To my mama...

With the end-of-year finish line in sight, I had my students revisit an assignment they had completed at the close of their (our) first semester at Lou Dantzler High School.  As the famous NPR template suggested, I asked my tormented, jaded freshman to consider what they believe to be true.  What is it, I asked, can you count on in an inconstant world that seems to throw more punches than parties?  Silently, they wrote, scribing their entire belief system on a once-spiral-bound frayed-edged piece of notebook paper.  Per request, I shared mine, an altruistic declaration of my belief in the goodness of mankind and educational equality, with the class, but suggested that the students simply fold theirs up and "hang onto 'em for a while."  In freshman years, much like dog years, students age at a considerably faster rate than us crusty adults.  By my calculations, if they tucked these reflections away until May, they would be revisiting them with 22 year old maturity.  I could only imagine what inconsequential things they believed in in January: T-Mobile Sidekick, their "bros," bangles, Vans, hustlin'... They could not possibly believe in anything heart-felt; their minds just didn't think that way.

I was so wrong.  With three short weeks remaining in their (our) freshman year, I asked a tall order of my students.  "Remember when we wrote those 'This I Believe' reflections?  I want you to pull those out right now."  Honestly, I didn't expect a single student to unearth that thing.  They can't seem to hang on to their books, a pencil, a 100 point essay assignment, but wouldn't you know it, every kid pulled a battered, crumpled up reflection out of their backpack and laid it proudly on their desk.  The thoughts written on these balled-up papers were important to them--more important, I quickly realized, than the shallow ideals I originally assumed filled their pages.  I asked them to read what they believed in 6 months ago, then gave them the opportunity to change anything they no longer believed to be important.  Crickets.  No one even reached for their pencil.  Breaking the silence, one student asked to share his reflection with the class, and although it was not in the daily lesson plan, I allowed it, a decision based purely on intrigue.  He began with a story about his mother, about how she works 3 jobs just so he can keep up with the latest trends, so his overly judgmental peers do not find out that he and his mom bounce around between friend's houses because his dad found a new girlfriend and kicked them out almost a year ago.  He shared that to believe in something is to know that it's always there, and in his world, he can't count on anything...except for his mom. And 6 months later, he had nothing to change, because she was still his only constant. His beautifully transparent essay ended with this statement: "The bond a child shares with his or her mother cannot be matched, cannot be explained, cannot be broken.  I keep breathing because I know, for a fact, that there is nothing I can ever do to change my mother's love for me.  She is all I need.  This I believe."  Everyone cried.  Then, everyone shared.  The vast majority were devoted to singing the praises of their single mothers, who sacrifice everything to make sure their children are happy, healthy, and successful.  I once assumed that these kids could not possibly believe in family...all from broken, many from violent, unstable homes.  But, one constant remains... children believe in the unwavering, unconditional love of their mothers.

The students did not change what they believed in most over the course of a semester, and I'll bet the farm it won't change for the rest of their long, successful lives.  I, on the other hand, rewrote my "This I Believe" reflection to more accurately reflect what I put my faith in:

I believe that I am my mother's daughter.  I believe that my humor, my wit, my competitiveness, my compassion, my love for trash television and my toned legs, come straight from her.  I believe that there is no mess she will not help me out of and no distance she will not travel to come to my rescue.  I believe her strength and independence have shown me the of woman and wife I want to be.  I believe that we could make one mean beach volleyball duo.  I know how to believe in others because she

never once stopped believing in me.  I believe my mother is all-knowing, and have learned from her that "all-knowing" is a mindset...if you believe it, it is so ;)  I believe I drew the long straw on celestial mommy-daughter-match-day, because I have the absolute best mom in the world.  This I believe...

I love you Mama.  Happy Birthday...

If Only I'd Have Known...

If I had actually known the things I “wish” I’d known 6 months ago, I would probably be streaming this blog from the comfort and familiarity of Lexington, Kentucky. You can’t prepare yourself for the life-changing, character-building, culture-shock of an experience I’ve had trying to survive my first year of teaching in inner city Los Angeles. To prepare is to talk yourself out of going, because knowing what you’re in for means knowing you’re in for 18 hour work days, daily battles with apathetic teens, counseling beyond your expertise or understanding, and a constant struggle to prove your good intentions without giving off that air of ‘save the world' self-righteousness.
So instead of rattling off a list of wish I’d knowns, I will humbly relay what I’ve learned:

Don’t take it personally. When Wayne tells you he “would rather run out into traffic than sit in your class for one more second,” what he really means is I’m 16 and illiterate, so I’m good as dead if you call on me to answer a question about misplaced modifiers.

