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.
8.13.2009
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.
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.
7.16.2009
Thursday is the new Friday.
If you had seen me walking down the street on my way home yesterday, you would have never guessed that it's been a rough past two weeks. You would have seen me walking briskly down the sidewalk in the sunshine, smiling a little bit to myself. Some Joanna Newsom circa 2004 was playing on my ipod and although I had semi-permanent dark circles under my eyes and the slacks I was wearing hadn't been washed in about two weeks, I otherwise looked and felt refreshed. For the first time in a while, I had a feeling of warmth, the feeling that comes when you feel, without a whole lot of evidence to necessarily support you, that everything's going to be just fine.
My classmates and I have bonded significantly through all of this--sometimes I have to remind myself that I've only known these people for a month. I suppose when you spend so many of your waking hours with a small group of people and in stressful circumstances, you break through barriers with people pretty quickly. You learn to share the good and the bad with equal candor, and you find that you can pull yourself together at a moment's notice for someone else when comfort is needed.
As you have probably picked up from my posts, there's a lot of ups and downs that happen in my world from day to day and from week to week. That seems to be a general theme among the fellows. Tuesday, for instance, my classmates and I all had bad days with our summer school classes. It seemed that for some unknown reason, all of our kids decided to act out on the same day, in different schools all across the Bronx. My fellow Fellows and I converged in the afternoon and swapped stories and frustrations. One friend had a mini-meltdown when describing the scene in her classroom that morning. We all felt disheartened and sobered. Wednesday, though, most of us had markedly better experiences in our classrooms, which led to a triumphant tone back at our university in the afternoon.
Thursday was another rocky day in my summer school class. Two girls, who both seemed to be having a bad day in general, got into a screaming fight; one of the girls may be getting kicked out of summer school soon, in which case she'll be repeating the eight grade. I learned earlier in the week that she was suspended for three months this past year for hitting an administrator. Oddly enough she's one of my favorites--I guess I'm lucky that she likes me, too. I've been trying to encourage her to work harder in class so she can pass, but now I'm worried that she won't be allowed to finish the course. She's already 15 years old.
I realize I've made an accidental habit of ending my posts with a quote, but I think I like this trend. To continue it, here's one from a classmate about his first day of student teaching. I've thought of what he said several times. Like my class, his is also comprised of eighth graders who are far behind in math but being passed on to high school. It's easy for me to identify with his sentiment on good days, and although I have to think about it a little harder on bad days, I've noticed that when I've calmed down and assessed the day as a whole, I identify with it those days, too. I think that's a good sign. I obviously didn't write down what he said, but this was the gist of it:
"My kids, you know, they're rowdy. They've got lots of problems, and today was a hard day but at the end I stepped back, thought about it, and I thought to myself... you know, I can do this."
My classmates and I have bonded significantly through all of this--sometimes I have to remind myself that I've only known these people for a month. I suppose when you spend so many of your waking hours with a small group of people and in stressful circumstances, you break through barriers with people pretty quickly. You learn to share the good and the bad with equal candor, and you find that you can pull yourself together at a moment's notice for someone else when comfort is needed.
As you have probably picked up from my posts, there's a lot of ups and downs that happen in my world from day to day and from week to week. That seems to be a general theme among the fellows. Tuesday, for instance, my classmates and I all had bad days with our summer school classes. It seemed that for some unknown reason, all of our kids decided to act out on the same day, in different schools all across the Bronx. My fellow Fellows and I converged in the afternoon and swapped stories and frustrations. One friend had a mini-meltdown when describing the scene in her classroom that morning. We all felt disheartened and sobered. Wednesday, though, most of us had markedly better experiences in our classrooms, which led to a triumphant tone back at our university in the afternoon.
Thursday was another rocky day in my summer school class. Two girls, who both seemed to be having a bad day in general, got into a screaming fight; one of the girls may be getting kicked out of summer school soon, in which case she'll be repeating the eight grade. I learned earlier in the week that she was suspended for three months this past year for hitting an administrator. Oddly enough she's one of my favorites--I guess I'm lucky that she likes me, too. I've been trying to encourage her to work harder in class so she can pass, but now I'm worried that she won't be allowed to finish the course. She's already 15 years old.
