Failure Story

FAILURE STORY:



Anyone that has been reading my blog might recall a post titled Breakfast Club, which started off with the question, “What can I do for BG?” – well, more than two months later and with sufficient time for reflection that answer is a resounding, “not enough”. For the sake of this assignment, I’ll call him “Billy”.
I’ve had countless failures this past year, some minor and others I would consider major. I failed myself, my students, my school and the corps on more than one occasion. There were days I didn’t lesson plan, days that I found time-fillers to help the periods pass more quickly, times when I didn’t help a student because I was too busy, or too tired. Every one of my dropouts I consider a failure – no, not them; me. A few I was able to keep from dropping out by becoming more involved in their lives, going to their homes and calling them on a regular basis. And there were a few I managed to convince to come back after they had already dropped out. Those aren’t my failures. My failures are the ones that I let go. The ones that I didn’t have the motivation, the energy or, I guess, the compassion to care enough to do everything in my power to convince them that what they’re doing is not a good idea. Some were behavior problems, and I allowed myself to feel relief at their permanent absence. Then there was the guilt – all that extra work involved with getting a student who is so far behind in school that their own child is close to the same reading level as they are can become overwhelming, like the behavior problems, and you are almost glad to see them leave. Until you let yourself remember that the price for their academic apathy is far more costly than a little larger dose of stress in your life.
I can rattle of a number of my dropouts, but Billy is the one that hits closest to home and what I would consider my greatest failure this past year. And he hasn’t even dropped out – yet. I met Billy the first period of the first day of school. He seemed shy, had a nervous laugh and he veiled the transition between assumed nonchalance and humbled obedience when it came to class-work less noticeably than most. Coaching football, I quickly found out who my players were, and was surprised to find out this tough, athletic-looking kid wasn’t on the team. It didn’t take much convincing, just a five minute conversation after class one day, to get him out there in pads. Apparently he had played up until this year, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to or not. Much later in the year, I found out it was because he had to “work” most nights, the non-legitimate kind of work, and that kind of work conflicted with football in several ways. He was talented, but arriving late he naturally had to prove himself to earn a position. In addition, he played safety behind arguably the two best athletes on the team. Slowly, I saw the other side to this shy guy. Bobby would sulk at practice, often scowling at anyone who caught his eye, openly ridiculing and questioning coaches and other players on the team, taking his pads off and refusing to practice at times or simply sitting on the sidelines and refusing to talk or move at all other times. This all stemmed from his perception that he should be starting. One day he even threw a trash can and his helmet onto the field. In his defense, the head coach put up with this act – from Billy and others. Needless to say, the season didn’t go very well, and eventually Billy quit (as did many others) – despite my protestations.
With more time after football season, I began offering myself before and after school for extra help. By then I had noticed Billy was far behind academically. He could barely read, and his writing was what I would guess a first grader could produce. He was relatively polite in class most of the time, aside from the occasionally storm-out-of-the-room temper tantrum when he would quickly get discouraged or frustrated due to something in class or in his life that was on his mind. Some days, many days, I think he got very little out of class because he couldn’t understand what we were doing and I was busy helping out the rest of the students. I think I considered it a minor victory that he even came to my class, seeing as how he skipped most of his others. After Christmas, Billy started coming to school less frequently and often late. Soon he was skipping first period completely so I would only see him in the halls. I would constantly corner him and explain how important it is he, of all people, should be in class every day … and he would nod, and agree, and promise to start coming. He didn’t. So I made another offer, to pick Billy up every morning before school (along with another studentwho was also on the football team and a terrible reader) and have them read for a while, out loud to me and to themselves, before school starts. This is where I failed Billy.
