Concrete Jane: education

Showing posts with label education. Show all posts

Friday, June 8, 2012

Freeky Friday: Teach the Children

Well, Freeks, it's been a hell of a year! A lot of amazing things happened around me, but I think I can sum it all up in one sentence: In 2012, I learned how to be a teacher.

It all started with my student teaching placement at a public school in Manhattan. This school is unlike any other I've ever seen - it brings together students who are Deaf, hard-of-hearing, CODAs (hearing students whose parents are Deaf), "SODAs" (the school's nickname for hearing students who have a Deaf sibling), and hearing in one learning environment. We also have a high population of students with disabilities. Keep in mind that it's still a New York City public school, so these kids don't come from the same happy pre-fab suburban upbringing that I came from. They are typically lower on the socioeconomic spectrum, come from historically disadvantaged minority groups, and may not have a solid educational background either from their previous schooling or their parents.

It has been the hardest job of my life - a diverse population leads to a greater challenge of differentiating every activity and providing equal access to everyone, regardless of age, ethnicity, hearing status, language modality, IEP status, etc. On top of that, my cooperating teacher is one of the most difficult people on the planet (I say that with nothing but admiration). From my first day there, I was writing lesson plans, planning the curriculum, organizing powerpoints, working with the kids, and teaching. Now, I've lectured before. But until I got to this school and met my CT, I didn't know just how little I knew about TEACHING. I thought it was all about being an expert in the field - I didn't know how little my own knowledge or skills with the language mattered. A wise man once told me that master teachers do 25-35% of the actual work; the rest, they turn onto the students. In addition to student-centering everything from vocabulary practice to in-depth critical thinking projects, I also learned just how involved in these students lives a great teacher needs to be. During parent teacher conferences, I watched my CT ask about parents' health, students' performance in other classes, and siblings I had never met. The standard was set. From basketball games to school trips, I embraced the school culture and committed to these kids. And they embraced me back. I love my students. I am genuinely invested in their lives. And along the way, I've done a pretty bang up job teaching them ASL.

The conclusion to one of my favorite observation lessons - captioned for your convenience.

In the midst of working my ass off, I managed to write a nearly 70-page thesis about foreign language anxiety, finish a full course load of classes, and graduate from Teachers College, Columbia University. Again, none of this would have been possible without the continued ~~ass-kicking~~ encouragement provided by my CT and my program director. There were a few other people to blame for my success, too. My cohort was tight knit, and we made it through together.

So of course, this all leads to one more thing - after student teaching for a year, writing a thesis, and graduating, I have accepted an offer to teach full-time at a private school in Brooklyn! The school caters exclusively to students with learning disabilities, and I'm really excited to continue my efforts towards creating a fully-accessible classroom. The faculty seems so nurturing and supportive, the kids seem just as crazy as my public school students, and the school really believes in their ASL program! I know I couldn't have made it this far without the support of my cohort, mentors, family, and friends, and I am eternally grateful to the people who have been here for me the past two years! Celebrating my successes with you has been some of the best few weeks of my life. Thanks to you all, I am going to be a teacher. How could that NOT be the best thing that's happened to me all year?!

But special credit needs to be given to one person in particular: my cooperating teacher. So Anthony, if for some crazy reason, you ever end up reading this, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making me who I am today. You tested my limits, drove me crazy, and caused me a nervous breakdown or two, but you taught me just what I am capable of: editing iMovie projects while lesson planning for the entire week, with some kind of baked good in the works and a craft beer in my hand. Under your guidance, I have learned how to be a teacher. Thank you.

What's the best thing that happened to you this year?

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Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Of Pastrami & Prejudice

In my classes, we learn a lot about the injustices of the world, about confronting prejudice head-on in the classroom, about the racism that still surrounds us. I've spent most of my life in the suburbs, and although my high school was smack dab in the middle of a county that is not majority white, I never felt like a minority. Sure, a gifted, Irish, Jewish young woman - I was a minority in my own right. And in my classes I always draw on those experiences, on the women issue, on the religion issue. I always skirt the topic of racism because I've never really experienced it and, to be honest, I probably never will. But every once in a while, something happens that reminds me that just because I don't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

Today on the way back from the allergist, I was getting ready to camp out in Whole Foods with some coffee and my laptop to work on my psychology reading for this week. As I was crossing the street, a woman walked up to me, looking lost & confused. I assumed she needed help finding something or someone, based on her expression. I took my headphones out and the woman informed me that she is homeless; she didn't want my money, but only a bottle of water or some tea. This woman can't afford a $2 drink when it's 94 degrees outside, and she's surely not welcome to hang out in an air conditioned, uptight cafe. I have $2 to spare. I can buy her a drink.

I walked back across the street with the woman, headed towards the little bodega I believed she was pointing to. Then I realized she was walking towards a Subway. I asked her to remind me what exactly I was buying for her, and she told me she just wanted a drink and a snack. Okay, now it's a snack. Fine. Whatever. I have $5 to spare. I can buy her a snack.

