taught them for around 10 months. It makes me sad that in the last few months, I had to make decisions on what to teach my kids, not based on what I thought they would love to learn about or things I thought that six and seven-year-olds should know, but based on what will help them do well on this test. I was consistently put in a position of asking myself: Should I teach my class based on what's best for kids to learn? Or should I teach my class based on what's best for this test we have to take? More often than not, like most teachers, I settled for somewhere in the middle: I gave them tools to succeed on the test, hiding skills and supplementing here and there so they didn't feel the pressure of it. I couldn't live with myself and give in completely to test prep mode. It's an unfortunate situation we have put our teachers into, particularly our teachers in low-income communities. It's unfortunate that this situation also affects the students who need the most support in the most unfortunate ways. Ha. I say the word: unfortunate. As if it's unlucky, a random force over which we have no control. (Except that real people make decisions about these tests, teacher evaluation practices, curriculum choices, and support services for kids, every single day.) 

Yet here we were. Taking The Test. On Teacher Appreciation Week. That too, was tough. Each day I scrolled through pictures of my teacher friends who were rolling in gift cards from Chili's, trinkets, and handmade cards from their kids. It was a little different for me. No Chili's gift cards happened, I can tell you that. This week, one of my kids said he wanted to shoot me. I had a lot of attitude, rolling eyes, and defiance coming in my direction this week. 

I say this not to complain, but to make the one thing that happened on Friday all the sweeter. 

Here I thought: "This week is it. I am done. I can't come back on Monday, and I won't be able to come back the day after that. I just can't do it anymore." 

That's what God does, doesn't he? Right when you believe that you can't handle it anymore, he gives you grace. 

This Friday, after school, after Teacher Appreciation Week had technically expired, my grace came through a mother picking up her child, who handed me an envelope through the window. It wasn't accompanied by a gift card, a potted plant, or balloon. It was just a card, but it said this inside:

"Often teachers are unappreciated and not recognized for the work they do. Please know that not only do I appreciate you but thank you for all the work you've done with my child and all the other students you work with. You have encouraged her in so many ways and we're so blessed to have experienced your ability to help the mind grow. Teachers are blessings and thank you for being ours. The best statement you said to my daughter was, "I wish I had a classroom full of students like you." She loved that and will never forget it."

That was all I needed. In spite of feeling defeated and kicked while I was down, I know that one mother and one very sweet girl noticed and cared and are thankful that I'm in their lives. I know that one girl knows and will remember that she is smart. And that she is loved. 

And after a week from you-know-where, that was pretty great. 

Those Kids

I'm about to go on a small rant, because a few little words are bothering me lately. They're adjectives. Of the demonstrative variety. THESE and THOSE. Sometimes these two words serve as demonstrative pronouns, where they replace nouns. For example, instead of "Wow, the flowers are beautiful," one might say, "Wow, these are beautiful!" But sometimes "these" and "those" can be used as adjectives, as descriptors to nouns, as an add-on to help narrow down exactly what you're discussing. Instead of saying, "Look at the couples! They are dancing and having a great time," you might say, "Look at those couples! They are having a great time." You know, you're helping your audience understand a more specific cross-section of the whole to which you're referring. Add in these and those, the ever-helpful demonstrative adjectives, and you help people figure out exactly whom you're talking about. But I digress.

All of this is just grammar. I was an English major, after all, and most people don't care about all of that anyway. What's the point?

It's not that I'm against demonstratives. They've never done anything to me. It's not their fault. These and those are just as good as any, so I can't really say it's the words with whom I am peeved. It's the people who use them. And, in my opinion, misuse them.

It's odd, because the demonstrative adjectives, THESE and THOSE, are being unnecessarily attached to some humans (who are near and dear to my heart) on a daily basis. I'm finding more and more, especially now that my radar is buzzing for it, that people are using THESE and THOSE for some very special people. For my kids. My class of first grade kids.

Last fall, someone said to me, "Well, teaching at your school, with THESE kids, it's almost like babysitting instead of teaching."

Right before Christmas break, I went to a day-long workshop and was learning alongside teachers from all over the Chicago area. It was centering around how to run and organize the behavior management in your classroom. When I asked a question about a hypothetical interaction with a misbehaving six-year-old, the presenter asked where I taught and the nature of my school. She replied, saying, "Well, I believe this will work for most kids, but THOSE kids especially need boundaries clearly set."

During Christmas break, a well-meaning friend said, "Anna, I can't believe you're still teaching THOSE kids."

Last week, during my grad class, my professor said, "Well with the type of neighborhoods that THESE kids come from, you never know what you're going to get."

Finally, a few days ago, I overheard a fellow teacher (not from my school) saying "THESE kids are just too difficult."

Now I'm not saying my students don't need clear boundaries, or that sometimes it's not overwhelming to be their teacher, or that their neighborhoods are perfect. But I guess I want to call some people out on their grammar. Why THESE? Why THOSE?

Why words specifically chosen to call out a small group from the whole? Why do I never hear about kids from Winnekta being referred to as THESE kids? What do you mean by THESE kids and THOSE kids anyway? Do you mean naughty kids? Poor kids? Chicago kids? Black kids?

The problem, I guess, is that by attaching the THESE and THOSE labels to my students, you'd never think about B, who is reading at nearly a 3rd grade level, comes from a loving family, and asks me at the end of each day if she can "please Ms. Gesch just keep learning because I want to learn all day."

You'd never think of M, who has gone from not knowing the alphabet in August to picking up books and reading the words in them by December.

B and M and all the others aren't THOSE kids. They're MY kids.

THESE and THOSE cut out all the humanity from your brain and cause you to jump to a label instead. I'm not saying I've never in my life fallen into this mindset before, I'm just more sensitive to it now that I know and love my students. I am, however, saying it's time we start choosing words more mindfully.

I have an idea. And once I share this idea, I'll lay off the grammar and stop being so picky, I promise.

Maybe instead of talking about THESE kids and THOSE kids, we could start talking about OUR kids. When we're talking about the challenges facing education, and the topic of  kids ceases to be those, and starts to become ours instead, that's when the conversation is starting to go in the right direction.

Because OUR kids deserve better from us. 

The Search

These days I'm steeped in research.

Ever since joining Teach For America and starting this crazy ride of teaching in urban education, I've been bombarded with the research. The research on poverty. The research on racial systemic injustice. The research on boys and girls and who learns better in traditional public schools and who is favored in science class. The research on college readiness exams. The research on being ready for second grade. The research on unlimited varieties in curriculum and why certain ones are better than others. The research on phonics. The research on higher-order thinking. The research on vocabulary acquisition. The research on rewarding kids for success and moving towards intrinsic motivation. The research on character development and social-emotional learning. And a lot more.

