Jus Swingin' My Rag

To my mama...

2010-05-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-12-23T14:29:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-10-13T22:04:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

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..

2009-07-22T19:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-19T12:48:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-16T19:49:00.000-07:00

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...

Hot Mess

2009-07-09T19:29:00.000-07:00

Sleep is such a luxury here, she should have just been happy I woke up 10 minutes early to shower yesterday morning. But since I'm her "girlfriend," Jaquavia did what any good girlfriend would do and gave me some constructive criticism about the downward spiral of my appearance from morning to afternoon bell. The kids were working silently on their daily "Check Your Understanding" when Jaquavia politely raised her hand and directed me to come closer. She pulled me down close to her desk and whispered, "Ms. Miller, you probably shouldn't wear your hair in a ponytail anymore...it doesn't look so good." Now, my classroom, packed with 30 sweaty people, deodorant failing fast, does not have a working air conditioner. So even if I could muster the energy required to fix my hair on 4 hours of sleep, ocean breeze and neck sweat would ruin all efforts and my frizzy, damp Amazon hair would be pulled back before the 8am bell. So I shook my head, told Jaquavia I appreciated her honesty and that I would take her heartfelt fashion advice into consideration.. but to be honest, taming my hair is the least of my concerns right now.

I hear the learning curve is steep for new teachers and I'm choosing to cling to that truth for dear life, because I have a long way to go. I'm supposed to teach these giant "objectives"(teacher lingo for 'skills students need to know') in 45 minutes time, which must include at least 25 minutes of hands-on practice with the material and a daily assessment and I am having the hardest time getting these kids to comprehend the week's worth of info I'm throwing at them every morning. I'm running around the room like a crazy person, shouting out percent to fraction conversions, sweating, barking at them to write this and write that because the inconsistency between time needed and time actually given makes me a Loony Toon. It's manic. "A hot mess," as Elaysia so bluntly noted on her in-class assignment today. The kiddies think it's great; anticipating the next crazy thing Ms. Miller will say or do has become decidedly more interesting than the day's math objective--and that became blatantly obvious when I graded their "Check Your Understanding" worksheets after class this morning. Oh I checked their understanding...they didn't understand. The students love me as their entertainment, but as their teacher, I'm a hot mess.

But I think I've decided on my first step to improvement, and that is to face my fear and ask our school director to come and observe me in action. There are hoards of important people, with their clipboards and checklists in-hand, coming in and out of my room all day to critique my teaching skills (or lack thereof), so it's not the being watched that freaks me out. It is the act of approaching the most important person at my school site and admitting to her that I'm floundering; it's a cry for help that I never thought I would have to make. I need her to see the impossibility of the situation, I need her to see that the gap in learning is too wide and too deep to solve in 45 minute increments 4 days a week. I mean, these 7th graders need to learn their multiplication tables for Christ's sake; reducing fractions and long division are skills these students have only mastered in my dreams. I need her to tell me how to manage the gap and manage my time to sufficiently teach these kids, my kids, enough material to, in good conscience, move them onto the next grade. Tiffany (the school director) is one intimidating diva, but I think at this point it's best to just skip all the bureaucracy and hit up the big dog. I'll let you know how it goes.

Total Hours Slept Since Monday: 12
...............I know, right?
And thanks for all of the comments and messages about the blog. I'm glad you're enjoying it and I love hearing from you so keep 'em comin'. Miss you.

"Yo Girlfriend"

2009-07-06T17:25:00.000-07:00

I'll put it this way: it could have been disastrous, but I survived just fine. It's clear now that my problem will be remembering to put on my teacher face and keep a safe, professional distance between my 20-something self and my class full of spirited little pre-teens. I'm not Ms. Miller, not ma'am (like we do it the south), I'm officially "girlfriend." "Yo girlfriend, where you from?" "Yo girlfriend, get out the way you're blockin' my view." Respect is lacking at this point, but I'm thinking there's still time to turn it around. I can't help but laugh at their witty jokes and think it's cute when they get sassy, so I may have given my kids the impression that I wanted to be their "girlfriend" and not their teacher. But when it comes to math, teacher don't play; so tomorrow, I'm going to lay down the law. Out of class, I'll double dutch and do the "Single Ladies" dance with them as many times as they wish, but in my classroom, they will learn to love (or at least tolerate) math.

Just to give you a little taste of what I'm up against, the kids took their diagnostic exam today. The results were nauseating. The average score on the remediated material was, if you can believe it, 31%. That's an intimidating statistic. We have a long way to go and a short time to get there (as Jerry Reed would say), so the pressure is on to get these babies ready for the 8th grade.