He was immediately interested, even enthusiastic, and I could tell he really did want to learn how to read better. More importantly, I had shown an interest in his well-being that he may not have seen from anyone else - certainly not from a teacher. For the first week I was at his apartment every morning and we would get to school with plenty of time to read children’s books, so much more on his level but wounding to his pride to read in front of his classmates. Then I had him for class, so he was there, and making up his missed work while staying on top of new work. It also helped me to get to know him much better, to learn things like his mother’s encouragement of selling drugs to pay bills, his two kids (he’s only 17), his father (whom he has never met) in prison, and the fact that he has nobody in his life who expresses what I would call warmth or love. From what I’ve seen of his mother, she is abusive, neglectful, disinterested and on drugs herself. There were many days that I wanted to adopt Billy, picking him up in the morning and hearing his mother's berating first hand, thinking that getting him out of this environment as his only viable way of “succeeding”. Getting so involved, waiting in his living room in the morning and driving around with him before school started, helped me to put in such incredible context why, or how, he has gotten to where he is now ... or perhaps more clearly, not gotten.
Then things started to fall apart. I missed a lot of days of school, so he had nobody to pick him up and would be late for school if he even went. There were other days that I myself was running late, squeezing in those last few moments of sleep or preparation, and didn’t have time to pick up Billy if I didn’t want to be late myself. I started getting no rely at times when I would show up at his apartment and nobody would answer the door. His phone numbers changed often that I could never get a hold of him. I tried to engage him in the classroom, when he was there which was less and less frequently, but it seemed he had given up. Whatever spark he had when I first agreed to pick him up because I cared that much that he have time to focus on reading was now slowly fading away. He started getting into fights, getting suspended, and developing a very negative reputation around the school. This hurt me, because I knew what Billy was capable of and what he wanted to do. But I wasn't helping him any longer, at least not as much as I could have been. I had let the window of opportunity to pass. My own school work, lesson planning, personal life and other students had taken my attention away from him. Instead of bailing water out and trying to keep his boat afloat, I let Billy sink. I would always have good intentions of doing more for Billy but never quite getting around to it. And so, in the end, I was doing to Billy what so many others have done to him, what life itself has done to him; shown him that nobody cares about him, that he is a lost cause. I had, in his eyes at least, given up on him. We had talked about working with Habitat for Humanity together when I discovered he was interested in carpentry – Habitat has a worn place on my to-do lists, permanently putting it off every weekend. Its gotten to the point where we both became uncomfortable with each other, perhaps for different reasons, and almost had an unwritten agreement not too look into the others’ eyes, to keep conversation impersonal and only offer the standard words of encouragement or guidance. He stopped coming to class completely the last month of school, and I stopped chasing him to keep on track. I let him go.
It kills me now to know with pretty good certainty that he won’t be back to school next year. He had spoken of Job Corps, which may be a decent option if he does pursue it. He won’t go to summer school, even if he could afford it, and he already is old for his grade. Like so many others, his potential is staggering. The question is, am I going to do what it takes to get them to see this potential without allowing his world consume mine and burning myself out? II've often thought that if I had hoards of money, I might have adopted Billy, and a few others, and some more next year, too. They need so much, and I can give them so much. Opportunity. Attention. I just get tired, and overwhelmed. There are so many Billys. And now, this Billy is out in the streets and finding the support there that cut him loose from the classroom.