In the past two years I've read countless articles, about 10 books, and a lot more blogs on what it means to be in this tough but important work of serving in low-income schools and the children in my community.

And with all that, I've still got so much to learn, so much to know, and so much more to understand.

I still can't wrap my mind around what it is going to take to work with people in my school's communities and others like it in order to have a holistic and healthy renewal of poverty-ridden areas so that children everywhere can grow up to be who they were meant to be; so that places like the West Side of Chicago can be places of hope, fairness, and life. There is so much that goes into an effort like that, and I am made aware every day that it needs to be an all-hands-on-deck approach: no single white girl driving down from Wisconsin is going to change anything unless she is working with all kinds of other people who are working for the same things, teaching her so many things in the process. But.

But. But. In all of the research, in all of the social programs, in all of the new ideas and curricula, there seems to be something missing. Something that I have a hard time articulating, but something that I know in my guts has to be there for anything good to happen or anything new to grow.

Here's what I mean. One Thursday night, during grad class last spring, we had a guest speaker come in to talk about social-emotional learning. She was promoting a curriculum that she has used and helped develop and was now pitching to us young teachers. Don't get me wrong, it was a good curriculum I am sure, complete with group problem-solving and peace-keeping strategies, as well as activities to practice and foster a sense of kindness and community. Her curriculum was, of course, backed by all the research in the world. During her talk, I made a note of some of her quotes that particularly struck a chord with me:

"Teach all the math and reading that you want, but we've gotta change what's going on on the inside if we want any actual change for our students."

"I'm educating my kids for life. I'd lose a few points on those standardized test scores if it meant making time for social-emotional learning."

"This kind of stuff is what matters in marriages and families and workplaces and life."

And as I read those quotes over again, I am struck again with how much I agree. Recently I just finished reading a book called "How Children Succeed," by Paul Tough that I really loved. It spoke to the skills that most successful children have in common. Surprisingly, it's not their high test scores or exemplary IQ. It is their character: their grit, curiosity, social awareness, and integrity. So teachers, leaders, and parents should all be working to teach and develop those skills in our children. And again, I was struck with how much I agree. It was completely research-based, of course, with study after study across multiple disciplines backing his supposition.

But. Again, I felt, for some reason, that all of this is research missing something. The research is, for certain, searching for something. I like the word research and its prefix "re" for the simple fact that it could mean to search again. We know that the word implies that someone is searching systematically for an answer. And all of this research in the educational and social and political world in which I exist is looking for something to answer all of our issues, all of our challenges, and all of our struggles. What is the answer? How do we help people? How do we help kids? Every year or month or even day, it can seem, the newest and latest thing comes out from the newest and latest research. A new answer to our problems. A new solution for the ills of the West Side. And while they are all very positive and even often have results and data to back up their success, there is one side that is left out.

For all of their searching and researching and searching again, I think the scientists, sociologists, and educators are missing something very important about children, and for that matter, about people in general. I wonder if they consider that a child is someone who is more than just a human, physically here with physical needs, and a physical brain that needs to understand how to achieve character and academic growth and adequate test scores so that they can maneuver about their social environment to make their own way forward. I wonder about the idea that a student has a soul, a spiritual side, that needs to be cared for; I wonder about how people expect to "change what's going on on the inside," as that well-meaning guest speaker purported to do. Is it we teachers who really change what's going on on the inside, the deep-down inside? Am I the one with the ultimate ability to heal the spiritual and emotional traumas of my children?

Or is there another answer for which we are searching? Is there another way to which I can point that fills in the missing piece to the puzzle of helping and working with low-income communities? Is there a possibility that the cycles and roundabouts of finding new and good ways to serve kids are missing something in their important search? Every day that I spend with my kids gives me the conviction that there is, indeed, more to it when it comes to children. When it comes to people. When it comes to our world. My kids, to me, are living proof that there is a never-ending depth and mystery to the meaning of what it means to be human, of what it means to have a soul. The research is well-meaning and even effective and helpful. But the search that should be taken up on behalf of my kids' souls must be addressed. It has to be. I guess all of this doesn't mean that I have an answer.

But I might have an idea of where to look for one. The search always leads me there, leads me to the same place, leads me to the very start where my hope and love and faith began. I wonder if the search will ever end. I don't know that it will. But I'm gaining conviction that I know exactly where The Search needs to start.

Incidentally

I had a really good day at school today. Which is good, because yesterday had me thinking I should throw in the towel altogether. Isn't it funny how life can swing back and forth like that? My math lesson went well, my kids were generally kinder today toward one another, and we packed up for dismissal without any problems. Let me tell you: that was an accomplishment. Because if you think it's easy to pack up 23 6-year-olds without a hitch, you're delusional. But when I got home, after I sorted the mail and dropped my stuff on the floor with a thud, I sat and stared at the wall. Because even though it was a good day, it didn't feel like a good day.

It didn't feel like a good day because there was an incident.

An incident, of course, means that something happened with a weapon, violence, or the gangs near my school. An incident means that something unsafe just happened and now you need to react. Today's particular incident involved passersby carrying a firearm near our older elementary kids on the playground and asking them to look at it and take it from them. A ten-year-old was asked to take a gun and shoot it today. During his recess. That's the world we are living in. That's the Chicago we are living in. 

When you hear that there's been an incident as a teacher in my school, you kind of just shut up, listen to directions for contingency plans that you need to know right now (dismissal locations, Gym/Recess schedules, and other logistics), and go read your email or meet with the administration at the end of the day to get the more descriptive details after the fact and after everyone is safely home with whomever picked them up from school. It's happened more often than once in the last year, and it's even happened more often than twice in the last year. For the sake of my parents and other people who worry about me and where I work in the city, I'm going to leave it at that for the count of incidents around which I've had to maneuver my class of children. Today this incident meant that my kids had Gym in the classroom instead of walking down the street to the big space where we usually go. There are only so many running in place games, jumping jacks next to your desk games, and rounds of "heads-up-7-up" you can play with kids before they get to the point where they just need to go run around in a big space. But, because of the incident, it was the safe decision to have Gym in a classroom. And I'm thankful for my awesome principal and co-workers who keep it together in the midst of chaos for the sake of my kids. 

It's odd to me, though, that we call these things incidents. I naturally think of the words "incidental" and "incidentally" when I think of the word "incident." "Incidentally" means that something happened by chance or a random occurrence. You know, you might incidentally run into an old friend in the frozen pizza aisle one day. You might incidentally trip on the sidewalk and scuff the side of your new shoes. You might incidentally catch that you have a virus or infection on a routine checkup at the doctor. But these incidents at my school are far from incidental. They're not chance. They're not random. They're not happenstance.