And this little tid-bit is for Andi..who I think will fully understand and appreciate the awkwardness of the situation: My first, foot-in-mouth moment as a teacher...
So we were playing the name game. I had the students stand up, say their name then one physical activity they enjoyed. Dymond likes to play basketball, Tekeya likes to double dutch, and then we get to Gregory...who proudly announces he likes to spend his free time "jerking." The class burst into laughter as I naively asked him if he'd be willing to demonstrate a move or two on the fly. I mean, I just assumed he meant the dance, right? Nope, apparently little Gregory meant "jerking" in the 12-year-old pre-pubescent boy sense of the word. He was visibly proud of his ballsy comment before my team teacher jumped in and gave Gregory an official "verbal warning" for his "blatant disrespect." The handful of minutes that passed before I realized what was going on were beyond awkward...but then I just couldn't stop laughing! Who says that? In class?!? Needless to say Gregory sits in a secluded corner of the classroom now and will rejoin his classmates when he proves he can keep his comments G rated and school appropriate. He's a rascal, that's for sure...and I'm counting on this one to keep me laughing.
ok, I have 4 Lesson Plans to write and I can't put it off any longer...apparently teaching is an 18- hour-a-day job. Who knew?

My New Brother-in-Law

2009-07-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

SARA AND ALAN ARE ENGAGED! I never doubted it would happen, but I'm so happy it finally has...in Crested Butte (my favorite place in the world) nonetheless. Sara has been like a sister to me since I was a youngster and soon I'll get to claim Alan as my kind of brother-in-law...very exciting. I knew Alan was a keeper from the moment I met him tailgating at an NC State Football game 6 years ago. He's grounded, personable, and loves life more than anyone I know; I couldn't think of anyone better to take care of my big sis. I just love them both so much and this wonderful news was a great start to my week...my first week as a real life teacher.

Tomorrow marks my first day as Ms. Miller, first period 7th grade preAlgebra teacher at View Park Middle School in Crenshaw. It will be good practice, because View Park is run by the same charter organization (Inner City Education Foundation) as Lou Dantzler HS, where I'll be teaching this fall. I'm getting used to the idea of teaching math; I found a great resource in Elyse, a former TFA corps member teaching middle school math in LA. We've spent, and will continue to spend a lot of time together, combing through concepts and creating sample problems that will be both comprehendable and challenging to my 7th graders. I'm beginning to see first-hand the serious obstacles that face schools in low income communities--I have no text books, no on-site copy machine, no projector, no curriculum, and many of my fellow corps members have significantly more students than they have desks. If I can make it here, I'm confident I can make it anywhere. So, send out a prayer for my first day as Ms. Miller...more stories to come.

Independence Day

2009-07-04T09:09:00.000-07:00

I am quickly realizing you can't beat an Independence Day celebration in the heart of America--the south. LA is home to so many different cultures, ethnicitys, and non-natives that the pride and importance of the 4th just seems to be lacking. Where are the bar-b-ques? The parades? The fireworks? The Uncle Sam impersonators? On a day that celebrates all things American, I am feeling uncomfortably far away from "Small Town USA."

Maybe I'm not in the 4th of July spirit because I've accumulated about 12 hours of work I need to have done by the end of the day. My lesson plans sucked and need a complete overhaul, and I've yet to figure out how to plan for a day of teaching efficiently. I'm more of a stand-up-there-and-wing-it sort of gal, so strategically planning for every second is pretty overwhelming. We've also been talking about classroom management skills lately and my bosses have pegged that particular skill as a "potential weakness" of mine. I feel so young, so it's hard for me to lay out these rigid rules and consequences for a group of seventh graders who, to be honest, I can still relate to in many ways. We'll see how it goes, but spending 20 minutes of class time explaining and practicing bathroom procedures (they actually recommended we do this) just seems a little excessive. I might be singing a different tune in 2 weeks, however, when my students are walking all over me, refusing to take off their sunglasses in class and making animal noises instead of converting numbers into scientific notation. It's all a learning experience.

Thanks for the awesome support and advice y'all have thrown at me lately! From experienced math teachers to east coast friends, it's nice to know people back home are with me on this new adventure. Happy Independence Day!

