It has been a few weeks, so I have some catching up to do. Here we go...
Dancing in the Streets!
Summer in St. Louis is slowly winding down. The weather is still mostly warm, but you get a hint of brisk fall weather sometimes (especially when walking to the metro station at 6:30am). The last few weeks of September I think we all got a pretty good taste of this crazy city. One Tuesday evening we packed a picnic dinner and trekked to Forest Park (right near our house) for one of their free summer concerts in front of the History Museum. I expected a gathering of St. Louisians chilling on blankets and lawn chairs tapping their feet to some light, casual jazz or blues. I did not expect half of the city's population to cover the entire lawn surrounding the stage on the steps of the museum. Nor did I expect full-on barbeques taking place or the incredible, uplifting Soul tunes that were being belted by the “Motown Review” all night long. On a weekday evening, we all danced like crazy with tons of other people to amazing music (Rollin' on a River was my fav). I danced with Gabby, Ari, and Dayna; I danced with some random moms; I danced to “My Girl” with a man with one-leg. It was so fun! The music kept on coming and we kept on dancing with everyone else. It's like St. Louis is that one friend in college that wants to go out and celebrate everything: “come ooooon, guys! It's Tuuuuesdaaaay!!!!”
Afterwards, as we walked back in sweaty and exhausted bliss, we talked about how powerful the joy in the community in St. Louis is. There is always some excuse to go outside and dance and party. Even at 9pm on a Tuesday night in September.
FIESTA!!!
St. Cecilia's (where Chino teaches PE) had their annual fiesta! Aside from being silly-stringed by 6th graders, it was super fun!
Fr. G in da Lou!
The last week of September, my hero came to St. Louis: Fr. G of Homeboy industries. Needless to say, this was a huge present from God. Ever since I had the opportunity of going to East LA with a wonderful group of people during spring break, I have known that someday I want to be a part of what Homeboy does. For those of you who don't know about Homeboy yet, I will spare you my lengthy praises and give you the Homeboy Industries website: http://www.homeboy-industries.org/
I went to St. Joan of Arc parish on Wednesday to hear Fr. G speak and I ended up chatting with him for a bit afterwards and I got his cell number! Then, Thursday night Chino, Mary, Gabby, Ryan and I sneaked our way into the fancy shmancy hors d'oeuvres and wine benefit for Marian Middle School for free to hear this incredible Jesuit speak again. I am so happy that some of my community members finally got to witness the person that speaks to my soul with every word he says and drives me to do what I feel called to do. They each purchased his book at the end and we got a chance to say hello and talk for a bit before G was surrounded by eager board members and donors.
I love Fr. G so much. When he speaks about the concept of kinship and how we are all called to belong to each other, he makes everyone realize what exactly that would mean for our world. I can't start talking about this or I won't stop and my lesson plans for the last week of the quarter will never get finished. However, I will leave you with these thoughts and some pictures of past Homeboy escapades...
“If we have no peace it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” -Mother Teresa
“We are a whole lot more than the worst we've ever done.” Fr. G
“And the Soul felt its worth...” -Oh Holy Night
FREE MARNEZ
When Marnez Crawford poked his head into my classroom on my first day, battered hat pulled low over his dark eyes and grin playing at the corners of his mouth, I hoped I would get to know him better. It turned out Marnez was in my Essay class, second hour, but he always popped in to say good morning at about ten to nine.
Me: Good morning, Marnez, how are you?
Nez: Oh, I'm straight.
Every morning.
He was known for being the writing talent of Vincent Gray. One of his essays and his poems had already been submitted to a national contest last year and he had won something for both. His first essay for my class, a narrative, was amazing. I almost felt silly correcting his minor spelling and grammatical errors because he was so beyond everyone else in the class. He roped you in with the way he told his stories. Marnez was under house arrest for something he and his cousin had done the March before. He was constantly missing school for court dates, every time heading a little bit closer to prison. It was hard for me to see him slowly stop caring about things, particularly school. Instead of working on his argumentative essay during class time he began just sitting there. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to finish the quarter. I pulled him aside a few times to check in. He would give me the latest update on his situation, explain why he didn't want to work, and apologize. His journal entries and free writes were angry and stressed, obviously.