These incidents are symptoms of the growing beast that lives in the poorest neighborhoods of a powerhouse city, the beast that gains momentum every time a kid loses his or her right to just be a kid. These incidents are not incidents at all, but real stories of the patterns of violence and injustice that continue to make the act of growing up and achieving your goals and becoming something new increasingly difficult for kids like mine. 

No one will hear about this incident on the news tonight. No one will read about it in the paper tomorrow. To most, it's either something you shake your head at or worse...just something that's happened...incidentally. Oops! Bummer! Another weapon incident on the West Side! Change the channel. When will this stuff start to really matter to us?

You know what's the oddest thing of all? This incident happened in the same exact spot where, exactly 24 hours earlier, there was an Anti-Violence Rally where teenagers and community leaders spoke out about keeping the peace in East Garfield Park. I suppose one could say that the rally and the subsequent day's events, so closely related and also contrasted, happened...incidentally? 

I, for one, do not even believe in the term "incidentally" at all. I believe that things happen because something or someone causes them; things don't just happen. Chance doesn't cause things. People, both broken and also redeemable in the most confusing and wonderful of ways, cause things. We cause things. And when we cause things, they are for good or for harm. We need more people to decide to cause good to happen. Even when I'm not capable of causing good to happen on my own (because believe me, I mostly just mess things up), I have to rely on the One who can make it happen for me and through me in my life. We all have to. No more incidental incidents happening incidentally. It seems to me like it's time for us to stop pretending that things happen by chance in Chicago and to start causing things to happen in Chicago instead. For good.

Until then, my kids will be living, as 6-year-old kids on the playground, from incident to incident. 

It's Over.

Last Wednesday, June 19, was the last day of my first year of teaching. The first year is done. It's over. My first year with Teach For America. My first year in this crazy city. It was a big deal to me. I'm going to be thinking about that last day and what it means to me for a long time after this. I don't know how many installments I'll write about the end of my school year, but I know that I'll be processing it for awhile. For right now, I'm going to be thankful for some things. It's always good to start with that. Who needs the turkey? Today can be Thanksgiving too.

The future third-graders, looking so grown up.

At the end of my first year of teaching, I am thankful for...

1. Survival. If I'm going to be real, I was often uncertain that I would make it to this day. Physically making it to summer break is something for which I am endlessly grateful.

2. Humility. If you want a knock to your ego, go sign up for Teach For America. I guess I'm sentimental for things like sad movies and sappy commercials, but I never thought of myself as a weak person who breaks down and cries over things. Then life said to me: "Welcome to this year, Anna," and the waterworks began. On lunch breaks. On the drive home. Random other times. It's ridiculous to admit, but it's also an overwhelming feeling to be a teacher at my school and for my kids. To modify a Seinfeld-ism: "First, you cry, and then your data comes in after the standardized tests are scored and... you cry again." It was a good thing for me to realize that I am not good at everything right away, even when I put in an enormous amount of effort (it knocked this grade-chasing-overachiever down a few pegs). This has been such an important lesson.

3. Hilarity. I have so, so, so many funny memories with my kids. So many quotes. So many weird interactions. So many moments of chaos. I'm giggling to myself right now even thinking of them all.

4. Revelation. This year has also been one of some tough realizations about the harsh reality of this world. My eyes have definitely been opened. I will never be the same.

5. People. I have met so many new people in this first year in Chicago through this experience with Teach For America. I am so thankful for them all. I am amazed at the variety of humanity that God has made and put into my life. They are the real live people, with skin and hair and personalities. They are so much more real than statistics, numbers, or data points. They are teachers, students, coworkers, friends, and other acquaintances and they are all amazing.

6. Discontentment. Yes, I am even thankful for the uneasiness I still feel about this whole thing, right now as I type. I feel dissatisfied about my abilities as a teacher, I feel worried about the safety and progress of my kids over the summer, and I feel anxious about the system as a whole and the injustices that happen here on a daily basis. I'm thankful that I don't feel at peace with all of those things because I know it will just be motivation to become better, to try harder, to accomplish more. I don't want to feel complacent and I don't ever want to be desensitized to the realities that we all so desperately need to change.

7. Faithfulness. I've seen it out of my friends and family, so much. But most of all, I've seen it from God. I have never been so blown away as I have this year at the unbelievable ways that God takes care of me. He always does. Even when I'm crying in the bathroom, schools around the city are closing down, and there's a shooting a block from where we go outside for recess, God is faithful to us. That's the thing I'm most thankful for.

Now if you'll excuse me, good night to you all. I'll be over here in Pilsen. Going to sleep. Without setting an alarm. (!!!!!!!)

Not the Same

This title was directly inspired by this song by Ben Folds. Harkens back to my senior year of high school when his music is all I would listen to.

If you read my last post, you may think I'm a rambling preteen girl who has no capacity for any reasonable insight about important things. That may be true, but I do, from time to time, think about things other than TV shows and books that happen to be en vogue at any given point in time. This long weekend has allowed me a few minutes to reflect on where I'm at in the school year. I'm six months into teaching. Half a year in this city and with my kids. And I have definitely changed. I am not the same. 

It's funny how 23 second graders can change your life. They've changed me in a lot of ways I am not so proud of: I look older than I am, could fall asleep for a 3 hour nap at any given moment throughout the day, and have lost my hot runner bod that I earned this past summer (moment of silence to mourn the loss...). I feel guilty about the other ways I've changed, like sometimes having a negative attitude, a complaining spirit, or an aura of impatience. But there are other ways I've changed, and it started to come into my mind this weekend. For some reason or another, I was introduced to ten or so new people in the past few days through friends of friends at various events and I had to continuously say my schpeal about where I'm from, where I live in the city, and what I do for a job. Stuff like that can make you do a double-take on who you are and what you're doing with all your time. And why you're doing what you do. 

I just have been thinking about who I am and what my job is in this crazy world. This does encompass my current job as a teacher, but I'm thinking more about my Job with a capital J. Like what I'm supposed to be doing with all my time. Like how I'm supposed to be spending my life. The way I've lived most of my life has not been the way I live it now. I've generally lived a privileged, comfortable existence as I bee-bopped through the years making friends, playing sports, loving school, and generally focusing all of my attention on, you've guessed it, ME. I did what I wanted to do and I spent my time making myself feel happy and important. You could generally say that I zipped from the mall to starbucks and back to my heart's content. I never truly went without money and I never truly had any sort of discomfort in my path. Of course every life has struggles, but I had it good. I still have it good. But just by a different standard this time. 

Doing this Teach For America thing changes you. It's not anything valiant or wonderful that I've done that makes it this way, it's just the inevitable byproduct of living and working with my kids. It's all on them. It comes from meeting T who is 7 and babysits her 4 younger siblings alone. It's about D who wants to play in the NFL but has a heartbreaking home situation and hopefully will just make it through middle school without getting into trouble. It comes from so many other kids who have lives and dreams and experiences that I never would have known had I stayed on the path I was on before this year. You don't run into a lot of kids from East Garfield Park in Starbucks. Of course (as my last blog post and many others before that indicate) I can talk about nothingness just like any girl. I'm not above stupid banter (in fact, it's my specialty). But this whole thing does make conversations about dinner parties and side tables and yoga class a lot less interesting. The lens has changed. 