Feels Good

Here are a few letters that I was given by students at the end of the year which I've been meaning to post;

Thank you Mr. D,
Thank you for taking out time when no one else would. Thank you for believing in my vision with me. Thank you for pushing me to the limit. Always stay in touch. I will never forget what you have done. Thanks again and May God bless you. See you at the Grammies.
-B.H.


What's up Mr. D.,
I am writing you to let you know that I appreciate you for motivating us in everything we do. You are a good teacher adn we are thankful to have you. Your willingness and hope that you have instilled in us will last forever. I want to leave you with the fact that I will give back to the community and will do my best to be the best I can be.

Once again, THANKS! THANKS!!! THANKS!!!

- JW


Dear Mr. D,
I just wanted to thank you for one of the greatest English classes in my life. It was very simple and you knew how to put it for to make it easy. I want to thank you for some priviledges you gave us that no other teacher gave us. I loved the way you made jokes and the way you taught us. We had a good time coming to your classes and we didn't have to skip. Thank you for a good class period.
Sincerely, DL

Blackwell Blog #2

Blackwell Blog Dos

As always, with teaching comes a considerable amount of learning. This was especially true during the past few weeks of summer school, as I began to see all of my flaws (and some of my strengths) exhibited by the first years I had been observing in our classroom. It was not without a dose of hypocrisy that I would sit down after a lesson they taught on Subject-Verb Agreement or Figurative Language and go over what I feel they should do differently; much of it is the very same critiques that I’ve received from others and am constantly giving to myself. Speak clearly and be consistent. Slow down, check for understanding, keep everyone involved and relax. Vary the presentation of material, be energized if you want your students to be as well, always have something for them to be doing and not just listening. So, in their mistakes – natural being the first time some of them have ever gotten in front of a classroom – I see my own tendencies and in my efforts to correct their delivery I am also reminding myself that these are all things I should be working on as well.

As far as my own performance is concerned (and it is a performance, isn’t it – I always have felt like I was impersonating a teacher as much as any other role I’ve ever assumed), I feel stronger, more confident and much better adapted to the climate of your average classroom than I was at this time last year. Running the gauntlet this past year has bruised my body some, but I’ve come out a much better teacher and I believe a better person. Where it took my months to break through to my students last fall, it only took days this summer. Where it would take hours upon hours to lesson plan last summer, it rarely takes more than an hour now. Now, this will be different come next fall when I am lesson planning for an entirely new curriculum, but I am sure the skills and techniques I’ve acquired will translate quite a bit.

Most of my lessons, and our lessons as a group, have been successful this summer largely due to the supportive environment of our summer school program but also because of the energy and enthusiasm of our students. They want to learn, listen and participate. Granted, we lead and they follow, but they are heading in the right direction all the same. More so than usual, I’ve found discussion and group interactivity more successful than anything else this summer – perhaps the nature of the beast of forcing children to attend school during what is traditionally their months off from school. Least successful is easy, independent work. That is why most of them are here to begin with. Whether it’s due to low reading comprehension skills or lack of background knowledge, they lose focus, motivation and understanding when they are left to figure something out entirely on their own. This, however, is getting better.

To go along with learning goals, our instructional procedures and policies have worked very well also. Again, the credit for this cannot be taken entirely, if at all, by us – but instead must be attributed to the supportive and well-oiled summer school administration. It is so great to feel respected, and again, supported. To have school policies that make sense, are explained, and are backed up. With a year under my belt, I have a much better idea of what works and what doesn’t, without having to take someone else’s word for it. This eliminates so many problems and issues that I had to deal with last year daily.

Finally, differentiation is one of my biggest foci, but also my greatest challenges, in the classroom. How do you teach to twenty children all on extremely different levels of learning. How do you keep this one from getting bored, or this one from getting lost? It’s much easier with four teachers, and we’ve started to pull students out of the room one at a time to give them individualized instruction on what they are not grasping or need the most work on. This is based on test scores, writing samples, and their ability to read aloud and comprehend. For some of our kids, this is a brief check on how they are doing and review of their weaknesses. For others, we take almost ten minutes to slowly review what it is they are not clear on, or to have them read aloud to us. This is about as individualized as you can get, and as far as pure differentiation, both myself and the other three teachers in our classroom continue to strive to bring in varied styles and activities to engage as many of our students as we can as often as possible.

Reflection Blog

In the parking lot of Wal-Mart last night I bumped into a former tenth grade student of mine, a girl who dropped out back in October just three months into the school year. She had gotten into several fistfights during those three months, one in my room, and was failing all of her classes, including mine. She could barely read, was late to class every day, and had at least one child to my knowledge. We didn’t have any problems, but neither did we have any sort of relationship besides the typical student-teacher. Basically, I never got to know her and I feel that she never got to know me.I said hello with a little apprehension, as she was with what appeared to be her friends and wasn’t sure if she would even recognize me. She did. She ran over with a huge smile and gave me a hug. We talked about the class a little, she repeated again and again that she plans on going back to school next year and eventually graduate and then she went back to the her cereal aisle and I went to look for orange juice.

