8.31.2009

the countdown.

It's just after ten in the morning, and I'm sitting on my bed building chemical models out of a kit I've had since college that was handed down to me from my older sister. It's a simple, plastic ball-and-stick kit, but for now it'll do. I figure I'll decorate an empty shelf or two with some base pairs and ligands, if only because they're big and complicated-looking.

As the last days of summer count down, I'm getting really excited about decorating my room. My room has two computers along one wall, which I'm dubbing the Simulation Center (a recent development, stemming from some great simulations I found online last night) and the walls of which I'll eventually decorate with printed snapshots from students' work. Up near the front of the room I'm going to have a Feelings Barometer, which is something I learned about at a seminar last week. It's a chart where the kids plot how they're feeling that day, on a scale of -5 to +5, as they enter the room. It'll allow me to judge the mood of the class that day as well as be clued into any issues I might need to address. I'm also leaving room for concept maps and two different word walls, one for chemistry vocabulary and one for greek and latin roots/prefixes/suffixes that we encounter throughout the course. In the next week I'm going to be shopping for posters and models as well.

It turns out I'm only teaching four periods of chemistry, which is an enormous weight off my shoulders, and why I'm able to concentrate on making my room subject-specific. As a new teacher, I feel really lucky that I have my own room, a fully equipped lab, and the ability to focus on one course. I think the catch will be the discipline issues at my school, but I'm putting a lot of thought into how I'm going to conduct my class in the first few days to try to head off a lot of preventable issues. I have a lot of planning to do, but also lots of energy with which to do it. We'll see how it goes! The countdown begins: 9 days.

8.13.2009

on the long ride home.

Right now I'm in a hotel room just outside of Columbus, Ohio. I'm halfway through a two day drive to Arkansas, and I'm so excited that I get to see my friends tomorrow. I'm also excited that I get to enjoy my little vacation and not worry about the job hunt - leave it to me to secure a position on my way out of town.

It happened quickly, actually. I've been on a few interviews since training ended at the end of July, and although I had a few that had gone well I hadn't heard back from anybody. On Tuesday, I scheduled two interviews for the next day, one of which was at a school I'd emailed only hours before getting a phone call from a staff member. I didn't actually know much about the school when I sent in my resume; I knew they had a listing for a chemistry position on the open market, and I knew they were a small school, which is the kind of environment I've been looking for in my search. When the staff member called, she explained that they're a transfer school, which means all of their students have attended at least one high school before. They're all at least sixteen years old, and all come in behind on their credits. She told me right away that the principal was looking for someone who could think outside the box, and work to really engage the kids. I told her I was interested, and scheduled an interview.

"Intrigued" would probably be a more appropriate word, as I had no idea what to expect from the school. I knew what a transfer school was from my own research coming into training, but I'd never visited one and I didn't know how I felt about the prospect of teaching kids who'd either failed or dropped out of their previous schools. I braced myself for a worst-case scenario and at the same time thought: you never know, this might be the school of your dreams. It turns out the latter was closer to the truth. My first impression of the school was that it was bright and airy, and everyone I met was friendly and congenial with one another. The principal and several other staff welcomed me and instantly made me feel at home. We talked about how important is it to really care about the kids you teach, and make sure they know it. We talked about how the kids at this school in particular come in with a lot of hurt and a lot of anger, and complete disillusionment about what education should be and how adults should look out for their best interests. The principal was honest about some of the challenges the school faces with its population, but was emphatic in her belief that most of her students have found a place to belong at her school. And once I talked to a few students who were working in the office and asked them how they felt about their school, I believed her. After I'd talked to the panel for a bit, I was taken on a tour by the same staff member who'd called me the day before. The school takes up one hallway, and all of the science classrooms are outfitted with lab benches instead of desks - labs take place in a separate space. It's a take on the science classroom I'd never seen before, but I really like it. When I got back to the office, I was offered the job on the spot.

A month or so before I was admitted to the Fellows, I had a dream that I was surrounded by a circle of people, who were smiling at me and nodding. I think at the time I described it as giving me the sense that they had some good news for me, and were just waiting for the right time to tell me. I woke up feeling both comforted and excited for something that was coming my way. I felt the same way as I sat in the office after being offered the job. I was surrounded by staff members, all of whom seem to genuinely want me on board. The principal told me they interviewed a lot of people for the position but they hadn't felt anyone was right for it until they met with me. The nicest thing about the experience, I think, was calling to accept later that night and hearing that the principal is just as excited that I'm joining them as I am.

I'll probably be teaching several different science courses, possibly to include forensics. Currently there are ten teachers at the school, and I'll be co-teaching with at least one of them for some of my classes. I'll be developing my curricula from scratch, and I can order whatever I need for my labs. I'll have my own classroom and one of the nicest lab facilities I've ever seen. I'll also have an administration I think I can trust to be supportive and easy to talk to, which is going to be invaluable. I'm excited, and nervous, and I have a lot to learn.