As we walk into Subway, she informs me that she's going to get a sandwich and a soda. She tells me she is going to get a footlong and asks me if that's okay. What could I say? I was already in the restaurant with her. I had clearly agreed to buy her some form of food. If this woman is so desperate that she feels she needs to trick 22-year-old girls into buying her food, I could spare $10 to buy her a damn sandwich. But I wouldn't be happy about it.

The last time I helped a random person on the street, I gave $5 to a woman, only to immediately find a $5 MetroCard, which was lucky, since mine was empty and I was running late for work. A few weeks ago, I found a woman's cell phone in a cab. I returned it to her, and she gave me $20. She told me that in this city, all good deeds go rewarded, somehow. She had found a phone in a cab months earlier, only to have me return the favor. She told me that I had good karma (and, now, lunch money), and I would do well in this city.

While standing in line watching a stranger order whatever her heart desired at a crappy sandwich joint that I'm too snobby to eat, I felt myself wondering how this was going to come back to me, karma-wise. How horrible is that? Can't I just do a good deed for the sake of doing a good deed? It's 90 degrees outside, this woman is homeless, I'm about to get a refund check from the government in the mail, and all I can think about is how it's going to come back to me. She seemed nice enough. She seemed sane enough. Why couldn't I just feed her for the sake of feeding her? What's $10 to me?

The homeless woman ordered a pastrami footlong. The woman working the line asked her if she was aware that pastrami is full price, as opposed to the Five Dollar Footlong special. I didn't think anything of it, but my newfound friend accused her of asking about the price only because she was black. Alright, crazy lady, I thought to myself. But then I realized - she hadn't asked the white man in front of us, and she only asked the white man behind us so that she wouldn't look racist. Did the Subway worker even consider what she had said? Does she always say it and just forgot? Could I even just tell myself she had asked because the woman was missing a few teeth and wasn't carrying a purse, not solely because of the color of her skin? It was a racial microaggression - a seemingly harmless sentence that people don't realize carries prejudicial weight.

I continued to contemplate modern racism as I walked down the line. I got to the register and realized I had forgotten my wallet. Now, this NEVER happens to me. I didn't even check before I left the house because I assumed it was in my laptop bag. I realized I never switched it over from my purse from last night. I panicked. Here I was, trying to do a good deed, feeling guilty about buying her a sandwich that I got conned into buying, and she was going to have to give it back. I was the worst good-deed-doer in the world. I looked anxiously into the cashier's eyes and decided to tell him the truth. "I just ordered this woman a sandwich, and I don't have my wallet. I am so sorry. I don't know what to do."

I'd like to think my near hyperventilation and the honesty in my voice was what got the cashier to give the sandwich to me (and therefore to the homeless woman) for free. Maybe it was because he knew I was buying it for someone else who was clearly a stranger. But I can't avoid the thought that I got that sandwich for free because I am a pretty little white girl. If that woman had walked in and pulled the same stunt, it never would have worked, even if she was being honest. Maybe because she's older, maybe because she accused the sandwich maker of being racist, maybe because she didn't have all her teeth, but most likely because all of those things plus her being black means that she's a homeless woman who has done something wrong in her life and therefore does not deserve a free sandwich. But why do I? Because I'm carrying a Lilly Pulitzer bag? Because I have an iPhone? Because my keys have an ID on them that says I go to an Ivy League school? Because I'm a pretty little white girl, and pretty little white girls don't lie about losing their wallets to steal sandwiches. For all he knows, I'm a great actress, and this woman and I are in cahoots together, collecting free sandwiches all across the city. He knows nothing about me. The only thing I have done to deserve a free sandwich was offer to buy a $10 sandwich for a woman who couldn't afford it. How's that for karma? Instant Free Sandwich. No cost to me.

As we were leaving, the woman looked shocked. She asked me if I knew the cashier. I honestly told her that I've never been to that Subway in my life. She stared at me. I could tell we were thinking the same thing. I told her that I was grateful that even though I messed up, I am happy the man at Subway let her eat, and I hope she enjoys her sandwich. The whole time we were waiting in line, she kept thanking me. Then, in that final moment, she didn't thank me. Why should she? I did nothing but stand behind her, but she got free food out of it - free food she would have never gotten if I hadn't come along. Because she's black, and homeless, and defensive. Because I'm white, and forgetful, and anxious. I am the product of the world that let her fail.

Now I sit here in this Starbucks (because I still hauled my computer downtown and therefore need to study somewhere, and Starbucks is the only place that lets me pay with my phone) dwelling over the whole experience and wondering just what both of us did to deserve what just happened. She did, after all, con me into buying her a sandwich by asking for something simple (water) then immediately demanding something more substantial (a pastrami footlong). I did, after all, agree to do something nice for a total stranger, knowing that I really don't have $10 to be spending on total strangers. So am I the New York Robin Hood, robbing from the Subway owners and giving to the homeless? Or did I just totally use my race (and, to be honest, my sex) to get somebody something for free that neither of us really deserve?