That brief interaction is a good point to begin a reflection. Seeing her, I thought of my classroom back in October and how much it had changed since then; how much I, too, had changed. I wished silently she could have been there through the year, to benefit from this change, as I was overwhelmed and burnt out every day from August 1 practically through ‘til December break. Those days, I woke up with ‘the dreads’ every morning, mechanically throwing on wrinkled clothes and rushing out the door. Some days I had a lesson plan, some days I had something resembling a lesson plan, some days I had nothing at all but a few ideas. Every day I was still exhausted, out of breath and barely awake by the time the bell for first period rang. I would barely survive period by period, routinely coming face to face with situations that I hadn’t anticipated and having to improvise on the spot. It was exhausting, and I would check my watch in a frenzy every five minutes. When the final bell rang, I would try to run around to the different offices in our school to try and turn in all the paperwork I needed or ask all the questions I had before they started locking the school – which happened pretty much right away. I’d go to football practice, which would be frustrating at times but definitely a reprieve from the day, and get out with just enough time to eat, shower and attempt to grade/plan for the next day … which often resulted in me falling asleep on some floor or couch with unfinished work to do. I had no social life, and I was always stressed out.

As the year progressed, I stopped worrying about all of the ridiculous things I was asked to do by my school and became more efficient in my lesson planning. Football ended, so I was granted more time to work with students after school. Because of this, and a conscious effort on my part, I got to know all of my students better through the winter months. I gave them rides home, visited with their families, called often and did as much in the community as I could. I invested myself more in them, and as a result a lot of my problems in class eroded. I relaxed, and so did they in response. I was still very busy, but not overwhelmingly so – at least not all of the time. By the time spring rolled around, I had built a strong relationship with most of my students, some more so than others, and several school and community members. I smiled more, ate breakfast more, slept in my bed more and was even able to exercise from time to time. I still never ironed. I realized how much of the kids behavior is a reaction to my own vibes, or emotions, or level of preparedness. I lightened up considerably, and stopped taking everything so personally. By the time the end of the year came, I was actually very sorry to see them go. I had made the difficult decision to leave several months ago, and was excited about next year, but nevertheless it was heart-breaking to think how far I had come with them, the school and with myself … only to leave. I’ll miss sitting with CW at lunch every day, asking me “Where da guac at?” or “Am I on mute still?” and then pulling 4-5 hamburgers he had stolen out of his pants pockets. I’ll miss QR sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes at me one minute, then laughing and telling me she loves me the next. I’ll miss making fun of the kids, and them making fun of me. That right there might be the biggest difference between the beginning of the year and the end, we started laughing more. I hated to tell them I was leaving. I felt like I had betrayed them, that I was going to be seen as a phony and all I accomplished over the year would be wasted. But I’ve seen students around town since then, have talked on the phone to others, and feel like they understand, somewhat.

There were a few specific things that I wanted to touch on in this blog, prompts from Ben.

How do you prevent first-year burnout? Nothing new; prioritize, manage your time, and be flexible. Relax, learn to laugh at yourself and not take things so personally or seriously, and find small ways to make every period of every day enjoyable. Getting to know your kids really well will help tremendously in that regard. There are the usual tips; try to sleep at least 5-6 hours per night, eat three meals a day, and have some outlet (television, books, exercise, music) that is not school or MTC related. You can’t do it all, but by caring and being there to simply talk and listen to your students you will be helping them in significant ways.

How to deal with difficult administrators...This is a tough one. I had a very, very difficult administration. I didn’t deal with them well. I have never been great with authority figures, particularly when I don’t respect them or what they do. Repeatedly throughout the year, our admins made decisions that I saw as either completely arbitrary or directly harmful to the students and the school as a whole. Rather than listing all the reasons they were miserable, I’ll just say I can’t come up with anything good they did. I was confrontational at times; that didn’t work. It only made my life more difficult. Sometimes, I guess, you have to smile and nod or just keep your mouth shut.