8.02.2009

the waiting game, revised

This past Friday, pre-service ended with a distribution of paychecks and complimentary bagels. It wasn't really how I thought it would end - where were the performances? The inspirational speeches? The musically inclined youth performing on stage to a rapt and hopeful audience of future teachers? In the end, I don't think we needed pomp to fuel us for the weeks ahead. A free meal and the remainder of our stipend was sufficient, though anticlimactic.

It was symbolic of how I think the majority of us felt heading out of training when compared to how we felt heading into it. My Field Visitor (FV), whom the program assigns to observe fellows when they student teach, told me that the day her summer training ended she went home and sobbed. Not because she was sad it was over, but because she was finally able to release everything she'd felt. I didn't cry; I'd done enough of that during training. Instead, as I was at a bar Friday afternoon with my advisory group, someone asked me if I was tired. I was sitting back on a bench, my arms propped up on either side of me and I was lazily listening to conversations around me instead of participating in them. No, I told him, I'm just relaxed. It was a strange feeling, a gradual releasing of the tension and worry that had been tightening in my chest and shoulders for seven weeks. Relaxed? Others joked. What's that like?

I got up Saturday and cleaned my apartment from one end to the other. I cooked, payed my bills, watched a movie, and read music blogs. I researched museums in the city that I want to visit this week, and I called everyone I've missed for the past two months. Today is much the same. I'm trying not to worry about the fact that I still haven't secured a job; everyone from NYCTF and the DOE seems confident we'll all get hired, though of course I have the fear that I will be the one person who doesn't. Still, I'm making myself not stress about it this weekend. Tomorrow I'll pick back up where I left off mailing resumes and sending followup emails and in the next few weeks, when I finally secure a position, I'll begin the real work of planning for the upcoming school year.

In one of the last of about a dozen surveys I've completed for the Fellows this summer, I answered a question that asked how I felt about the program now that I'd completed the pre-service training. I said that looking back, I'm not sure I even remember what I expected heading into it. I knew it would be time-intensive, and I knew it would be difficult even if I didn't know exactly in what ways it would be difficult. I'm a good student, and I'm not afraid of hard work, so the prospect of something being vaguely "difficult" doesn't really faze me. What I didn't anticipate, didn't really consider when I sat in the Apollo back in June and tried to understand what, exactly, I'd gotten myself into, was how emotionally hard it was going to be. That was what my FV meant when she told me about her last day of training - you can't really be prepared for everything you're going to feel, and it can be overwhelming, and that's okay.

Pre-service training, I typed into my little box on the survey, was a little more difficult than I had anticipated, but ultimately I am thankful to be part of this program. While it hasn't been without flaws, my training has given me so many tools that I will be grateful for in the fall when I begin my first year of teaching. It has introduced me to so many people that I have learned to rely on for support, and will continue to rely on in the months and years ahead. The next question on the survey required a simple yes or no response: if you could go back, would you have still chosen to join NYCTF? My answer was, and always has been, yes.

On my last day of summer school at my field site, my class had a pizza party. And although technically they were supposed to wait until they got a confirmation letter in the mail the next week, some of my kids asked me if they'd passed the 8th grade. Taking a cue from a staff member in my room, I indulged and told them yes, they'd passed. They yelled and danced and gave each other high-fives. One of the kids was the boy I wrote about when I first started student teaching, the quiet and withdrawn one, whom I'll call Courtney. Four weeks later, Courtney was anything but withdrawn. For whatever reason, he'd become one of the most lively kids in the class, and had learned to ask for help whenever he needed it. A little selfishly, I was glad I was the person who got to tell him he was going on to high school next year. When it came time for the other Fellow in my class and I to leave, we thanked everyone for being our first class, and wished them luck in high school. "I'll remember you!" Courtney yelled at us as we left the room.

This has probably been the best and also the hardest summer of my life. When I first moved here, someone told me that the city would change me. It wasn't meant as a warning; it was stated as fact, just not necessarily a positive one. I've been here for a little over two months now and slowly, I'm changing, but I think I'm changing in a positive way. I feel like I've had some residual, proverbial wool pulled back from my eyes and I see a lot of things from a different perspective. I have a lot more to say about that, but perhaps that's for a different time and space. For now, I'll leave you with what I had to say, more or less, to my FV in our last meeting with all the Fellows at my field site:

For me, teaching my kids this summer has been the difference between hearing things that you're told are true, and seeing it for yourself. I was told all kids want to learn, and that the reasons they aren't learning run deeper than most people acknowledge. When I met my kids, so many things clicked for me. They want to work, they want to learn. They know they aren't getting some things they need to be getting. They haven't been given the tools they need to learn, and it isn't the parents, it isn't the kids, it isn't poverty or some intrinsic part of kids' nature that has changed over the years that's keeping them from succeeding, though all of these things play a part. These kids aren't stupid or unable to learn, and they certainly aren't unwilling. They're angry, disappointed, bored, and disillusioned, but they're not unwilling. They just can't do it alone--they need teachers who will understand all of this and who will help them. I've learned that some kids will do whatever you give them to do because they're so eager to do something right, and they so desperately need to hear that they're doing something right. Other kids have given up, and will push you and push you until they push you away, because they've already made up their minds that you're another adult who doesn't care. Those are the ones that need you the most.