It's changed because now I've seen a tiny taste of the real deal. I can't go back to my old life just pretending that this world doesn't exist. I've seen it, I'm in it, and it's too late. I can't pretend there aren't kids on the west and south sides who have lives and joys and personalities and talents and families just like anyone else. This of course is something I will keep thinking about (and therefore probably blogging about...my apologies to you) for a long time into the future. For now, I'll try to keep thinking about my Job with a capital J (I realize that is a silly way to put it). What I'm supposed to do when the comfortable life I lead isn't a possibility for kids just a few miles down the interstate. What I'm supposed to be doing in this world where the west and south sides do, in fact, exist, right along with millions of other places on earth where injustices are done and the brokenness is winning. 

Yes. I'm not the same anymore. Good. 

Old School

I was just reflecting today on old people. Okay I'll be kinder and say "my elders."

I don't know what it is, but I'm just feeling thankful for the silver-haired-no-nonsense-full-of-wisdom types lately. Whether that's my fabulous grandparents or others. I think it was probably my Seminar class for my grad program through Dominican University tonight. Our Seminar class is taught by a nun named Sister Mary. She is definitely rocking the patterned vest ensemble on the reg and I have a sneaking suspicion that she might smoke. I hope she does, in a weird way. (I don't know why I would find joy in the knowledge that an old lady nun takes cigarette breaks, but I do. I definitely do.) She leads us for class one Wednesday a month, mainly spending our class time facilitating discussions about what is going on in our classrooms and peppering in her own advice from time to time.

Let me tell you, as a TFA-er, I wade through my fair share of PC BS. If you need me to explain PC, that means Political Correctness. I hope you can figure out the other abbreviation. It's a constant. I understand Teach For America's need to tread carefully as they enter communities and school districts where they aren't necessarily welcomed, and so they, as a non-profit, need to say the right things at the right time about things like, say, the Chicago Teacher's Union. They would never refer to our schools as "the worst in Chicago," for example, because that wouldn't be politically correct. It's with good reason that they have well-worded things like vision statements, theories of change, and mission statements.

Not so different after all. 

Old people, on the other hand, just get to say stuff. Sister Mary threw it out there tonight and said, plain and simple: "You guys are the best and the brightest. You are in the worst schools in Chicago. That's right where you should be, because the system stinks. It needs fixing. And the only way it will start to get better is if people like you who actually care are there doing the job. Keep it up. Don't give up."

Talk about a moment. A nun just told me not to give up. Day = made. (And this is on a day when my kids forgot how to stand in line, sit on the carpet, and work in partners and chose to act all cray instead. So this was a great thing to hear.) And while the way she says things, her technological know-how (we never have internet up in the class...ever), and that patterned vest she was donning might all be a little out of date, I appreciate it.

There must be something about growing older that makes you cut the BS. That makes you just say things when you want to say them. The thing I love about our grandparents' generation (Sister Mary seems to be included) is not only that they say things, but that they still believe in the things they say. They mean them. There's not a passive aggressive agenda. They aren't disenfranchised or burned out. Sure, they can come out grumpy sometimes, but at least it's all straightforward. They've put in their time and have seen crazy things and been through struggles. They've been around for awhile. And the great ones still believe that change and goodness can happen. If you can make a 23-year-old-first-year-teacher feel positively about being in grad classes on a Wednesday night after teaching all day, you must be doing something right. So to all those old people and nuns in America, and particularly old nuns in America, I salute you. Keep saying things. Keep meaning them. We all need to hear it. 

By the Numbers

I had Martin Luther King, Jr. day off yesterday. I naturally made a To Do list for myself and mapped out my day in the morning. I took my time and got to everything on the list by the time I went to sleep. One of those things was even to go for a run in the 8 degree weather. (Brr.) But there was one little item on the list that I passive aggressively avoided, and it still is not completed. In fact, I've just received a slap-on-the-wrist email for missing this deadline. It's not a huge deal, but I'll admit I hate being late with anything, and yet something in me is still resisting completing this task punctually.

It's my kids' data. 

Basically, all Teach For America corps members submit their students' standardized test scores into a huge database so that the organization can track how your class is doing. We took a round of standardized testing this Winter, got the results a few weeks ago, and need to report these results to decide how to plan for the coming quarters of school. Before I go into why I hate this, let me say that it IS a good thing and meant for the good of the students. They are using this information to support me, to help me become a better teacher. The test scores help you see where you can challenge some kids to push even harder and really do some work in helping other kids catch up to grade level and further. It is crucial for my kids to not fall too far behind, especially in reading, in order for them to have a good foundation for school when they stop learning to read and start reading to learn in the next few years and beyond. So I'm not excusing myself for the lateness. It's not okay and I'm not trying to justify something I should have done. Teach For America is not the problem; they're only trying to be effective, efficient, and productive.

But.

I still hate it. I hate that my kids are assigned numbers, letters, and reading levels. I hate that my kids already think they aren't good at reading or math. I hate that my girl T has been working her butt off during reading this quarter, yet still received an F on her report card for reading to signify that she is still technically below the grade level of where she should be at the halfway point of second grade. I hate that second graders, seven-year-olds, even receive grades at all. I hate that my kids' talents, strengths, abilities, personalities, and passions don't come across on those tests or in that data. I hate that I spend a lot of my time figuring out how to be a numbers person and use trackers for objective mastery but I just can't get the hang of it. Woof.

I know I should be a "data person." I'm supposed to be. I am a Teach For America girl, after all. Data is what it's all about! But I also know some other things. I know that I never had someone tracking my mastery when I was growing up. I know I was not given A's, B's, or C's until much later than 2nd grade. Also, however, I know that my home life and school life were coordinating for my educational success, so maybe that's why I didn't need all my data being tracked until kingdom come. So that's the tension I'll have to live in for my kids. In an imperfect world, we have to be acutely aware of what it's going to take to overcome a lot of obstacles that shouldn't be there for little kids. It's crunch time for my second graders, and knowing exactly where they stand on exact objectives, I suppose, is definitely helpful in figuring out how to help them grow as much as possible...