The genius hides in the most unlikely of places. He is the kid who has spent his entire life sacrificing his well-being and happiness for that of his little brothers and sisters. A 15 year old child who has to run barefoot to the neighbor’s house in the middle of the night to save his siblings from a violent, alcoholic father; the siblings that he clothes and feeds for weeks at a time when that father abandons them without explanation or warning. That kid doesn’t see the value in school anymore, even though he can read a 300 page novel in one day and score advanced on a 4 hour standardized test he finished in a quarter of the time. Mykel could go Ivey league, no doubt about it, but Mykel has a 10% average in freshman English. Perception of importance is everything.

It rains in LA. And by “rains,” I mean mists faintly, causing a kind of panic I can only compare to that before the reckoning. Leave for work an hour early, because no one drives over 15 mph, and invest in an umbrella, no matter how insignificant it may be 364 days out of the year.

Put the red pen down. A lesson all first year teachers must learn. You could be at this job 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; somehow, there is always more you can do to push your students further, inspire them to think deeper, close our country’s blatantly apparent education gap…but I’m 22, and human, and I have to remember to live my life. TFA may pull the plug on me for saying this, but there is always tomorrow to impart knowledge on America’s youth, so put down the pen, go hiking, go running, go out to eat, go get a drink, just do you.

It is not my job to break up fights. Grabbing the collar of the losing brawler and tackling the aggressor may seem like good ideas at the time, but Mr. Rosenblum will assure you it is never worth the busted lip. Let them duke it out; they’re liable to finish it on the streets anyway—and that is WAY out of my jurisdiction.

This reflective list could quickly turn into my memiors, so I will leave you with this tidbit:

Priority number one: charm the bartender: The trick? Tell them you teach in the hood. Marissa and I no longer pay for the happy hour to which we’ve come accustomed; could have saved quite a wad if we’d have figured this one out sooner.

In the words of Harvard law student, Jeopardy attemptee, TFA alum, and teaching mentor, David Hankins, “This shit would be hilarious…if it wasn’t your real life.” I hear ya, Dankins—insight into my soul.

My coworkers left me with the satisfaction of knowing 40 % of my pioneer teaching experience is officially complete; honestly, that feels like a low-ball number…but who’s counting?

Happy Holidays, my friends. God’s speed.

End of Days?

It was cold and raining in LA today--a tell tale sign of the apocalypse, according to my students. Angelenos to the core, most of these kids have grown up on a daily dose of 80 degrees and sunny...they wear mittens when the temp drops below 70. Schools in south LA are designed for immaculate weather: no cafeteria, no hallways; more Motel 6 than Hampton Inn. The picnic tables in the courtyard and outdoor-access classrooms are acceptably functional 364 days out of the year. But on a rare day like today, when the Angeleno world hangs in the balance of the stratus clouds, the lack of shelter from the rain promotes even more chaos than usual.

Like the Daviess County Public School system when the snow reaches 2 inches, LA schools all but shut down when luminous rain clouds roll in. We have no place to put the students when it rains...it is a legitimate problem. They have to run across the courtyard, completely exposed to the elements, just to go the bathroom. That is 200 pairs of Air Jordans, 60 knock-off Coach bags, and 150 hair weaves that risk permanent damage if saturated. Too much to risk. So, the students sit in class, unmotivated to do work, but less motivated to leave as they take refuge in the only completely dry shelter on campus. I bribed them with closed windows: "Give me 10 minutes of attention, I'll close the windows. Someone speaks, puts their head down, throws a pencil in my general direction, the windows will open and the cool, wet mist will shrivel your skin, frizz your hair, and dampen you clothes just enough for you to catch cold..." God gave me rain today...I had no choice but to use it as a bargaining chip.

The power went out halfway through 1st period, so I spent the rest of the day teaching in the cold, wet darkness. Something reminiscent of a crypt, or a less fiery version of hell. Luckily, my classroom has no technology to speak of, so no magic was lost there. All the kids are sick, I feel lousy, and I'm pretty sure today's events will result in some contracted disease from the croup to TB.

I already feel Vitamin D deficient..

Long Time No Post

I've been wanting to post for a long time...but I haven't had the energy or desire to rehash everything that happens in a given day. I've started about 100 posts, but they all end up depressing and preachy and I can't even stand to re-read them myself, much less send them out for the entire world (or at least my entire world) to read. But today gets an entry because my mom requested it. She said it helps her to hear my words-so here they are, Mom.

