Sunday, September 19, 2010
Forgive but don’t forget, girl keep yo' head up
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
Sunday, September 12, 2010
In my own little corner
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.
Over the River
Let's talk about East St. Louis.
For those of you who don't know, East St. Louis lies directly across the Mississippi from St. Louis, MO. Since I have been here, I have heard this city referred to as “the hood,” “the ghetto,” and “a real sketch place.” Out of the total population (roughly 30,000, or something like that), 48.6% of those under the age of 18 and 25.2% of those 65 and older are living below the poverty line. Nearly a third of its families live on less than $7,500 a year; 75 percent of its population lives on welfare of some form.
The city definitely feels cut off from everything else, as if it is its own little world. Its streets offer views of shabby, run-down establishments like fried chicken joints, auto mechanic shops, and hair-braiding salons. There are various mini-marts, but no actual grocery store. There are a couple scattered Baptist churches as well as some crumbling clubs next to vacant lots. I've heard of the selection of strip clubs and erotic bars, but I have yet to see where they are located. The views of demolished brick buildings and unused lots are bleak. There are gang tags spray painted across abandoned concrete buildings and when it rains, water and sewage flood the streets. Looking west over the river you can see the layered skyline of downtown St. Louis with the shining white Arch standing out for emphasis. It looks closer than it really is, which is almost a slap in the face to people who feel trapped in this segregated city. The Eams Bridge from the Landing over the river to the East Side is like a bridge between two different planets where each side views the other inhabitants as some kind of alien. The metro cars are always packed in the mornings as I ride to work, but by the time they hit East St. Louis, I am the only one left.
East St. Louis is plagued by extreme cases of White Flight. The city is surrounded by suburban white areas, which make the contrasting demographics painfully stark.
At Vincent Gray, I am still getting to know many of my students' backgrounds. Some grew up in East St. Louis, some moved here with their relatives, some were were with their mothers, fleeing abusive fathers. One girl relocated here after her home was taken by hurricane Katrina. My students are all African American. They all dropped out or were kicked out of the public high schools and ended up at Vincent Gray. Some because of apathy, some because of drugs, some because of violent behavior, arrests, pregnancies, etc. It is always different, but always kind of the same. Most students are between the ages of 17 and 20, but a few are my age. Some are even older. I have three girl students who are pregnant. One just had a baby girl a week ago. Her mother had no clue that she was pregnant. I would guess that about three fourths of my students have kids. A few have night jobs and constantly fall asleep in class. A few have been in and out of jail. One of my smartest and more diligent students is currently under house arrest. His hearing is in early September and he is looking at 21 years incarceration. I don't know what he did, but it is very hard for me to see him slowly lose interest in writing and friends and life in general as he sees his young future slowly take the image of a prison cell.
My first week saw a couple fights. I have had to remove students from my classroom with help from the principal while still trying to keep control of the class. It is difficult to do, but I feel confident about myself in these situations. Somehow I am comfortable handling things like that. It makes the workday more interesting. I was not surprised by the fighting, but more by the hatred some of the students have for each other. Particularly between the boys and girls. The things they scream to each other across the room during arguments are horrible.
But even my troublemakers are charming in their own ways, and I really love them all. They have a flirtatiousness about them that always wins me over secretly even as I am confiscating their cell phones, reminding them not to regale us with tales of their sexual exploits during free writes, or forcing them to do subject/predicate worksheets. The sassy students who fight and talk back and say whatever is on their mind don't wear on me as much as the apathetic ones do. The students who sit there with their heads on their desks, seemingly unable to work up the motivation to write even a sentence are the ones who make my hour-long classes drag on for days.
But really, there are good days and bad days for every student. I am slowly learning their joys and struggles, and trying to work with them to get them where they want to be. My favorite conversations with them are when we talk about what they want to do after graduation. Marnez wants to join the Marine Corps and Timetra (TT) wants to go into the Army. Travion wants to be a nurse, Juan and Kearron are both interested in studying history, and LaToya wants to get her own place for when her baby arrives. Some of them can't wait to get out of E. St. Louis, some want to stick around, but they all definitely are ready to graduate.
Good Times:
There was an apocalyptic thunderstorm one Saturday evening, but it wasn't chilly Pacific Northwest rain, it was nice, warm-bathwater, midwest rain. Gabby, Ari, Dayna, and I danced in the flooded streets for at least half an hour singing songs from The Sound of Music at the top of our lungs. Needless to say, our neighbors adore us.
Not-so-awesome moments:
A hungover student projectile vomiting all over the place in my 9am class. Later quoted as saying, “I thought about grabbing the trash can, but then I decided not to.” Awesome :)
“Now and then the possibility is raised by somebody in East St. Louis that the state may someday try to end the isolation of the city as an all-black entity. This is something, however, that no one with power in the state has ever contemplated. Certainly, no one in government proposes busing 16,000 children from this city to the nearby schools of Bellevue, Fairview Heights or Collinsville; and no one in tends to force these towns to open up their neighborhoods to racially desegregated and low-income housing. So there is, in fact, no exit for these children. East St. Louis will likely be left just as it is for a good many years to come: a scar of sorts, an ugly metaphor of filth and overspill and chemical effusions, a place for blacks to live and die within, a place for other people to avoid when they are heading for St. Louis.”
-Jonathan Kozol, Savage Inequalities
"I'm from India. In Calcutta this would be explicable, perhaps. I keep thinking to myself, 'My God! This is the United States!”
-Safir Ahmed, reporter for the Post
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