I realize I've made an accidental habit of ending my posts with a quote, but I think I like this trend. To continue it, here's one from a classmate about his first day of student teaching. I've thought of what he said several times. Like my class, his is also comprised of eighth graders who are far behind in math but being passed on to high school. It's easy for me to identify with his sentiment on good days, and although I have to think about it a little harder on bad days, I've noticed that when I've calmed down and assessed the day as a whole, I identify with it those days, too. I think that's a good sign. I obviously didn't write down what he said, but this was the gist of it:
"My kids, you know, they're rowdy. They've got lots of problems, and today was a hard day but at the end I stepped back, thought about it, and I thought to myself... you know, I can do this."
7.09.2009
running on sunshine.
Everyone I've talked to in the past month has warned me that student teaching during summer school is a grab bag of misadventures in education. My words, not theirs. Theirs were often far more blunt. This week I began my assignment at a middle school in the Bronx, and this afternoon when my FA asked me for three adjectives to describe how I was feeling, the first one that came to mind, and the only one that seemed important, was "heartbroken."
No anecdotes or advice could have prepared me for the reality of the situation in which my field training has placed me. Factually, my class is what I was anticipating. I have 24 students who have passed their eighth grade exit exam and have been accepted into high school but failed multiple courses this past school year. Essentially, their summer school course is meant to give them seat time so they can be passed onto the next grade. Many of my students can't do simple multiplication. Several have moderate to severe behavioral problems. In general the class is rowdy and gets out of control regularly, though of course the factors contributing to the problem come from every direction and I can't even begin to disentangle them. In other areas, my class has fewer challenges. As far as I can tell, all of my students speak, read and write English fluently and we only have one student with an IEP (which gives a special ed designation).
What I wasn't prepared for was the look of sheer defeat that so many of my kids exhibit. They have so much working against them, how can I judge them? In my time with them so far, I have seen them screamed at, embarrassed, taunted, called stupid and in general been taught that the people berating them, their teachers, think that they're worthless. And while it's happening, while I'm stuck not knowing what to do, feeling powerless to undo all the damage that's already been done to these bright, energetic people, all I can think is the world has failed these kids.
On my first day, I sat in the back and observed. I immediately identified which kids needed which types of attention - the movers, the talkers, the ones set on mentally detaching themselves from the situation. I paid special attention to a boy in the class who spent the entire period on his cell phone, mostly texting and watching videos but sometimes blatantly talking on it, too. When he wasn't talking he sat very quietly, hunched over in his chair. He didn't often engage with the kids around him, he didn't do any of his work, and he looked miserable. The next day I moved around the room and helped them on group assignments, so I made frequent trips to his group. Every few minutes I came by to check that they were in fact working, and asked if they needed any help. Reluctantly, and very quietly, he began asking questions. He sometimes struggled to articulate what he needed to ask, sometimes just pointing at a problem and saying "I just don't.." and then shrugging his shoulders. I would help him through a few steps and then leave him to work while I walked around the room, and I would always return a few minutes later to check his progress. He not only finished his work, but he did so sooner than many of his classmates. Near the end of the day, as I was walking past his desk he sheepishly waved at me and once he had my attention muttered a "thank you." It was only two days into my week, but I was already mentally and physically exhausted. I was also dealing with more of an emotional weight than I had been expecting upon entering my classroom and seeing the conditions there. So for a lot of reasons, when my student thanked me I quickly excused myself from the room under the guise of taking a bathroom break. The truth was that I couldn't let my kids see me tearing up. Instead of going to the bathroom, I took a walk down the hall and calmed myself down. When I told this story to my girlfriend, who's also a teacher, she replied, "you have to understand... some of these kids, they've never really been taught. They don't know what that is." In the grand scheme of things, I can't really rank what the saddest part of all of this is. It all meshes together and the tangible result is that I have 13 year olds in my class whose math skills are on the second grade level, and they're being passed on to high school because there's no room for them in the middle school.
That's not to say I haven't had any hits this week, because I have. I taught my first full lesson this morning and despite the behavioral problems it was still productive and I genuinely enjoy working with my kids. In fact, despite my exhaustion I feel energized when I'm working with them and I'm hopeful that by the end of the month, I'll have taught them something they'll bring with them to high school. When I left my class this morning, I told my kids goodbye and thanked them for doing a good job today. They all waved brightly and chirped "Oh, Ms. R, will we see you Monday?! Oh, have a good weekend! Thank you! Bye bye!"
I think that was the best part of my day, knowing that even though they act out and a lot of times their issues seem beyond my reach, I guess I did something right. They actually seemed excited to have me come back next week and though I have a lot to learn when it comes to teaching them, and I often feel frustrated, sometimes almost defeated, by the challenges I face with them, I'm excited to see them again too.