Teacher Boot Camp

2009-07-01T17:35:00.000-07:00

It's all I can do to keep my eyes open right now, so I'll catch you up as much as I can before I pass out. Monday, we started our week-long training session before summer school starts in 5 days. I'm up before 5am and sit through content/lesson plan writing sessions until 4:30pm everyday, only to return to the dorm with hours worth of prep work to complete. It's the most unglamorous LA life I could have ever imagined. But here's the kicker...and Andi, don't laugh because it is causing me some serious anxiety...I've been assigned to teach 7th grade pre-Algebra during summer session. I don't hate math, but I also don't like math, and I definitely haven't the first clue how to teach math. There were too many English teachers at my placement sight so, of course, I got switched and now have to spend the first hour of lesson planning re-teaching myself complex arithmetic. The students I will teach this summer failed pre-Algebra last year and if I don't do my job, they will not be moving on to the 8th grade with the rest of their class. I feel sorry for them... They deserve a teacher who knows what she's doing, so I'm making it my mission to be the best damn math teacher they've ever had. I'll be learning with them every step of the way: creating the curriculum, planning the lessons, teaching the concepts, assigning homework, and administering the final (exit) exam in exactly one month. God help me...and them.

The "i don't have a mailing address to put on my employment papers because i'm currently homeless" situation is still working itself out. A few of my new friends and I went to the south bay (Manhattan Beach) last weekend and decided to check out some million-dollar beachside mansions that were having open houses. Randomly, we met a real estate agent who apparently had karma concerns and felt like taking on a new charity case: broke, young teachers in south central, desparately seeking a home/escape from a job few attempt. We've been in constant contact and he's actually found us some pretty awesome deals--hopefully one will actually work out. I need Los Angeles to feel like home asap.

On that note, I have to go teach myself about rational and irrational numbers so I can come up with a lesson plan that clicks with remedial seventh graders. If anyone has any resources they think could help me please pass those on! My email is tmiller270@gmail. More later.

Dodger Dogs

2009-06-27T12:56:00.000-07:00

I am officially a Dodgers fan. I attended my first game last night and watched the boys embarrass the Mariners from the Top Deck--I cheered obnoxiously, bought a t-shirt, and had a "Dodger Dog," which is really just a regular hot dog that costs an arm and a leg...but it's part of the experience so I went with it. Bottom line, I had an incredible time and it was worth the hour and a half it took us to get to Dodger stadium..10 miles away.

But more important than Dodger Dogs and the 405 freeway, I am learning so much here in LA. There are 150 other corps members training here in the city--150 distinguished young people who come from the most incredible, diverse backgrounds, none of which resemble my own. I am a specimen to these people, let me tell you. But they take my ignorant questions about Judaism, homosexuality, Latino, Asian, and African American heritage in stride and seem to be excited to share their culture with me. These accomplished, passionate, worldly people, believe it or not, are equally as fascinated by small town America, by Kentucky, by my "interesting dialect." I love it. It's such a melting pot of personalities and cultures that, although I have yet to find someone like me, it's comforting to know that we're all far from home.

Tomorrow, we get our summer school teaching placement. The rumor is, we will be in groups of 3 or 4 co-teaching the same subject in the same class. I guess they figure, since we all have zero experience, there is strength in numbers. I'll let you know when I get more info!
Oh, and Happy Birthday Big Brother!

I really can't even talk about it.

2009-06-26T00:16:00.000-07:00

I loved Michael Jackson. I just have to process this for a while.

Employed!

2009-06-23T23:56:00.000-07:00

I found a job!! As of yesterday, I am the new freshman English teacher at Lou Dantzler Charter High School in Crenshaw. After 30 minutes of talking to the representatives of ICEF charter schools in LA, I knew it would be a perfect fit..and luckily, so did they. God knows why they chose an admittedly naive girl from the south to partner with them in their goal to send 100% of their students to college after graduation, but I'm so glad they took that chance. I believe in their mission...and that's all a young, college grad can ask for..to truly believe in the organization they are serving. I've met some AMAZING people through this process and I know now what respect, humility, and deep-rooted belief in the educational system really means. I can't wait to start my new role as teacher, mentor, and lover of students at L. D. High in south central. Education is the great equalizer--I want my students to know, understand, and invest in that! Anyway, I just got back from a celebratory outing at Lucky Strike.. a bowling alley/bar that is evidently famous to natives here in the city. It was so. much. fun. and I got to bond with my fellow corps members in a not-so-structured setting--suites yesterday, stilettos tonight. That said, I'm absolutely exhausted. I'm still not feeling 100% healthy, so I'm gonna hit the sack and get back to you tomorrow!!!
Loving what the future holds..