Today was terrible. I'm sick of talking about it, thinking about it, and replaying it in my mind, so the description will be brief.

There was a gang-related fight in my closet-of-a-classroom today. My students were working in groups, somewhat cooperatively, surprisingly, when one of my IEP students got into an argument with one of his group members, a mousey kid whom I love partially because he does not speak. Feeling the tension from the other side of the room, I was weaving in and out of the tables to get there before it erupted; I didn't make it. In the name of the Hoover Crypts, the IEP student shoved his table at the other kid, pinning him with it long enough to get in 5 or 6 hard licks to the face. It seemed like it went on forever before I could break it up--no phones in the classroom or set protocol for such an incident left me isolated, dealing with this chaos on my own. The IEP student was crazed, an animal, throwing desks, injuring other kids in his rage, throwing everything off of my desk, punching holes in the wall. Finally, one of my co-workers came in to restrain him. The class was a mess. I was a mess. Completely helpless. These are children--15 and 16 year old children. They live and die by their gangs and I am completely powerless against it. Teaching literary devices and predicate nominatives? That is the least of my concerns. I have to teach these kids how to make peace in their neighborhood before they kill each other, in my classroom.

I'm scared for my students. After the 15 minute fight diffused, the other 26 kids in the room, who I expected to be as traumatized as I was, were not phased in the least. They are also in gangs, rival gangs; they shown no shock or shame about what had just happen. Emotionless, they puffed up their chests and declared that "it don't matter what happens at school, they always finish it in the streets."

Phillip got suspended...for 1 day. Joshua was given no consequence at all. They will both be back in my class on Monday....

This feels impossible.

I Don't Do Tuesdays..

Yesterday, I almost cracked. I've been one of the strong ones up to this point; hadn't shed a tear, threatened to quit, slapped a kid around, nothing but constant smiles and placid compliance. But yesterday damn near undid all of that character building...because yesterday, standing in class, I actually blacked out momentarily and saw a clear visual of me launching a desk across the room, followed by the student sitting in it. My class is usually pretty rowdy, but I prefer to view them as spirited...spirited little smart asses who are wittier than most adults I know. I love them, I know them, I understand them, they trust me and the environment I've lost a lot of sleep building. But classroom culture is a fragile thing, and we live in a glass house. The eb and flow of an inner city classroom is frustrating, yet out of my control. Kids come and go constantly, and it's hard to keep my student's world consistent. They hate change, they know it all too well. So yesterday, when 5 new students barrelled into my room mid-lesson, everything went haywire--you could feel the mood switch. These 5 boys have been in "resource" math (special education) for the first 3 weeks of summer session. Since the charter school I am working at has an inclusion policy that applies to all special needs students, it is required that learning or behaviorally disordered students be included (at some point) in general education classrooms...even if that inclusion happens one week before the end of the term.

Daiquan, Ahmad, Richard (pronounced ri-shard), Douglas, and Kevin were all showing an aptitude for math in their resource class, so their teacher decided they should try out the general edu. math class: MY math class. There are decidedly lower math students in my everyday remedial class; my 5 new special edu. students however, bring a new challenge to the table: undefined behavioral disorders; I have no idea what they are, although I can now make some pretty accurate educated guesses, and I have yet to receive concrete information from anyone telling me what I am supposed to do with these kids 3 weeks into the 4 week term But there they sit (or, as it so happened, roll aound on the floor), attitudes and all, and I have no choice but to make it all work somehow. My personal challenge goes by the name of Daiquan, the shiniest gem of them all. Daiquan, from minute 1, was dishin' out the sass. "This is stupid," "I'm not doing that," "What are you looking at?" Blatant disrespect, directed at me, for all of the other students to see... Like I said, the repore I've built among my students and them among each other is extremely fragile; one variable changes and the whole thing goes to shit. After the first 5 or 6 outbursts from Daiquan, the class erupted. Yelling at each other, yelling at me, yelling at Daiquan, and completely checking out of whatever math objective I attempted to teach yesterday. It was a mess and as I was visibly shaken, it became harder and harder to reign in my riled up students. Executive decision time. I stopped trying to force-feed them math and started teaching them very explicitly about appropriate social behavior.