No anecdotes or advice could have prepared me for the reality of the situation in which my field training has placed me. Factually, my class is what I was anticipating. I have 24 students who have passed their eighth grade exit exam and have been accepted into high school but failed multiple courses this past school year. Essentially, their summer school course is meant to give them seat time so they can be passed onto the next grade. Many of my students can't do simple multiplication. Several have moderate to severe behavioral problems. In general the class is rowdy and gets out of control regularly, though of course the factors contributing to the problem come from every direction and I can't even begin to disentangle them. In other areas, my class has fewer challenges. As far as I can tell, all of my students speak, read and write English fluently and we only have one student with an IEP (which gives a special ed designation).
What I wasn't prepared for was the look of sheer defeat that so many of my kids exhibit. They have so much working against them, how can I judge them? In my time with them so far, I have seen them screamed at, embarrassed, taunted, called stupid and in general been taught that the people berating them, their teachers, think that they're worthless. And while it's happening, while I'm stuck not knowing what to do, feeling powerless to undo all the damage that's already been done to these bright, energetic people, all I can think is the world has failed these kids.
On my first day, I sat in the back and observed. I immediately identified which kids needed which types of attention - the movers, the talkers, the ones set on mentally detaching themselves from the situation. I paid special attention to a boy in the class who spent the entire period on his cell phone, mostly texting and watching videos but sometimes blatantly talking on it, too. When he wasn't talking he sat very quietly, hunched over in his chair. He didn't often engage with the kids around him, he didn't do any of his work, and he looked miserable. The next day I moved around the room and helped them on group assignments, so I made frequent trips to his group. Every few minutes I came by to check that they were in fact working, and asked if they needed any help. Reluctantly, and very quietly, he began asking questions. He sometimes struggled to articulate what he needed to ask, sometimes just pointing at a problem and saying "I just don't.." and then shrugging his shoulders. I would help him through a few steps and then leave him to work while I walked around the room, and I would always return a few minutes later to check his progress. He not only finished his work, but he did so sooner than many of his classmates. Near the end of the day, as I was walking past his desk he sheepishly waved at me and once he had my attention muttered a "thank you." It was only two days into my week, but I was already mentally and physically exhausted. I was also dealing with more of an emotional weight than I had been expecting upon entering my classroom and seeing the conditions there. So for a lot of reasons, when my student thanked me I quickly excused myself from the room under the guise of taking a bathroom break. The truth was that I couldn't let my kids see me tearing up. Instead of going to the bathroom, I took a walk down the hall and calmed myself down. When I told this story to my girlfriend, who's also a teacher, she replied, "you have to understand... some of these kids, they've never really been taught. They don't know what that is." In the grand scheme of things, I can't really rank what the saddest part of all of this is. It all meshes together and the tangible result is that I have 13 year olds in my class whose math skills are on the second grade level, and they're being passed on to high school because there's no room for them in the middle school.
That's not to say I haven't had any hits this week, because I have. I taught my first full lesson this morning and despite the behavioral problems it was still productive and I genuinely enjoy working with my kids. In fact, despite my exhaustion I feel energized when I'm working with them and I'm hopeful that by the end of the month, I'll have taught them something they'll bring with them to high school. When I left my class this morning, I told my kids goodbye and thanked them for doing a good job today. They all waved brightly and chirped "Oh, Ms. R, will we see you Monday?! Oh, have a good weekend! Thank you! Bye bye!"
I think that was the best part of my day, knowing that even though they act out and a lot of times their issues seem beyond my reach, I guess I did something right. They actually seemed excited to have me come back next week and though I have a lot to learn when it comes to teaching them, and I often feel frustrated, sometimes almost defeated, by the challenges I face with them, I'm excited to see them again too.
6.24.2009
that's right.
I realize I've been awfully quiet these past few weeks. Rest assured, dear readers, that I intend to give you a proper update soon. For now, I'll suffice at giving you a brief summary of what my days have been looking like:
I leave my apartment at 7:45 in the morning, in time to catch the train to the Bronx. An hour later I arrive at my university, just in time to settle in for 9.5 hours of class. I get home at around 7:30 at night, exhausted, hungry, and with about an hour's worth of homework to do. I usually spend an hour or so upon my arrival back at my apartment relaxing and stuffing face, after which I do my homework and any chores which need to be done, relax a little bit more and go to bed by 11pm. Ok so I've only actually hit my target 11pm bedtime once, but I'm working on it. I have high hopes for tonight.