Some things I learned this year … I would say to live in the community that you teach at, and in the neighborhood if possible. This goes along with getting to know your kids as much as you can, and them trusting you and feeling that you genuinely care about them and are not only trying to help them but will help them – sometimes despite of them. And get to know your problem kids first. However you do it, by getting them to come after school or pulling them out into the hall during class or grabbing them quickly before or after class – just build that rapport as quickly as you can. Be genuine. You should care about these kids the most, because if they are acting out then in some manner they need more than most of the other kids. Call home, often. Get to know parents as well as kids. Get involved in the school and community. Go to parades, eat and shop where your students’ families do, get gas near their homes, go to their games and shows – I loved seeing my kids outside of school, and they love seeing you too. And finally, no matter how hard it is, it always gets easier. You will want to quit almost definitely at some point. Well, you knew it would be hard. Just keep on getting out of bed, keep on smiling and before you know it the year will be over and you’ll have learned much about yourself, probably much more than you were able to teach.

the june bug

Didn’t I learn anything at all from this past year? Well, yes, but apparently not time management. Once again, I’ve managed to over-commit myself, a cardinal sin in the teaching profession – particularly when you are just starting out – and am feeling overwhelmed, exhausted and behind in my work. This is the summer – I’m supposed to be sitting by Sardis and relaxing! Fortunately, the first week of summer school at Holly Springs has passed, and with it the bulk of my teaching responsibilities. However, there are still a number of assignments, tests and commitments that must be done or met in the coming weeks. Nothing in and of itself too intimidating, but factor in a daily two-hour commute back to the Delta and nightly three-hour long play rehearsals and you’re looking at a recipe for burnout. I think I’ve pulled more all-nighters this month than I did all spring. And I’m making it, somehow, but my car isn’t. After a weekend of abuse at Bonnaroo, it’s telling me to give it a break. Last night, post-rehearsal, my car wouldn’t start, again. I jumped it, again, and this time decided on bucking for a new battery. So under a midnight moon and swarmed by blood-horny mosquitos I put in a fancy new battery and breathed a sigh of relief when the ignition kicked in smoothly moments later. I had been panicking about making it to Oxford to class the next day, having already missed my allotted one in order to sleep in a field with 100,000 other sweaty, happy people with Sting, Ben Harper and Widespread Panic serenading us in Tennessee. After a brief nap, I was awake again and packing the car to make the drive north up Route 61. Never happened. Within a few miles of Leland, my car (which started just fine) began to lurch and I watched while the RPMs raced and my speedometer slugged. Having been witness to the death of one vehicle in similar fashion already this week, I turned around and went back to Leland. Guess I’ll be losing some more points off my grade.

So now I’m sitting here lesson planning, exhausted and sweaty, and waiting to hear how much damage was done from the shop downtown. I’ve got to somehow get to Oxford tonight, or at least by tomorrow morning, as well as make it back and forth three more times until show-time this weekend. My account is looking like a fourth graders piggy bank penny savings, and I have some rather hefty expenses taunting me on the horizon. On that note, how about some advice for the first years; Don’t over-commit yourself. Obviously, do as I say not as I do. This is a lesson I’m still trying to learn myself. You can’t save every child, you can’t start or join every club/team, you can’t make every lesson plan revolutionary or grade everything you collect, you can’t have much of a social life (or at least one similar to what you are used to most likely), you can’t read all of those books you’ve been meaning to read, or watch those movies you’ve been meaning to watch, you can’t talk to friends or family for hours on the phone making it tough to keep up with them all, and you can’t get out and enjoy the Delta as much as you’d like. Now, you can do a portion of all of those things; all in moderation. And that’s just what you have to do. Learn how to say no, prioritize and be organized. I felt I needed the occasional jog, several hour long phone call, good book and time-consuming extra-curricular in order to stay sane. But it’s difficult to find the balance.