California Allergies

2009-06-21T20:50:00.000-07:00

I may or may not be allergic to big city living. At first, I thought God was just punishing me for leaving the Dixie...but it may actually be the city itself that is rejecting me. I woke up this morning with a wicked (my new east coast word) cramp from my neck all the way down my back extending into my left forearm. Sleeping on that cinder block of a dorm mattress forced me to spend the entire day turning full-frontal to anyone who spoke to me from any other direction than north. And any questionable mannerism makes friend-finding slightly more difficult. As the 13 hour day pressed on, my head got hotter, my body got colder, and it became increasingly hard to sit still for hours learning about the "tragically avoidable achievement gap." So, I'm sitting here in my dorm room, the first real day of training behind me, feeling like a sack of shit and praying I wake up with the same level of enthusiasm all these west coasters seem to have.

I pray I'm on my game because tomorrow is a big day. I hesitate publicizing this because it puts me at the risk of sounding like a huge failure, but if you cared enough to read this, I'm betting you care about me enough not to judge. Starting at 8am, there will be a "Placement Fair" located on campus for all of the non-local corps members to find a job. It's hard to explain, so I'll sum it up the best I can. TFA sends our resumes to charter schools in the area who have staff openings that may or may not coincide with our teaching credential. Tomorrow, the principals of these low-income, under-performing schools will sit in a room across from us hopeful teachers, review our resumes, and request interviews with their chosen candidates...these interviews happen immediately. I compare it to the speed dating of job interviews. These administrators talk to the candidate for 5, 10, 60 minutes then, on the spot, either offer the position or move on to the next TFAer. Intense. The people in charge made it clear that, more often than not, corps members do not get placed in these job fairs--it's more for interview experience than actually securing a job. So, don't get your hopes up..I'm trying not to..

On a more age-appropriate note, CLAY AND LISA ARE ENGAGED!! Some of you might know her as "Cali", a nickname she got after moving from California to Virginia for school, but since I am now a Californian, I refuse to call her by anything other than Lisa.. All that to say, she is getting married to my best friend's brother, who happens to be a great friend of mine himself, and I couldn't be happier about his choice. I love you two! And it's news like this that makes me question leaving such a warm, comfortable life in KY, surrounded by my friends and family who accept and appreciate my admittedly weird quirks... But, I'm gonna keep on trucking because I'm here for a purpose bigger than me (its very hippie, crunchy granola of my, but it's 100% true)

Ok, I really should be prepping for this interview and administering over-the-counters intravenously. Goodnight.

Ridin' Low

2009-06-19T20:21:00.000-07:00

I just pulled into LA. With Peeps riding shotgun, we finished the final, 5-hour leg of our journey across the continental U.S. We pulled out of my parents' driveway 5 days ago with my entire life packed tightly in the back of the Honda. We were ridin' low. The sheer weight of all my worldly possessions was unsettling to Dad; he expressed his anxiety over the tires popping (and the brakes failing, and the engine overheating, and the battery dying), but I convinced him everything I packed was an absolute necessity, so he gave up the fight and, if I know my dad, has been sitting at home these last 5 days stewing over those same anxieties.
The drive was long, but the trip was awesome. During our travels, we've seen St. Louis from the top of the Gateway Arch, survived a notorious Wichita rainstorm with a life-long friend, watched The Big Lebowski projected on the Red Rocks of Denver, hiked (and gotten ourselves lost, naturally) in Rocky Mountain National Park, stayed out all night on the Vegas strip with Jen and Juni, been fingerprinted by the Anaheim Police Department, and survived my first experience behind the wheel on the 405 Freeway. Needless to say, it's been an eventful road trip. Lindsay has been a trooper--letting me bitch and criticize her co-piloting skills when we get lost, because she understands that leaving the people I love keeps me on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Sometimes we would talk for hours straight, followed closely by miles of complete silence, just taking in the incredible views and relating every song on the radio to this epic life event.
I take lil Peepers to the airport in the morning; and I'll stand at security check in and watch her leave...leave me in this new, big scary place all alone. I'll have to dry the tears quickly though, because tomorrow at 10 a.m I begin training for my new career as a high school English teacher...in south central. I have a lot to learn, that's for sure, and I have a ways to go before this fast-paced, unfamiliar place feels like home. I have no doubt that my Kentucky-nurtured simple-mindedness and red neck accent will make for some interesting stories as I attempt to show love to the youth of inner-city LA...and the purpose of this blog is to share those stories with you.

Until then, I jus be "swingin' my rag" like T.I in the ATL taught me to.