Although the above probably makes me sound crabby and possibly even disillusioned, that's not the case. I'm actually really enjoying this whole process. Though the three hour classes are a bit of an endurance test, I find that I'm better able to appreciate school and being a student since I took this past year off from academia. I'm learning about the NYC school system and the mechanics of teaching at a kind of surprisingly rapid pace. I'm also meeting so many intriguing, kind, and wonderfully intelligent people. This morning, I actually looked forward to getting to class because I realized that I enjoy spending my day with my cohort. I'm not sure how many people can say that about their jobs.
That's even more than I'd intended to say in this post, but there you have it, a little snippet of my life. I'll get more detailed soon, when I have the time and energy to tell you more. For now, I'll leave you with a quote from my Fellow Advisor, who is herself a secondary science teacher and teaching fellow. To put it into context, this was said when relating how a stranger showed her some attitude the other day:
"Really?! Really. Do you know what I do for a living? Because I'm not afraid of you."
I leave my apartment at 7:45 in the morning, in time to catch the train to the Bronx. An hour later I arrive at my university, just in time to settle in for 9.5 hours of class. I get home at around 7:30 at night, exhausted, hungry, and with about an hour's worth of homework to do. I usually spend an hour or so upon my arrival back at my apartment relaxing and stuffing face, after which I do my homework and any chores which need to be done, relax a little bit more and go to bed by 11pm. Ok so I've only actually hit my target 11pm bedtime once, but I'm working on it. I have high hopes for tonight.
Although the above probably makes me sound crabby and possibly even disillusioned, that's not the case. I'm actually really enjoying this whole process. Though the three hour classes are a bit of an endurance test, I find that I'm better able to appreciate school and being a student since I took this past year off from academia. I'm learning about the NYC school system and the mechanics of teaching at a kind of surprisingly rapid pace. I'm also meeting so many intriguing, kind, and wonderfully intelligent people. This morning, I actually looked forward to getting to class because I realized that I enjoy spending my day with my cohort. I'm not sure how many people can say that about their jobs.
That's even more than I'd intended to say in this post, but there you have it, a little snippet of my life. I'll get more detailed soon, when I have the time and energy to tell you more. For now, I'll leave you with a quote from my Fellow Advisor, who is herself a secondary science teacher and teaching fellow. To put it into context, this was said when relating how a stranger showed her some attitude the other day:
"Really?! Really. Do you know what I do for a living? Because I'm not afraid of you."
6.02.2009
Tuesday, bloody Tuesday
Today I had an observation at a school right along the border of Brooklyn and Queens. I had quite the adventure getting there - I headed the wrong way off the train and ended up wandering further into Queens than I'd like to admit before I realized my error and headed back. I also decided to break in a new pair of dress shoes for the occasion, a move I regretted partway through my misguided trek when I realized I had rubbed my heels completely raw. Limping, I admitted defeat to the shoes and stopped briefly to change into the converse I'd stashed in my bag. Though I left with time to spare and began the day well dressed, I arrived at the school twenty minutes late and wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and sneakers. Fail.
Though my morning got off to a shaky start, my observation went well. My host, Ms. H, was a fantastic teacher, and I felt inspired by how well she engaged her students in the material and at the same time quelled any disruptions before they could become an issue. From my vantage point, I could see that my host had a great deal of respect for her students' abilities and time, and they in turn showed the same respect for her. The reason I mention time is there was an interesting dynamic happening, one which I later talked to Ms. H about during her break. Due to the approaching Regents exams, she's planned out each lesson for the next week to ensure all the necessary material gets covered. The trouble, if it can really be called that, is that her students are bright and inquisitive, and though their questions were insightful Ms. H had to limit open discussion and table questions that would normally be welcome and encouraged for the sake of time. She later commented that she felt she was cheating them out of learning material they were actually interested in so she could grind through topics they had to know for their exam. But what to do?
One of the first things Ms. H told me and the other observer (also a new Fellow) upon dismissing her class was that she's gotten loads of questions about the hiring freeze. Her advice was concise and honest: there are always an ample amount of Chemistry positions in the Bronx, but there's a reason for that, too. And another bit of advice: be glad you're not doing Math, as apparently those jobs are more scarce and they're more high stakes, as the Math Regents is a graduation requirement.
Since I started preparing for this program in earnest, and especially since I moved to the city, I feel that I've been taking a crash course in educational politics. It's interesting, and a little bizarre at times, but these little tidbits are all part of the same puzzle. I may be observing another class soon, and if so I'll report back on how that goes.