And while we’re on the topic of busy summer’s, how about a few things I would do if I were a first year – which, actually, are things that I will be doing since I am, for all intents and purposes, a first year due to school switching. Get housing early, as soon as possible, and make as many trips to your new house/apt as you need to in order to get as much of the furniture, appliances and utilities as you can before the school year begins. You will be busy this summer – good. Get used to it. The busier your summer is, the more prepared you will be for the fall and the more you’ll have gotten done now that you won’t have to do later. Per housing, I would recommend living in your school community if possible. I would have preferred this. Also, get your syllabus written, at least a basic version, and plan your first couple weeks of lessons. Not the Monroe lesson plan – just basically what objectives you plan on covering and what exactly you’ll be doing to fill the period. Also, have a BUNCH of filler exercises/activities in a folder and ready if you need them. This can range from ‘get to know you’ games to mini-lessons (such as a short story to read and respond to for English), sudoku’s, word games, trivia, etc. To go along with that, plan out your whole year as much as you can (again, just what you want to be covering each term so you have a general outline). And an MTC tip, get your teacher corps work done ahead of time if possible. You don’t need to turn in stellar work, but do make sure you turn all of the assignments in. They are easy to lose track of, or ignore, and that will catch up with you.

I’ll be moving to Moss Point in July, after I get back from Costa Rica, and starting over new as well. I’m teaching a new grade, so new content, and have a new set of rules and policies to familiarize myself with. I’m nervous, and excited. I’m heading into my second, first year.

Blackwell Blog #1

The goals that I approach each new lesson with are various, but all grow in the direction of the objectives I’ve established for that particular class period. These objectives themselves take some consideration, as they must be both attainable and challenging - as well as interesting and relevant - for the grade level that is being taught. For our summer school students at Holly Springs, we’ve decided to focus primarily on the English II objectives (as we have a mixture of II-IV). This ensures that those still in that critical year of state testing will receive all of the instruction they need to succeed in that venue. In addition, I’ve found that many of the basic benchmarks provided for English II by the state of Mississippi are quite analogous to those you would find in English III & IV. We will bring a little bit of the other into the classroom, when we do lessons on American Literary Periods (III) and an overview of British Literature (IV). The idea with this is to target those in III and IV specifically, while introducing concepts to the English II students that they will see sooner or later, anyway.

Practically, one or two objectives/goals are the rule. These are clear, concise, and limited to the ‘mastery’ of one specific benchmark or an isolated (if that’s even possible) element of the standard high school English course. My lesson plans tend to follow similar patterns; an inductive set that engages the students with the material to be covered later in the period in a creative or abstract way. A particalur inductive set that I have already used was to pose a question on what the class feels the definition of ‘romantic’ is. They shared their responses, and then we went into a discussion on the Romantic Period of American Literature. I told them to keep in the back of their mind what they felt ‘romantic’ meant, and that we would come back to it at the end of the period. They, thus, came up with a new definition on their own based on the characteristics of the period. In addition, we discussed logic and creativity by using Starbursts – such that each student was asked to provide a logical use and some creative uses for it, then connect these to what we have learned about the Romantic Period and draw their own conclusions.

This leads into the procedures, which can be broken up into; presentation/identification, discussion/engagement, and finally practice/use. One of the more difficult aspects of lesson planning is meeting these goals for the varied needs of your students. In a classroom of 20+, which we are fortunate enough to have, there are 20+ different levels of prior knowledge – much of which we are just now beginning to see. Thus, I always try to present my material both in a very clear, logical and common sense fashion while inserting ‘interesting’ tangents or more critical analysis for the students that may be a bit more advanced in the classroom. To go along with this, students should always be doing something. Note taking is good, but graphic organizers are better. Worksheets are ok, but activities really get them involved with the material. And always, or almost always, I incorporate some sort of reading comprehension into the period if I can (and if I can’t, then for homework). Reading is essential for all of our students, and most of them I’ve found need attention paid to this more than anything else.

Thus, by keeping appropriate goals, we should see our students develop throughout the course of the next month. The pre and post tests should evaluate this. In addition, we’ve decided to spend some time every day with a couple of students (so that they are all met with at least once per week) in individual instruction /tutoring. We have writing samples that we will be looking at closely with them and isolating their specific problems or academic issues. I’ve seen students in the past really take to this method and their progress sky-rocket.