...but grow into what? People who have mastered objectives? People who pass tests? I don't like the sound of that. All that hard work so they, one day, might have a paycheck with a bigger number on it? This is where I still can't find the words for what I mean to say. I guess what I'm getting at is that, while I'm not a great teacher yet, the fact remains that the heart of my kids is what matters the most to me. It matters that C learns to speak up for herself. It matters that R has shown huge strides with social interaction and understanding social cues. It matters that A smiles when she walks in the door for breakfast in the morning despite what's going on at home. It matters that M is singing gospel songs to himself as he does his math assignment. It matters that T, despite the F in reading, still came up to me the day after parent-teacher conferences and politely asked if she could do extra work on the side for a book that she's reading. And there's no number that can capture that.

Notes of a TFA-er: Halfway.

I've been waiting to say I'm halfway done with my first year of teaching (probably since my first day of teaching). Well, here it is: I'm halfway done with my first year! 

I can honestly tell you that this is the hardest thing I've ever done. It's been full of stress, frustration, a few failures, and a LOT of work. Between two classrooms, two co-teachers, two different groups of challenging 7 and 8-year-olds, new cultural norms, standardized test pressures, behavior management issues, home life challenges, grad school classes, and all the while facing the idea of becoming a teacher on the fly, I think it's fair to say that these past six months have been crazy for me. There were nights where I did not know how I would get up the next morning and do it all over again. I'm sure there will still be nights like that to come. I still do not feel like I'm a good teacher. This is not false modesty. It's honesty. I think I've come a long way since August 1st and will still keep (hopefully!) improving.

But. These past months of my new life have also been wonderful. The first half of this year has introduced me to an amazing opportunity to push myself, lean on God for each day, and learn about and from amazingly wonderful people I've never met before. I've made new friends, met new people, gone on new adventures, and had some great reunions with old friends. I get to live in a beautiful apartment in a beautiful city full of beautiful people. How lucky am I?

And, lest you still be tempted to look at me with approving pity in your eyes for the valiant sacrifice you think I am making, let me ask you a question: If this is the hardest thing I've ever done, is that a problem with my job or a problem with me, or even more: a problem with our American society? Don't get me wrong: I appreciate the support, prayers, and friendship so many people have given me. I do believe doing Teach For America has made me a tougher person, and has required of me a great deal of courage and perseverance. But this is my first 5 months in this cultural climate. I drive there in the morning, drive home at night, and still get to enjoy my education, family background, steady job, and sense of self. My kids live in this. They are SEVEN and EIGHT years old and live in the same environment that throws a vaguely (haha) competent, well-adjusted, and adequately intelligent college graduate into a whirlwind.  While to me it is a struggle, to my kids it is just another day. They don't drive away to their "real" lives at the end of the day and they don't pat themselves on the back for making it halfway through their second grade year. This isn't the hardest thing they've ever faced in their lives. To them, it is just life. And they have to deal with it. They have to hang in there. To me, that is really impressive. And brave.

This is what has struck me very strongly in this whole thing,  and we need a lot more than quasi-adequate teachers like me to spend time, talent, and passion on helping the situation. As I continue into the second half of this year I'm going to try to put myself in situations where I'm listening more than yelling, slowing down to understand more than rushing to move on, and loving more than controlling. My kids deserve it. 

So Happy Together

Sam. This chick's necklace game is always killer.  

On Saturday night I went downtown for Teach For America's Holiday party. We got to get all gussied up to hit up Macy's downtown on the ninth floor. Pretty fancy schmancy. We hung out, had drinks, danced, and just enjoyed being together again. I realize how much impact these people had on my life in such a short time when we get nights together like this. Since I'm the only Teach For America person at my school, I soak up any chance I get to be with those who are doing this crazy thing alongside of me in Chicago. Love them to pieces. Great way to start off the holiday cheer. 

Julia, Colin, and Sam. Amazing teachers and human beings. We all
taught at the same school for summer school Institute. 

Mackenzie. Runner and fungirl extraordinaire. These are my new glasses, BTW. 

Uh oh they're picking me up. This turned out badly. 

Bathroom pic after a night of dancing and fun. I'd say it was a holiday party success. 

The Other Side

I was really tired this afternoon. Not in the way that I usually am (and I definitely usually am), but in a way that made me want to fly to Alaska. Okay, maybe not the normal response to a tired feeling, but let me explain, because it really was how I felt (as ashamed as I am to admit to that).

At school, I'm kind of in the thick of a lot of stuff going on. There's a huge cultural difference between my school's neighborhood and the places I come from. My kids deal with things at 7 years old that I've never encountered my whole life. I'm definitely the odd one out, from my skin color to my family background. I always knew from the beginning it would be this way. But today it really hit me. 

We had recess outside this afternoon, and our kids ran up and down "the grassy pasture," as our school likes to call it (I like to call it "the dirt patch"), for about 15 minutes.  About 2 minutes before we had to go inside, I heard some extra commotion rising above the usual din of recess. It was coming from across the street, and it was between a mother, her son, and two men (in their thirties-ish?). Apparently the two men were from the boy's school and had just escorted him home after he got in a fight and was expelled for it. The mom was yelling at the kid, the kid was yelling back at the mom, the school officials were throwing their two cents in (although it sounded more to me like a few dollars worth) when they could possibly get a word in. The screaming got louder. Then the F bombs started flying. Then the slapping and hitting started. After talking back one too many times, the kid (a sixth grader?) pushed his mom to the limit. The men started making their way back to the school, but kept yelling like crazy as they walked and the mom and kid continued at it. 

Now this elicited a number of responses from my students, who were making their way to line up. Some of them didn't even notice and continued talking and playing with their friends. Some of them grew immediately silent, and took the commotion as a cue to break up the fun and get inside as quickly as possible. And then some of them gawked and laughed out loud at the kid across the street as he got disciplined by his mom, pointing fingers and telling their friends to look too. 

In the moment, I was just focused on getting all of my (now hushed) kids back in the door and upstairs. As I thought about it though, I replayed the episode over and over. My mind was sort of racing. The kid did get expelled from school. He had it coming right? But I would never treat my kid that way! But then again I haven't had him as a kid. And I haven't ever grown up and lived in this neighborhood and had her skin color so who am I to say something like that? But then again he got expelled for fighting, where did he learn to deal with his problems like that? And what does it do to a 12 year old when this is the nature of his relationships at home? But then again do I really have the right to make a call on the nature of his home life after a 5-minute snapshot from 20 yards away? 

And those thoughts went on. Now you get why I felt tired. This situation wasn't just this situation. It symbolized, for me, THE SITUATION. And not in the Jersey Shore sense, but more like the whole reason why this Teach For America thing exists in the first place. I don't like getting into debates when it comes to race, because race is about people and not politics. Maybe I'm reading a little too far into it all, but this afternoon was one of the first times I witnessed firsthand some of the realities of my kids' lives. Even this morning one of my second-graders shared how she babysat 4 of her little cousins all day on Saturday. By herself. Last I checked, 7 and 8 year olds need babysitters themselves. What is her mom thinking? But I don't know her mom's story. I haven't lived it. And while I do my best every day to be gracious to things I don't know and haven't lived, it's hard to know what to think and feel when the brokenness yells from across the street with a voice louder than 23 second-graders and demands your attention. I wish I was one of those inspirational people who is confronted with cultural difference and knows exactly what to do and is energized by opportunities to solve society's problems at 1000 miles per hour with a big beauty-pageant smile on her face. But I'm not. I was confused and did my best in the moment, which I'll admit was not a whole lot. 

