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.