China King

I'm going to save most of my end of the year reflection for my next post, because I would like to piggy-back onto my last post before I follow the crumbs I dropped all the way back to August 1.

But first, the school year has ended; it feels so good to say that. It's been a long year, but it's gone by quickly. The year has been filled with apparent paradoxes, so what better way to describe it than one giant mix of uncomfortable juxtapositions. There were times I wanted to quit. Never seriously, but I had my moments of sitting alone in my room with all the lights off in the early hours of a weekday morning with work still hounding me and my sense of self-satisfaction buried under caffeine, deadlines and failed commitments. I didn't feel like I was accomplishing anything, aside from allowing myself to get consistently overwhelmed, behind in work and frustrated. But I loved my kids; I hated the way they acted sometimes, or didn't act - "real talk, Mr. Doyle", but I never stopped loving them. That love grew deeper and took root as the year progressed, which made it all the more frustrating and the guilt that much sharper when I felt like I was failing them or at a loss for ways to help them succeed. Despite all of that, I was able to make connections and encourage relationships that went beyond the blackboard with a good number of my students.

So, to continue the ramble in my previous blog, I met up with a few students yesterday afternoon at China King. School has been out for a week now, and I've bumped into some of them at Sunflower getting groceries or in WalMart and brought up the lunch idea. I called about 10-12, but was only able to reach half that many due to disconnections and terminated phone plans. It sunk in just how difficult it'd be to keep in touch with some of my students, with numbers and residences changing so often. I had my phone number on the board all week, so hopefully a few take me up on keeping in touch. There ended up being six of us present to suck down all the egg-drop soup and chicken fingers you can eat. Once the discussion moved past whether or not some asians eat animals that are commonly pets or pests domestically, we began in on their plans, and goals and paths to reaching them. We talked about the emphasis on race and existence of racism in their lives, and throughout the country/world, and why things might be the way they are. At times we shouted trying to make a point, drawing attention from white and black diners around us, not caring who heard what we had to say aside from each other. These were some of my favorite kids - QR, BW, LT, DF and AA - and it was incredible to see them think these problems through, to really not just look at me, but into me, both when I spoke and when they spoke to one another. If only I could do this with all the kids, and more often. If only their classes were smaller. It seems so obvious, that if we ever expect to reach true equality, in public educational offerings at least, there needs to be inequal funding - with those in need getting MORE aid and not less than schools in more supportive communities that have other means of providing for their children's "education", in all its meanings. I teared up more than once during lunch, especially when we started to talk about how I was not coming back next year. And I pulled a few tears from their stoic grins, too.

I could have sat there all afternoon, as it was we were there for two hours, but I started to sense that they all had other things to do when the cell phones came out and texting commenced. DF and AA asked if I could drop off some books at their homes some time this summer, BW's big barrel-chested father asked if I could help him learn how to read, between swigs of Budweiser, while I was dropping her off (he drives trucks and never graduated from high school) and LT will definitely hear from me before his trip to Canada with his Earthwatch research team in two weeks. There are so many others I wish I could have talked to, saw at least once more, and its finally settling in that there are so many I won't be seeing again no matter how much I'd like to. I'm excited about next year, but these kids have a way of affecting you. I guess, its not just that they are kids and dependent on us all for so much, but I've never been in a situation where I was around so many of the same individuals consistently for so much time ... well, at least not since I was in high school myself. In college you have your core friends, while everything else is in semi-constant flux, and they are people who obviously affect you. College was longer for my than most, and towards the end, more reclusive. There is no place to hide in the classroom, sans not going - a choice I made too often this past year - and you are completely exposed to the critical eyes of so many judgmental little Caeser's, much more likely to condemn you than to spare you from the lions. It's so much more fun to watch the lame teacher squirm in the powerful grips of a wild animal.