It all goes back to the idea that there are two worlds here. There are two cultures. And there are two sides to every story. I don't have the skin color, address, or last name to understand the other side. And that's fine. I don't claim to know or understand everything. I never ever will. 

But I refuse to let that keep me from affirming those things that aren't split down the middle. There is too much in common to NOT work at it.  There are families, there are hopes and dreams, there are sports, there is food, there are laughs, and there is a God who we all share in common. There are enough fun personalities, great senses of sarcasm, and personal style in my room alone to show that there is more to an individual than what meets the eye and where he or she comes from. I guess it's both; we are where we come from, but we get to make something out of it too. We can't choose the hand we were dealt, but we get to decide what we want to do with it. 

This last part is what sort of keeps me from hopping on that flight to Alaska. Maybe it's that I feel sort of a kindred spirit with my kids: I'm not doing exactly what my background expects of me either (Have you noticed all the friends' weddings I attend?) and I'm trying to let them know that this is okay to do, to break the cycle of what's expected of you. It's a hard thing to do, but I think the secret lies in celebrating what you already are, yet never stopping at that point to figure out who you are going to be.   It's okay to be yourself, whoever that is, wherever that is, and however that is, to the best of your ability. And that goes for all people, whether they be white, black, green, blue, or purple. 

So I'm tired. But so what? That can be addressed with a large Coke during my lunch break. I don't really know exactly how to start addressing all this brokenness or even if I am the one equipped to address it in the first place. I don't know where to even start. 

So I guess I'll start with tomorrow. 

Change-Up

This weekend was a big one. I finished the last day of Teach For America's Institute, said goodbye to my wonderful TFA friends, moved into a new apartment, met my new roommates, and will continue on as a real-life adult tomorrow in my real-life professional development session at my school. (I feel like I say "real-life" a lot when referring to my teaching and post-grad life...I think I do this because while all of those things are very real, I don't usually feel like a "real-life" adult.) Maybe I'll write more reflectively on the past little segment of my life in a day or so, but for now I'll let you know the cool things that went down in the past few days.

On Friday night my cousin Craig (who has a very high cool factor) invited me to go see his friend's band at the House of Blues. I grabbed Zach, my co-teacher who loves concerts, and rode up the Green Line to meet Craig and his friends (as well as unexpectedly run into one of my absolute favorite human beings, Lauren Sandberg! Ah!). 

Okay now a word about Zach. This kid has expressed how he feels snubbed for not being mentioned by name in the blog so far, so here goes: Zach was my better half in room 309 as the fellow Reading and Writing teacher and probably saved my life a million times by telling me to stop worrying, finding my lesson plans for me that I misplaced, and telling me that the lesson didn't go THAT badly when it definitely DID GO THAT BADLY. He's a Bostonian, so I like to repeat things in his R-omitting-accent (pahk the cah instead of park the car) while he often makes me repeat my Wisconsin-style pronunciation of "bag." One commonality that made me really excited: He also calls it a bubbler when you other people would refer to it as a drinking fountain. He is in the Milwaukee corps for TFA, so I don't have to say goodbye permanently, I just am super bummed that my partner in crime won't be there for me to make fun of and pester in Chicago all the time. But remember how I'm not getting too upset with saying goodbyes anymore? I'm an adult and I'm sucking it up. (Not really, but I want to sound confident so that's my story for now.) 

We saw the band Mike Golden & Friends headline at the House of Blues and it was AMAZING. They have such a cool vibe to their show (you can download their new album here!) and convinced me of their rockstardom in just a short hour and a half. It was a fabulous night to be in the city. Then reality hit. The next morning I opened my dorm door at IIT and saw this:

Yep. Move-out day. It sucks. Not only are you sad to leave your friends and awesome fun memories behind, you have to sweat like a beast and haul crap around in this sad nostalgic state. But then, all of a sudden, after 14 trips up and down four flights of stairs carrying everything I hold dear, Move-out day turned into Move-in day! Wouldya look at that?  See how that worked out to be an okay day after all? Nice. Here's a sneak preview of my apartment in Pilsen. It's a beaut. I'm just learning about how cool and authentic the neighborhood is as I'm hearing more about it and seeing it for myself. My roommates are two happy and fun girls, so I am really thankful for this living set-up. I'm still a little iffy on how I feel about being on my own in the real-life adult world (there I go again), but it's going to be a fun adventure to figure it all out. Look at me, a Chicago resident!

Not only did all those things happen this weekend, but another HUGE event in my life occurred. I discovered Cookie Butter. It might rank up there with starting a new job and moving into a new apartment on the gravity of impact that it's made on my life. I know there are others out there who have been on this train and I'm just hitching on now, but I have to say that it is the most delicious bandwagon I've jumped on since the joint Pizza Hut-Taco Bell drive-thru craze hit Sheboygan County in 2006. This stuff is amazing. It's hard for me to remember to spread it on other foods instead of just eat it by the spoonful on its own. I'm telling you, give it a shot. Right now. You won't be disappointed. I'll be spending tonight eating this, getting ready for bed, and falling asleep in a brand-new-to-me place. Real-life tastes good. 

Notes of a TFA-er: You're Gonna Miss This

Yeah, I linked a sentimental country song to describe my feelings, okay? Yeah, SO?

I almost feel like I haven't been updating this week because each and every day since Sunday has brought so much along with it. I'm missing a lot of things...not in a way that I want to complain about it, but in a way that I want to talk about how much I love the things I'm missing (or will soon be missing). Here's a list of what's racing through the mind of a TFA-er at the end of Institute:

1. I miss my summer school kids. Honestly, I do. It's not that I haven't forgotten the cuss words, the weird smells, and the BADitudes that accompany 6th grade summer-schoolers at all. I remember those things very well along with the other stuff that drove me nuts. But I also remember the larger-than-life personalities, the original rap lyrics, the funny jokes, the brilliant thoughts in their responses and essays, and the trust and understanding built in such a short time.

I remember E, one of the kids who tried my patience the most, who wrote a letter to the class and teachers as a farewell message:

My favorite parts: 1) He made a special note in saying goodbye to the teachers to say "I'm going to miss you guys and you woman." 2) How E closed the note with: "Love you all, no homeo." Classic.

I remember a group of three awesome girls who performed their original "New Girl Swag" rap song that could rival a Nicki Minaj verse.