It turns out, the very just justice system didn't let Marnez finish the quarter (the last quarter he needed to graduate). They took him to prison on Sunday, October 3rd. He went out fighting with some of his friends (other students at VG) and came in the Thursday before with bandages on his face, but looking better than I had seen him in a while. He was running around and jonin' with everyone. He came to his classes, knowing that he wouldn't finish. On Friday after class he poked his head (with the pulled-down hat) into the room where the teachers were gathered for our staff meeting. He said goodbye and thank you and walked away, to a prison cell for six to ten years.
I wish I could have gotten to know him better. I hope he keeps writing. He loves to read, so I might find some novels and have them sent to him.
The next week the students couldn't focus on anything. All the talk was about Nez and prison and how he was gonna do. Marnez's girl, Alexis, journals about him every day, wondering how he is doing. She knew it was coming though, and said she felt like he was asking for it sometimes. She and some of the other girls are designing “Free Marnez” sweatshirts.
Mark, Marnez's little brother, is in my poetry class. He has his days, but having his brother, his number one, locked away for such a long time is obviously a blow to him. We talk. Some days he is more open about it and sometimes he just mumbles and puts his headphones on.
Nez will be missed. I hope the detriments of prison don't pull him down. If he becomes a writing instructor like some say he should be, I would gladly enroll my kids in his class.
Some news about the controversy of Marnez and his cousin and their individual punishments:
http://www.ksdk.com/news/local/story.aspx?storyid=171114
http://www.bnd.com/2010/09/29/1419555/ihsa-investigating-residency-of.html
http://www.bnd.com/2010/09/28/1416903/player-can-go-to-prom-despite.html
Juan v. Kearron
My Lit. class was slowly narrowed down (by drops, court issues, etc.) to these two wonderful boys. They were my comedic relief every day at 11am. Their checkers matches were fun to watch. One this day they both accidentally wore the same kind of sweater. I found it adorable.
From my Students
Chica: “Oh, girlfriend, your man be cheeeatin' on yooou.”
Derek: “Miss Millie, you is mean. You smell nice, fo sho, but you be meeean.”
Eric: It was so fuckin' funny, 'scuse me Miss Millie, and I told them he was full of shit, sorry, Miss Millie, and he was just fuckin', sorry, Miss Millie, it keeps slippin'...
Mark: Naw, I would never be wit no white girl. White girls be crazy, right Miss Millie?
Lala: I like you, Miss Millie, but you is a square.
Juan: Don't you listen to what I be sayin', Miss Millie. You as a Catholic, you wouldn't like it...
TT: I finna write you a poem, I swear! Do you have texting?
Juan: Can I leave my bag in here during lunch?
Me: Aren't you afraid I'll steal your stuff, Juan?
Juan: Ain't nothin' in that ol' bag...'cept love letters to Miiiiiss Miiiiilliiiiie, whaaaaaat????
Brianca: Imma come visit your house, Miss Millie. Imma eat some of yo' salads an' shit.
Me: How are you, Tiffany?
Tiffany: See!? SEEEE!? You is ALWAYS on my case! Always harrassin' ME!
Favorite mental image so far
Juan diving into my classroom, arms first, knocking over the fan and the garbage can, just as the last bell is ringing.
A month in and I could not have been placed in a better environment! I absolutely love Vincent Gray even more than I can express with carefully-chosen blog words. I love the staff and the way the care about each of the students individually, in school and outside of school. I love the students. I love having conversations with them, joking with them, being there to teach and help them, and pissing them off with my rules and classwork. Sometimes I seriously get an almost overwhelming euphoric rush when I think about where I am for this year. It is so perfect for me. My students don't believe me when I tell them that I wanted to come to East St. Louis and that Vincent Gray, the small last-chance alternative school on State Street, was my top choice as a placement. They refuse to believe that I passed up places in California or New York or Chicago, or even St. Louis itself to work with, as they so eloquently put it, “the fucked up ghetto kids.” Sometimes they ask me if I hate any of them. I don't know if they believe me or not when I say that I don't and never will. I am actually surprised by how much I have grown to care about them in such a short time. But even though I love them, and want nothing less than their complete success and happiness, there are still times when I want to grab some of them by their dreads and gangsta bling, shake them around and scream, “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, WHY AREN'T YOU EVEN TRYING!?!?!?” There are days I have wanted to throw their cell phones away, tape their mouths shut, tie them to a desk until they finish their assignments, and make them say five respectful, positive things for every disrespectful, negative comment that exits their gold-encrusted mouths. I want to yell till I am blue that “little” is not spelled “lil,” “that” is not spelled “dat,” and if you are going to use the phrase “she was sexy and ready for something nasty” as an example sentence, don't write it like this: “she wuz sXy an readdy for sum naszty.”