I guess this did become a bit of a reflection, but I do have a lot more to say and am without the motivation at the moment to do justice to the emotions I've felt, and still feel, throughout all the cumulative experiences of the past year. I fell asleep on the couch in our sunroom again, and am starting to enjoy waking up with the sun and the birds. First day of MTC in Oxford is tomorrow, which will be a nice change - I'm looking forward to being more of a supervisor this summer and having time to prepare for twelth grade English and Drama next year in Moss Point, as well as help the new class of teachers as much as I can ... and, as well as falling asleep to the fireflies, waking up to the pink reflection in Sardis Lake and bathing with the dawn. Will be a busy month, with the play scheduled for the third week in June necessitating commutes back to Indianola nearly every other day for rehearsal.

caste in the classroom

A few Fridays ago, the junior girls were on a field trip to the levee so rather than continue reading “A Raisin in the Sun” with no more than five students remaining in either of my eleventh grade classes, I let them work on make-up assignments, extra credit and we had those kind of conversations that crop up at the end of the school year.

At one point, I asked a question that I had been curious about for a while but never had explicitly addressed to any of my students before. I had a feeling I knew the answer, but wanted to know what they felt. I asked whether or not they ever hang out or interact with any white teens, or white individuals at any rate, aside from their teachers at school and as their paths cross in common spaces such as Wal-Mart. A couple had co-workers at places like Sunflower or Sonic, but in both cases this was their store manager. Aside from that, their answer was a resounding no. I asked again in my next period, and got the same response. How is this possible? Granted, white is the minority at approximately 30% of the town’s 12,000 residents, and the dual school system, private ‘segregation academies’ and public schools, as is the case in most Delta towns, remains almost entirely segregated by race … in 2007. Over, and yet apparently only, fifty years since the White Citizens Council, a ‘white-collar Klan’, was ominously founded in Indianola at the same time Brown v. Board of Education was passed. Still so separate. There are both nice and run-down white neighborhoods and nice and run-down black neighborhoods, each with their own gas station/general stores, their own playgrounds, their own community centers … there are white bars and black bars, black churches and white churches and, as already stated, white schools and black schools. None would be so crass as to publicly limit the crossing of such visible racial lines/barriers, lines visible only in the color of the skin on those that hide behind them, but their open declaration is in the quite obvious sweeping lack of exceptions.

For some reason, I imagined kids being a little bit beyond this historical sense of opposition, and maybe they are. Yet my students and those at Indianola Academy, 15-18 year-olds, live in the same town yet never interact with one another - follow suit from the wonderful example set forth by the adults in the town. Their sports teams don’t play one another, ever. Very few community events are publicized in both communities. I've recently been cast in a production of Agatha Christie's 'The Mousetrap' which is generally referred to as "the white theater" in town. That very visible, unacknowledged line. Is this the fear I talked about last week with one class? I asked the guys I was sitting with in the classroom what they think would happen if I attempted to organize an after-school group or program open to both schools, the natural first reaction;

“Where would it be? They wouldn’t let us over at their school and they’d be afraid to come to our school.”

The guys all expressed interest in ‘talking to a white girl’ their own age, many never have, and eagerly echoed one another’s enthusiasm for such an endeavor. I wondered silently if guys from IA would feel the same way towards black girls, or if black girls would feel the same way towards white guys and vice versa … and why. They joked, but eventually they began to say things like “For real though, I think one school for everyone would be better. Them white kids studyin’ all the time and stuff would make us all work harder or we’d look bad.” This was obvious, their sense that all, or at least the majority, of the white kids were smarter than all, or at least the majority of the black kids. If you ask them why, the answer always comes back to money and opportunity. I mentioned how much more money one school system would have at its disposal, for better facilities, better books, etc. but then asked them how the kids in honors classes here would feel if suddenly they were displaced by mostly white kids, or how the white kids on IA’s basketball team might feel if most of them didn’t make the team here when put altogether. I was careful to note my gross generalizations.

“That’s life," DR replied, "I guess they’d have to work harder if they wanted to prove theyselves.”