I raised my voice at them for the first time... and probably for no other reason than genuine shock and curiosity, they listened. I sent the root problem, little Daiquan, into the hall to await his reckoning as I addressed the others. I explained that more important than learning Algebra this summer, they were going to learn how to be young adults, how to respect each other, how to respect authority, how to invest themselves, how to become a catalyst for change, how to have integrity, and pride, and humility, and self-worth, and how to do that, be that not only inside my classroom but in every part of their lives. Because it is the harsh reality that you are failing, I told them, and not because you are not capable, but because you are self-destructive. Don't tell me you can't help it, because I don't buy what you're selling. Silence. I reiterated very clearly what I expected of them behaviorally and academically, told them tomorrow was a new day, a fresh start, do with it what you will, and sent them the hell out of my ravaged classroom. Daiquan was a wily one, but a private viewing of my well-rehearsed teacher face in the hall shaped him up real quick. I wasn't sure how I left things, if the kids would hate me, if they had heard what I said at all, but I simply gathered my things and left the room in shambles. At lunch that same day, I was eating outside with some other 7th grade students, not my own (we were giving each other the silent treatment), when one of my sharpest, sneakiest kids came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Ms. Miller," he said, "I'm sorry we were so disrespectful today...it's just, I don't really do Tuesdays...so maybe Tuesdays are just a bad day for everyone else in the class too." I was confused..thanks for the apology, but what kind of excuse is that? I don't do Tuesdays? That's a first..
As it turns out, Tuesdays are the days this particular student does not stay at home...and I'll just leave it at that. Many days, my kids overwhelm me; but when it comes down to it, they're just tiny people; tiny people with real problems and real stress and more baggage than most of us 2, 3, 4 times their age could only dream of... So they're allowed a rowdy Tuesday every now and again, because I don't, nor will I ever understand their battles.

To conclude Tuesday's saga, my kids were nothing short of amazing today. All but 2 scored 100% on their quiz (the other 2 were 80%) and they were once again the sweet little angels I know and love. I survived my first terrible Tuesday and comeback Wednesday; who knows what Thursday will bring.

Love you all. Seek first to understand.
Talk to you soon...

Circus Beach

Venice Beach deserves an entire blog post devoted to it and it only. I spent the day there yesterday and it was the coolest, most bizarre place I've ever been (followed closely by west Hollywood, which I could not do justice in writing). Anyway, it had been a long, hard, kid-filled week, so my friends and I decided to get off campus and vacate our adult lives for a while. Four of us piled into the car and drove 10 miles, through Marina Del Rey and into Venice Beach. This ten mile car ride, like every other commute in LA, took 45 minutes. We parked over a mile away and as we began our hike to the sand, I realized for the first time why they call this particular area "Venice." There are shallow, slightly murky canals that weave in and out of the residential area adjacent to the beach. Arked bridges allow people to cross the canals, while still allowing paddle boats, canoes, and makeshift gondolas to pass by underneath. It was really cool.

There are hundreds of little shops that line the boardwalk, selling anything from Bob Marley memorabilia to smoked turkey legs and offering various services like Chinese massages and medical marijuana screenings.. No kidding. A line of beach bums, about 20 deep, patiently waiting for their bootleg perscription slip that they could conveniently have filled by Dr. Drug Dealer at the sketch counter next door. I thought I had seen it all. There was a man playing electric guitar wearing rollerblades made out of spare wagon parts and a drunken voodoo sideshow act jumping on a heap of glass shards bare footed. It was a full-on three ring circus.

Then we made our way to "Muscle Beach." From what I gather, it is just an outdoor gym where aspiring body builders can come get in an ego-boosting workout in front of an audience. Most of the "strong man" competetions are held there. No big deal, I thought...until I saw this late-middle aged man, large but undefined, strutting around in this purple polyester banana hammock doing body weight squats and split jerks for all the world to see. It takes a lot to embarrass me, but he accomplished it in under 30 seconds. I was less than impressed.

After seeing more bizarre than I could handle in one afternoon, my new friends and I just laid on the beach, chatted, and watched surfers ride the early evening waves (I've decided my goal is to be able to surf before I leave LA...or meet Kelly Slater, which ever is more feasible). When the sun went down, we met 40 other teachers at a bar in town called "Air Conditioned Supper Club," which was not air conditioned, ironically, but was fun nonetheless. This was my 2nd Venice Beach bar experience, actually; the first was a place called "James Beach" and is apparently featured in a scene in the movie "I Love You, Man," which means very little to me because I haven't seen it. I did feel a little famous being there though ;)

So, that was my Saturday; Sunday's are designated work days, so I really should get on that. 2 more weeks of summer school!! I'm so very excited to be halfway done..