Worst of all, there are days when I notice a flicker of doubt in myself. It isn't full-on doubt, of course, but it is something. Sometimes I look at certain students and I can't comprehend how they are going to get out of here. I can't see at all how they will ever graduate. They skip class, miss assignments, can barely write, get in fights... It is just so overwhelming to think of the changes that they will have to make in their lives if they want to move on from this. I look at Travion, one of the older students, who can barely write yet wants to be a nurse. I believe this is possible with everything in me, but sometimes I feel little sinister voices asking me how plausible it really is, and I terrify myself that such a thought would even blink across my mind. But I can't deny that it is sometimes there. And I hate that.
I also hate when the students bring out the ugly in me. There are certain students who, no matter what mood I am in, can transform me a little. Make me a little less confident and more likely to stoop lower than I should as a teacher. Somehow, all of these students are grouped into classes together for the last few hours of my day, and some afternoons they suck every ounce of emotional energy and positive thinking out of me. I find myself being slightly sarcastic, which I can't STAND. I become visibly frustrated, which really only provokes the students, and I have trouble caring if they pass or not. It is awful. What I hate the most in myself is when I start thinking that I am better than them. When they are refusing to work because “they ain' kids an' no one can make them do nothin'” and directly disrespecting me in ways I am not used to, I think to myself about how much more mature I am, how I managed to get myself through school and several jobs without trouble, how I understand how this world functions much better than my students. I am afraid sometimes this holier-than-thou thinking shows through in my attitude and the things I say when I have reached my limit. I hate it. I really disgust myself when I let myself sink there. But there are days I feel pushed there, and I know I have to learn how to cope. I struggle with a lot of things in the classroom, and I need to figure out the best way to handle them, and I think if I keep following the examples of other Vincent Gray teachers I admire and challenge myself to be positive, then I will get there. I have to be able to forgive myself when I disappoint myself. I have had a difficult time being okay when I know I did something wrong, but I am getting better. I have to, or I will never be able to grow in the way that I want to this year. I do get frustrated. So extremely frustrated. And sometimes I do feel hurt. But I wouldn't trade that hurt and frustration in for anything that would make me grow less. I suppose it is a sort of miniscule semblance of how mountaineers feel when they climb a W17 grade mountain.
Like I said, I truly do love all my students and I pray every day for them. Even Terrence, who looks me in the eyes tauntingly and tells me that what I am teaching is “fucking weak-ass shit,” even Alexis who screams at me every day that she is sick of school, even Rob who purposefully won't pay attention to anything I say, even Eric who loudly states how much he hates my grammar class every two seconds, even Tiffany who tells me I should be scared. I learned the first few days that I am nothing special. Every teacher gets that treatment, some far worse than me, and I am sure they find ways to move past it. I am going to as well. I want the best for all of the students, and I want it so badly. I know I am only a small factor in their lives, but I need to remind myself that no matter how small, I am still a factor, and I need to keep myself at the level that they deserve a teacher to be.
__________
"He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom, and he stood up to read. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:
"The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to release the oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."
"When you say a situation or a person is hopeless, you are slamming the door in the face of God."
-Charles L. Allen
"I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete.
It's so fuckin' heroic."
-George Carlin
I am such a morning person. After the unavoidable thirty seconds of a groaning desire to go back to sleep after my alarm goes off, I am ready to go; singing Christmas songs in the shower and cheerfully tossing orange slices and trail mix in little baggies for lunch. I am that housemate that annoyingly tries to chat about politics and injustice before you have had your coffee.