I guess there isn't an answer. I guess I just needed to vent. But something so little has really made me realize just what exactly my professors mean when they say to confront this issues with my students before the outside world does. But who wants to listen to a white girl who "doesn't look Jewish", was raised in suburbia, and has never been discriminated against because of the color of her skin? What wisdom can I possibly impart upon a classroom about appreciation of diversity? I am reminded of my friend Meghann, a white girl from Kansas, who knows more about teaching prejudice and confronting racism than anyone else I know. I don't quite know why, but I know I trust her unquestioningly, and I'm sure her students do too. Now I don't know Meghann's entire upbringing, but I can tell you from first glance that she looks pretty much like me. But her students trust her. And if I walk the walk instead of just talking the talk, maybe my students will trust me too.

Has anything like this ever happened to you? Any words of wisdom? Any sage advice? I might still be freaking out a little over here.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Freeky Friday: Definitely Beautiful

I struggled with this prompt. You see, I collect quotes, both on my computer and on my phone in this infamous little thing called the QuotePad. Lately, the QuotePad has become more about funny things that my friends say, but I always keep it around when I'm reading a book or watching a movie to make sure that I can jot down some words of wisdom. I also pin quotes up on my wardrobe, like lyrics from Childish Gambino's "Not Going Back" and or something brilliant from an email my dad wrote to me. But my favorite positive advice? How could I pick just one? And then, just like it always does in my time of need, my iTunes handed me the answer.

Taylor Mali is one of the most well-known spoken word poets in America; he also happens to be my absolute favorite, despite my hipster-like tendencies towards the underground. Mali is a teacher, but more importantly than that, he's an advocate FOR teachers. A lot of this comes out in his poetry. I first heard Mali's stuff in high school at a one-act play being performed at the Florida State Thespian Festival. The director of the show had decided to create a loosely-tied together performance consisting entirely of Mali's poems and set in a school. The show itself was... well, it didn't really make a lot of sense. But the poems, oh, these poems! One in particular hit me pretty hard (because things about cancer and bravery always hit me pretty hard). I downloaded it and two others on iTunes when I got home, and kind of forgot about them, as I tend to do with things that I like. I just like so many things, okay!

Years later, I was having a bit of an identity crisis. I was almost done with my undergrad degree in advertising, but I hated my marketing jobs and most of my classes. The only thing I really loved to do was TA for the American Sign Language program. But did I really want to be a teacher? Did I really want to go into debt and go to grad school to be a teacher? I don't even like kids! I don't want to be stuck in one place! Am I even good at teaching? What does it all mean, Basil? And then, just like it always does in my time of need, my iTunes had something to say about it all.

"I make them understand that if you've got this (brains)
Then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
By what you make, you give them this (the finger).
Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?"
(full text here)

Was I really doubting my passion because of something as silly as salary? Was I really going to stay stuck in my dead-end industry that I hated because I didn't want to work hard and go to grad school? Was I really questioning my abilities? I knew I was a good TA. My students succeeded. My students liked me. My students became TAs themselves. My students are helping people. Why can't I help people too? Alright, Mr. Mali, I'll teach. I'll make a difference. And I will instill in my students the same passion and drive that you constantly remind me that I have. Everyone deserves to follow their heart. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life preaching that gospel, I better be living it too.

Taylor is also on the quest to create 1000 teachers, and I am proud to say that I am #551 on his list. I told him my story and thanked him for reminding me what's important in life. I wrapped up my little blurb, like I always do, by saying that if a single one of my students chooses a life in education as well, I will consider myself an enormous success. Sometimes I forget all of this, when school is hard or my students are acting up. But then there is this wonderful moment of clarity where a student grasps a concept, or does something noble, or comes to you with an honest question. I'm not willing to give that up. That is why I teach.

"What Teacher's Make" has circulated around the internet anonymously a million times. When asked if he's mad if his work has been quoted and gone uncredited, Taylor said, "If I had to choose between inspiring teachers anonymously or not inspiring them at all, I would choose anonymous inspiration every time." Definitely beautiful.

What about you? What's your favorite positive advice you've found? If you're getting freeky this Friday, you can participate in three different ways:

Write a blog post using the badge html above, then comment on my post with a link to your post
Tweet your answer using the tag #FreekyFriday
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A new month means a new giveaway! Every time you post, tweet or comment in the month of July, you'll be entered to win some Peanut Butter S'mores Bites and a contribution to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in your name. There are four Fridays left in July, so if you blog, tweet, and comment every remaining week, you'll be entered twelve times!

Be sure to come back next Friday, July 15th, and:

Share another positivity playlist! What three songs pick you up when you're feeling down?

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