A Novice in Planning

I've got to be perfectly honest: I haven't seen much "novice" in my lifetime. But, after 8 days of teaching, I'm sittin' pretty comfortable in the bottom tier of the "Teach For America- Teaching as Leadership Grading Rubric." Or so says my advisor. Apparently this is normal, but it still just feels gross and disheartening after planning and preparing 6 hours for one 45 minute lesson...so naturally I've been feeling a little defeated...and a little sorry for myself. The rubric, created by TFA, grades on 1. Setting big goals, 2. Investing students, 3. Planning purposefully, and 4. Executing Effectively. You may not be too surprised to know that I am rocking the goals and investment parts; an "exemplar" student, if you will. I'm not worried about sounding self-righteous announcing that, because I will quickly follow with the stone-cold truth that I am struggs at planning and execution. (Note: "struggs" is the slightly derogatory, but well-intended word corps members use to label struggling students.....) Planning is a skill I have never really mastered and upon noticing this missing link, my corps member advisor suggested I start planning my days in 30 minute increments using the TFA Daily Action Plan template. Critically thinking about where I'll be and what I'll be doing at 2:56 the following day has stressed me out more that it's helped, but my lack of attention to detail is what is keeping me from cranking out the stellar lesson plans my bosses expect to see. As far as execution, this encompasses classroom management and culture, an area of extreme growth for me. I walked into my classroom with a very clear idea of how I wanted it to feel: warm, welcoming, fun, relaxed.
Yeah. Right.
I learned real quick that these kids need far more structure than I initially wanted to give. I don't need to be their friend, I am just another frumpy adult to my students and I don't need 30 new 12 year old buddies. I'll gossip with them at lunch, learn to do the "stanky leg" in the parking lot, but when they walk into my classroom, it's an entirely different story. I don't play. These kids are at a critical point in their academic careers and what happens in my classroom could impact the rest of their lives...so it's no game. They don't sass me anymore...they know better. We'll joke around and relate percent decrease to Miley Cirus' music career in 5 years, but one hint of attitude and I will not hesitate to call their mama and relay that message. It's amazing really, I think they love me more as a hard ass as they did as a pushover, because now they respect me and they know I'm serious about their ability to achieve. So hopefully, I'll be moving from novice to proficient in that area the next time I'm observed...because I am now the master of my domain ;)

Anyway, the little shits took their midterm assessment this morning. My co-teacher and I had to create the test ourselves, have it approved, then administer it to our class halfway through summer school. Today was hump day. I was so incredibly nervous. Not only do I want the students to pass, I selfishly needed validation in hard copy that I wasn't failing these kids. It was the longest 2 hours of my life, waiting on the result to come in... but the anticipation was well warranted. They did me proud. Two students got a perfect score, a PERFECT score, and many others got 80's and 90's. We had a couple unfortunate souls score in the low D range, but, and I hate to admit it, I could have predicted the names of those kids before they even got their hands on the test. I'm wrestling with how to get them into the "resource"(special ed.) class for math, because they just don't have the basic understanding to thrive in a regular-paced class. But to focus on the bright stars, the majority of my kiddos did absolutely amazing and I'm rejuvenated knowing that I must be doing something right. They are fabulous, sassy, but fabulously brilliant...and I just love them.

Just one more anecdotal teacher thing: It was like Christmas morning yesterday when I found out I could have access to an overhead projector for my class. Instead of making the routine 5 frilly, decorated posters for notes and key terms, I could actually work problems out with my students on transparencies and have a more efficient way to show notes and steps. So, I prepare 3 transparencies with all of my key points on them before class begins. Now, time and pacing is ALWAYS a serious issue for me and the day I actually finish a lesson in its entirety will be the day I stop sweating in class.. So I check the overhead, so get my kids from outside, get them settled, ready to take notes, place my transparencies on the projector, flip the switch and.....nothing. Absolutely nothing. The bulb has just burnt out. So a roomful of sassy 7th graders are just staring at me, waiting, anticipating an epic fail. My shaky plan was shot, and because I'm a "Novice" at planning on the Teaching as Leadership rubric, I had no backup plan. So, long story short, I did a lot of hand motions and signifying body movements to represent exponential expressions, supplementing a theatrical performance for a more traditional note-taking method. Just a day in the life...