I love my walk to the metro station in the morning. The sun is just barely coming out and the world is waking up with me. The man at the BP is having a smoke break outside and halfheartedly waves at me. I like seeing the people at the hospital by the station heading to work, getting off work...
I love the metro ride. When you come from a place with no reliable public transportation, the metro is as magical as the Hogwarts Express. I like listening to bits and pieces of other peoples' conversation. I love it when my boy calls me to say good morning as the metro glides past Busch Stadium, even though it is five in the morning in Seattle. Most of all, I love the Mississippi. I love seeing it all decked out in working boats and barges. I love looking down through the window as we speed over the bridge at the water. On the greater surface, the river looks like any dark, wide river. But when you look down into it, it is murky and brown. Muddy, like a mocha latte. It is Willy Wonka's chocolate stream. The Mississippi has so much personality. It moves so slowly and patiently, but it is strong. When you look at where its eddies churn angrily around the supports of the bridge, you get a peek at the contemplative force that is driving this water. It looks like the song “Old Man, River” sounds. Slow, powerful, and deep. I'm not much for cliches, but I'd buy that this river is the soul of the midwest.
My favorite part of my morning, however, is when the metro pulls into the 5th and Missouri (pronounced Missour-uh by the metro driver) station in East St. Louis and I walk the 10 minute walk to my school.
I love that the sun is fully out by now, but it is still the coolness of the morning. I love walking past the buildings, from the somewhat well-kept federal buildings like the post-office, to the abandoned buildings, missing their second stories and shrouded in charcoal and broken glass from who-knows-what. I love passing by the small daycare as women (sometimes young girls) drop off their babies.
I love rounding the corner on MLK blvd and seeing the quiet concrete silhouette of Vincent Gray Academy there in front of me. I love unlocking the locks on the door (I am always the first person there), frantically pressing the code into the alarm box (new phobia), and making my way to the little, yellow and dark green painted classroom, tucked away in the rear of the building, that is my classroom. Brand new, created out of two storage areas, just for me. I unlock my door, turn on my fans, write my Grammar 1 exercises in blue on the board and sit down at my desk and listen to the kind of music my students would never forgive me for listening to (I will let your imaginations play with that one. Hint: Celine Dion and Justin Bieber are both probable.)
I grab coffee from the staff room and copy some worksheets while I am at it (because nothing says professional-adult-teacher like a thermos full of black coffee and a stack of newly copied Maya Angelou poems).
One by one, the staff arrive. There is Fr. Dan, the principal; utterly devoted to the school and the students. Also very strict and somewhat old-fashioned. Miss Lilly, the soul of Vincent Gray, runs the office. She is an amazing woman who isn't afraid to say things like, “Mark you take those headphones off 'fore I rip them off yo' head, Jesus help me.”
There are Miss Barnes (sciences, reading, drug and alcohol awareness), Chris (history and social studies), and Oren (computers).
Sarah, who teaches math and conflict resolution, was the Jesuit Volunteer for VG in 2005-06 and decided to stay on. She has been so great to get to know. The students say we are “just the same” because we both have an affinity for team building activities and inspirational quotes in our classrooms.
Every Friday there is a half day and at 12:30 we have our weekly staff meetings. Lilly goes through every student by name and we talk about their progress, struggles, and any concerns we have about them. I love that each student gets such specific attention. We have also been working on Community Education, which is a new aspect to Vincent Gray. The theme is the issue with the East St. Louis levees, which have just recently been decertified by the Army Corps of Engineers. The students are split into groups with the staff and are each focusing on different aspects of this community issue (i.e the history, past flooding, terminology, political problems, etc.). The students seem very passionate (with a sort of righteous indignation) about the decertification of the levees and the risks that may bring to their community. I am learning the details of this issue right along with the students and it has been very eye opening.
So far I have been having such an amazing time here at Vincent Gray and every Friday afternoon I stumble home feeling like I have zero mental, physical, and emotional energy left at all. In a good way.
Thanks to everyone who inspired me to do this! You know who you are.