Though my morning got off to a shaky start, my observation went well. My host, Ms. H, was a fantastic teacher, and I felt inspired by how well she engaged her students in the material and at the same time quelled any disruptions before they could become an issue. From my vantage point, I could see that my host had a great deal of respect for her students' abilities and time, and they in turn showed the same respect for her. The reason I mention time is there was an interesting dynamic happening, one which I later talked to Ms. H about during her break. Due to the approaching Regents exams, she's planned out each lesson for the next week to ensure all the necessary material gets covered. The trouble, if it can really be called that, is that her students are bright and inquisitive, and though their questions were insightful Ms. H had to limit open discussion and table questions that would normally be welcome and encouraged for the sake of time. She later commented that she felt she was cheating them out of learning material they were actually interested in so she could grind through topics they had to know for their exam. But what to do?
One of the first things Ms. H told me and the other observer (also a new Fellow) upon dismissing her class was that she's gotten loads of questions about the hiring freeze. Her advice was concise and honest: there are always an ample amount of Chemistry positions in the Bronx, but there's a reason for that, too. And another bit of advice: be glad you're not doing Math, as apparently those jobs are more scarce and they're more high stakes, as the Math Regents is a graduation requirement.
Since I started preparing for this program in earnest, and especially since I moved to the city, I feel that I've been taking a crash course in educational politics. It's interesting, and a little bizarre at times, but these little tidbits are all part of the same puzzle. I may be observing another class soon, and if so I'll report back on how that goes.
6.01.2009
New York City
I realize I've been awfully quiet recently. About two weeks ago, moving took over my life and I'm just now settling down in my new home. Granted that I've been here a week now.. it's taken me that long to stop wandering the city every day like a star-crazed tourist.
Ok, I lied. I'm still doing that, but the urge is calming down a little. Aside from being consumed with the moving process and the new city adventuring process, there hasn't been much to update on the NYCTF front. I finally landed one classroom observation, and have another one in the works. I'm hoping to get at least one more in the next two weeks, as I'd like to get as much experience in while I have the downtime to do so. I'm so fortunate I was able to move here several weeks before pre-service training kicks off - I was right in my estimation that it would take me that long to get aquainted with life in the city and do any decent amount of networking in a place where I know hardly anyone.
The only other report I have is that Saturday I got to meet up with a few other Cohort 18 Fellows, including thirdgenteacher. We all got to share our concerns going into the program, swap snippets of advice we'd gleaned from others, and exchange email addresses so we can keep in touch in the future. As a friend of mine from Cohort 16 said, it's good to get to know people ahead of time, because come June 15th, if they're not in your concentration and at your university, you'll never see them again. I can't wait to hear how this process goes for the people I met Saturday, and I really do hope we'll keep in touch.
The math and science immersion Fellows start today, and I hope they have a great first day. We non-immersion folk start in two weeks, and in the next few days I'll be tying together some metaphorical loose ends that I left hanging around the time I sold all my furniture in Arkansas.
Oh, Arkansas. I kind of miss it sometimes, and I'm sure I'll miss it more in the weeks ahead, but for now I'm happy and excited to be where I am.
Ok, I lied. I'm still doing that, but the urge is calming down a little. Aside from being consumed with the moving process and the new city adventuring process, there hasn't been much to update on the NYCTF front. I finally landed one classroom observation, and have another one in the works. I'm hoping to get at least one more in the next two weeks, as I'd like to get as much experience in while I have the downtime to do so. I'm so fortunate I was able to move here several weeks before pre-service training kicks off - I was right in my estimation that it would take me that long to get aquainted with life in the city and do any decent amount of networking in a place where I know hardly anyone.
The only other report I have is that Saturday I got to meet up with a few other Cohort 18 Fellows, including thirdgenteacher. We all got to share our concerns going into the program, swap snippets of advice we'd gleaned from others, and exchange email addresses so we can keep in touch in the future. As a friend of mine from Cohort 16 said, it's good to get to know people ahead of time, because come June 15th, if they're not in your concentration and at your university, you'll never see them again. I can't wait to hear how this process goes for the people I met Saturday, and I really do hope we'll keep in touch.
The math and science immersion Fellows start today, and I hope they have a great first day. We non-immersion folk start in two weeks, and in the next few days I'll be tying together some metaphorical loose ends that I left hanging around the time I sold all my furniture in Arkansas.
Oh, Arkansas. I kind of miss it sometimes, and I'm sure I'll miss it more in the weeks ahead, but for now I'm happy and excited to be where I am.
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