I remember J, a girl whose eyes lit up when I told her I lived in Spain for four months, and how she now plans to study abroad and study photography in Spain when she goes to college.

I remember two star soccer players, A and I, each morning bragging up the fact that they scored 2, 3, 4, and even 7 goals in their games the night before.

I remember during one of our opening morning sessions when we asked students to contribute positive thoughts, how P raised his hand, stood up by his desk, and resolutely yelled out, "I'm black, and I'm proud!" and sat back down. So awesome.

I remember T, one girl who is bent on attending University of Chicago. T also has some major behavior habits that got her a conference with me for the first two minutes of the lunch period almost every single day. I remember how I was amazed that this daily punishment actually turned out to be the thing that got us to be really close by the end of Summer School.

I remember H, one of my favorite boys, answering a question after reading a book about a woman who was a fishing boat captain when most every other captain was a man. I asked him why he thought this book was important, and he responded: "Some girls think that just because they're girls they can't do anything boys do. It's important because I think girls should believe in themselves to do anything they want to do." 

I mean, do you sees why he's one of my favorites (okay I know you're not supposed to have favorites but whatever)? Life in Room 309 was full of moments like these.

2. I miss my Trinity friends. It's weird that I'm going along through this intense process without my Trolls. I feel like although I'm only 30-45 minutes from most of them, I've been secretly living a life 10,000 miles away.  I miss waking up in a house of my best friends and never having to walk to dinner by myself like I do here. I miss knowing the exact daily schedule of my friends: when they are free from classes or when we can coordinate trips to Target and the mall together. I miss hanging out at the houses on the weekend nights. I miss knowing how all of their days have gone and whether they are having a good week or not. I sometimes miss being around people who think about the world in the same way I do. I actually enjoy being in the minority here at TFA in my religious and political views, but it definitely also can be tiring to remember where I really stand. The newness and independence of this awesome adventure is super exciting, but it's hard sometimes too. I know my college friends are there for me even when my schedule doesn't allow that much communication and face time, but still. I miss those little rascals. 


3. I'm going to miss my CMA group. So much. You were introduced to my CMA and CMA group already. These 13 people are awesome. In two short days we will all be off in a million different directions, off to take up our placement to begin our two-year commitment to TFA in different cities. Although it's only been 5 weeks, these people have been in the trenches with me since day one. As a way of coping, instead of seeing this as farewell, I'm seeing this as an opportunity to have free lodging when I visit St. Louis, Jacksonville, Milwaukee, Detroit, Seattle, and the Twin Cities. Stay positive, right? I have to say, it's going to be extra hard to begin teaching in a classroom without my collaborative of these three guys: John, Tray, and Zach. They make me laugh so much that I don't think it's allowed to classify our classroom instruction as work, but somehow we got away with it.

4. I'm going to miss Institute. Before I got here, I heard SO MUCH about Institute. I heard: "Good luck with that," "You're never going to sleep," "It's the hardest thing you'll ever do," and my favorite: "Institute is the worst." I can sometimes agree with those sentiments, but truly I've loved these five weeks. Don't believe the people who hate on it. I'm living the dorm life, not worrying about making my meals or grocery shopping, hanging out with tons of new friends, working all day with said friends, and getting to know the city in the process. I move into a new apartment on Saturday, live with new roommates (who are really great too!), start paying rent and buying groceries, and basically begin adulthood. Not to mention I'll be starting real-live orientation next Monday at my real-live job. Having my hand held by advisors, fellow corps members, co-teachers, and supervising TFA staff during summer school has been an awesome support system while doing my first teaching experience. I've grown as a teacher so much already and this process has been nothing but memorable and important to me. My first-graders will be sitting in front of me in 13 days on the FIRST of AUGUST (commence nervous twitching), and I have to be ready for them. Institute gave me the first HUGE push to get there.

Institute, obviously, is not just the experience but the people who go through the experience right alongside of you. I said often in Spain that it wasn't the places that made the semester great (although seeing the sights was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity) but the people who were there with me. If Institute is teacher boot camp, it's the people who have helped me survive. I'm off to embark on yet another step of independence next week and I'm not sure that I'm completely ready, but these people have helped me start to get there. They've pushed me, laughed with me (or mostly at me), and given me amazing examples of individuals who embrace their leadership to DO SOMETHING about the injustices that they see around them. If I could describe how I feel about these people I could say a lot of words, but the main one that comes to my mind is inspirational. I'm a lucky girl to even be here in their presence.

Now it's time to hug it out, pack it in, hang out, go out, move in, and gear up. August 1st is coming soon. 

Appreciation

Summer school teaching ended on Friday, so this is the first of many sentimental posts on what this crazy Institute experience means to me as it comes to an end this week. I honestly don't understand how the time has gone so quickly. I already miss my sixth graders so much, but more on that later. For now, I'll clue you into how amazing my CMA (Corps Member Advisor), basically my camp counselor, is. We had staff appreciation day on Friday, and we appreciated James with a video message from our entire CMA group, appropriately named SQUAD. I think there's an acronym that goes with SQUAD that somehow shows we want student achievement to happen, but we basically just made that up in order to keep this as a funny name. Oops. This was our video to James for his amazing dedication to our development and success as n00b teachers:

And here is a picture of SQUAD, in all of our glory. These people are all going to be teaching in the fall in Milwaukee, Chicago, St. Louis, Jacksonville, Seattle, and Detroit. My collaborative (I'll tell you more about them later) is all from different cities so I'm already cringing at the thought of starting my teaching career without those three hilarious and energetic guys by my side. I thought I was DONE with goodbyes when graduation happened! Apparently this is one element of adulthood that I just have to get used to: learning to say "see you later" to make it not suck so badly. They truly are my family here at TFA.

Teamwork

Just a little note of excitement that my friend Sam and I pulled off yesterday. Okay, maybe it's not that exciting to YOU, but you're talking to two people teaching 6th graders for summer school in 90 degree weather, and we take whatever we can get for a moral victory.

Sam is one of my good friends here at Institute (see pictures below of the Ba-Ba-Reeba dinner and the Sox game) and she teaches math. Since I'm doing prep during math periods, I could help her out in her delivery. Her class was working on ratios. She wanted to work out the ratio of 2/5=20/50 and asked me to work it into a baking example in a faux letter from Mario Batali to the class. I, an avid Iron Chef fan, was pleased to oblige. I wrote the letter and had her approve it (which she did) and came into her class at the beginning of the math session.

