I have been making myself
feel guilty for not updating this here blog for about 2 weeks now. The initial 2nd entry felt
too full of frustration after an interaction with a neighbor of my dad’s who
made statements like an ignorant person about my choice to teach in New
Orleans.
So, here I am. Just ended the second week with the
students and they continue to trickle in as reluctant and neglected children
will do. Our school staff made an
effort today to do home visits to each student who has been absent thus far
with dismal results. “They gone to
another school”, no answer at the door, etc. We learned after this that the apparent star students from
years’ past have moved on to different schools. You can’t blame their parents
as the idea of another charter coming in to take over could mean one more year
of inadequate education. But to see the looks on the few remaining teachers
from the old organization, I knew we’d lost some good ones…the best. Similar to how we felt at my old school
when we lost our highest performing students to an elite magnant school.
I am tired. No, I’m exhausted. I’ve never worked this hard in my
life. I don’t know how to begin to
sum it up. I want to though, and I
said I would…exhaustion cannot hold back my documentation of this process or
there will surely not be a word recorded come May 25th.
Perhaps I am back at the
beginning…and ol Jerri Blank. Go
with what you know…
I wake up at…wait. My alarm goes off at 5:07am. I have a thing about odd numbers, and
won’t set my alarms for the minutes at anything but…although my favorite time
of the day or the one I’m connected to most often is made up completely of even
numbers, but I attribute that to my M’Maw Grace’s spirit. I hit snooze a number of times. The number of times determined by the
previous night’s activities, my quality of sleep due to head-butting kitty,
etc. I immediatedly turn off my AC, and revel about the fact that I am able to
be cold in August in my New Orleans residence in August. Work preperations
proceed as normal, coffee making (if I
remember to set it up for auto the night before, I’m sure I’ve made it to
adulthood status), shower, respectable people clothes picking out, making
lunch (the same lunch I’ve eaten for over
6 years much to Courtney’s demise), and then I’m out the door by 6:37. I see my landlord walking her dog on
the same block each morning as she passes by the most elite charter school in
New Orleans and I make my way to one of the worst.
I smoke a cigarette. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Vices are
necessary when you’re living the life of a teacher…there’s no good reason, and
I even lied to my voluntary benefits folks today as I signed up for every
available benefit and felt like a complete grown up…well, besides the fact
about lying about smoking and considering short-term disability insurance as my
co-worker so daintly put it, “in case you get knocked-up” insurance. The man approached it in a more gentle
way: “well, I see you’re single, but do you want to have children?”…oh. wonderful! A lovely topic in the auditorium with an insurance man. I reply yes. My new best friend/coworker pipes up with the knocked up
comment. I think of Ron talking about “seeds”. I love that thought.
Not just of mine, but of everyone’s children being their seeds. So accurate.
The mornings are
rough. The kids arrive beginning
at 7:15 & must assemble on the “Yard” or go into breakfast. This is my second battle of the day. The first being with my snooze
button. It’s a slow staggering of
children and then an influx of groups surging with every bus arrival. The order of lining up and waiting is
near impossible. They hate it as I
would…its like the fucking DMV. I’ve
stated my disagreement with the process, but, it is what it is.
I’ve never encountered so
many parents at this time of the day who take the initiative to walk their
child/niece/nephew/neighbor/etc. to school. Each parent I’ve encountered is so friendly and supportive…kind. Yes, I’m talking “ghetto” parents in
lounge clothes with gold teeth, etc.
Well. I’ve never been met
with such smiles and kindness and genuine appreciation.
We have Pre-Kindergarten
children at our school as well.
Thursday morning, I saw a little boy, dressed perfectly in his navy blue
insigned polo with his khaki shorts…hair cut close to his head, bottom lip
out…quivering. Waving in the
sweetest hand up fingers closing downward child-like wave. I looked around to see if he was perhaps
waving at one of my buck-wild students.
Then I looked beyond the barbed wire fence to the man, the father,
waving back who could not seem to walk away…who couldn’t bear to leave his son
with tears intertwining with sweat of the morning. This man.
Father. The connection was
palpable. There were no judgements
being made.
It was the visual of
everyone who just wants to be loved and feel accepted. This was a man who many people would
get nervous if they saw walking down the street because of his skin color, his age,
his dress, his hair, whatever.
It’s real. And I am not
ignorant to that….I know the statistics.
I don’t blame people for feeling fearful. I just want people to become more aware of other people’s
reality.
I know that this is
America. I’ve made and convinced more people than you would imagine I would, to pledge allegiance to it on the
daily. I go further and make sure
they know what they’re pledging allegiance to though…which is where I may run
into trouble. Ask your kids. What does ‘pledge’ mean? What about ‘allegiance’? Break the entire thing down. From that point on, my students are
required to stand, and place their hand on their heart, but they have the
option of reinforcing the idea of the pledge, saying a prayer, or whatever they
need to do.
I see resistance from
children scared of being revealed for their inadequacies. Flexing their power can’t be denied, so
must find new ways. The most
amazing thing to see though, the students who have been waiting for too fucking
long to be challenged. That’s most
of them. Waiting with their
pencils sharpened and paper in their backpack and notebooks and folders. I’ve had kids pull me aside and ask me
what they’re gonna be learning this year now that it’s a real school.
The response is…everything.
This is for the kid who I
watch picking up paper in the classroom when he thinks I’m not looking.
For the kid who is
struggling so hard with basic logistical compliances like, the single file line
in the morning, pulling up your pants…but! Has the handwriting of an architect,
and doesn’t miss a beat of my lectures.
For the child who’s
brother was murdered last year, and I have been asking you every day for 9 days
if you would water the plants in the room to keep them alive…and you kept saying
no, but then told me on the 10th day in a panicked voice that the
plants were dying. That’s when I
decided to water them. I know he will do it now.
His poor heart.
I long for the day when he
can shed his hurt and anger and we will talk about it. He stands over a foot taller than
me. You can’t miss him. Only when
I’m writing about this do I realize that each morning, he arrives at whatever
time, but walks to the front of the line and stands on the block for Room 311
when he’s supposed to stand behind it.
I repeatedly tell him he needs to go to the back, etc.
But,
I stand there.