She goes, "Class, I think we  have a visitor!" I ran to the front and said, "IS THIS ROOM 303!?" They looked confused and nodded. So I proceeded to tell them that a VERY IMPORTANT message arrived like fifteen minutes ago and it was specifically meant for this very classroom. Then I read the letter:

Dear Room 303,


Mario's my name, and food is my game. I've been working like crazy here in the kitchen this summer. As you know, I'm a famous chef and I'm in high demand. I've been catering a LOT of fancy events and dinners. While math is not my strong suit, I heard that you guys are THE go-to classroom for fractions, decimals, and percents. When I ran into a little bit of trouble the other day when making my signature frosting recipe, they said, "Mario! You need to ask Ms. Handel's math class for help! They will know what to do." So I'm wondering if you can help me out. The fate of a cake depends on your math skills.


The recipe calls for 2 teaspoons of vanilla for every 5 cups of sugar. I was in a rush and already threw 50 CUPS of sugar in my massive mixing bowl! So here I am, ready to put in the vanilla, but I need to make sure I follow the recipe EXACTLY because it is my top secret formula that makes the perfect combination of flavors.


Can you help? How much vanilla do I add? I am forever indebted to your math abilities.

Sincerely Yours,

Mario Batali

Then I said that I wish MY classroom was lucky enough to get a letter like this and my job was done.

Honestly, I'm thinking about renting out my services as a faux letter deliverer. You get to be there with the kids, you only have to be in charge during the fun part of the lesson, and it's not up to you to do any discipline! Perfect! 

Notes of a TFA-er: Halfway.

Here am I. On the fourth of July. Am I on the beach in Sheboygan all day laying out and then watching fireworks late at night, you ask? No, no I'm not. I'm actually lesson planning all night. But that's okay, because I figure as long as I got to spend our freedom holiday up until now (finally) outside in my swimsuit with Liz and Karley, then I can spend the night doing things that contribute to the educational freedom of my awesome kids. See what I did there? Just being optimistic. I think the founding fathers would have liked that.

I AM HALFWAY DONE WITH INSTITUTE. Whaa? How? Can it be? In just a few short weeks this whirlwind will be over, I'll be moving into an apartment, and my real life teaching gig will begin. I'm amazed at how quickly this is all happening. How quickly life is all happening! Here's a list of some shtuff that is going on as I'm looking back on my first 7 days of teaching summer school and forward to the next 7.

1. Friends make things better. While it's hard to make real friends in the midst of 800 sleep-deprived crazed new teachers, I am managing to meet some fun people! My co-teacher Zach spends about 15 hours of his day listening to my weird comments and somehow chooses to not kill me. That makes us friends, right? I've met tons of other inspirational, hilarious, fun, and energetic personalities while I'm here too. I'm realizing that lots of people actually use sarcasm in their daily life, just like me! (See text convo below for some proof.) Not only am I making a  few new friends, but my girl Mel came up to visit yesterday for my first ever White Sox game!! We had great seats (lie) and got to see an amazing 19-2 win. So fun. 

2. I'm running a lot these days. I mean I'm not super hardcore yet or anything, but ever since graduation I've been going as much as possible. During institute it's kind of nuts to wake up at 4:45 am to fit in 3 miles before class, but I'm managing to do so about 3 times a week. I don't even use an iPod anymore. While I used to be so annoyed with the sound of my own breathing, I feel that the electronic-free method helps me keep a steady pace as well as sort through all my thoughts and re-center my life. These days are kind of hectic days, so a stress-reliever like running seems to be doing the trick. We're about a mile from the lake here at TFA Institute, and running up the beach in the morning looking at the skyline is pretty amazing. Also, I go with people who are super chill and don't mind going at my really slow pace. And sometimes they threaten to race me, like my friend Colin, as you can see below. 

3. Sweat. The sweat. Nobody told me that to be a teacher you have to deal with living in your own filth all day long. It is the MOST I'VE SWEAT IN MY WHOLE LIFE. My classroom has its own AC unit, but honestly it barely helps. The second I walk up the 3 flights of stairs to my classroom in 93 degree heat, it starts. The first day of class I had on a light blue dress shirt. Big mistake. My sweat stains were making me not want to lift up my arms, which made for very awkward hand gestures and writing on the board. Like I was some sort of weird self-conscious waddling penguin with my arms at my side. I think I need a prescription. As a TFA-er, I think I need to start SOLUTION BASED THINKING and deal with this sweating problem ASAP.

4. Rollercoaster Time. I've only been teaching for seven days and I'm realizing what an up-and-down job this is going to be. Monday was terrible. The mood of the room was so negative and I'm fairly sure the only thing anyone learned is how to make me feel like a major amateur. Tuesday was fabulous, nobody misbehaved to the point that I had to keep them in for their lunch period, and my lesson went well. I'm seeing that it's going to be majorly important to seek emotional stability...no stress-out-freak-outs are going to be solving anything. I'm learning to take deep breaths instead of hyperventilate when stuff goes awry.

5. Which leads me to THE 'TUDES! Oh the attitudes of some of my students! I love it. When I call them out for the sass, it just builds up even more, slinging back at me ten times faster. I'm fairly certain this is God's method of justice for all the crap I dished out to my elementary school teachers in my day. When I was in school, even in college, I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. I always had (and still have) comments and sarcastic crap to say to show that I was on top of everything. While I see how this is insanely annoying in my own students, it's also really fun. They've got spunk. It makes me excited for their future years, because if they can figure out how to channel those 'tudes into powering their own cool adventures with their own cool voice, they will have an amazing ride ahead of them.

6. Teaching involves dealing with bodily functions. If you want details on one particularly egregious example of this, ask me about it. I love telling the story, but I feel wrong embarrassing one particular 12-year-old on my own blog.

7. The lookalikes are continuing. Two fellow teachers told me I looked like Zooey Deschanel last week and I died right on the spot of fangirl geekdom. Then I realized that some people equate being female, brunette, and possessing bangs to being twins. But I'm going to go ahead and take it wherever I can get it. Also, one of my students told me on Monday that I look like an American Girl Doll. Molly in particular. Velma first, now Molly? Although these are not necessarily my fashion icons, I can't disagree with them all that much. Shoot. Check her out below, and if you're not completely creeped out (dolls really scare me), you be the judge of the resemblance.

8. The little things make my day. Whether that's a text from a good friend asking if my day of teaching went well, or the fact that One Direction is playing on the radio on ride home, I get through the stress of starting this whole teaching thing by the little stuff. One of these little things was found on a survey that we gave our students about how they felt about our classroom culture a week into teaching. While most of them gave generic answers, and my co-teachers got MUCH better reviews than I did, one of the kids who was evaluating me wrote that they feel they want to push themselves and reach for college because of summer school. Believe me, I've been told I'm a BORING teacher and that summer school is DUMB and they HATE the book we're reading and WHY do I need to do this because this is so STUPID and why can't anything we do be FUN. But read that one review and try to wipe the smile off my face. You can't. 

Institute, Part Deux, is upon me. It's goin' down.