The First Denouement

I am in the last few days of my summer training program, and I must say that I am exhausted, but for different reasons than I anticipated.

I have been surprised by just how much time must go into things like guided notes, posters, worksheets, and assessments (...and the necessity to go back and check the answer choices before copying said assessments...). I have also faced the disparity between feeling overwhelmed by the number of ways I can teach one given objective, while feeling hard-pressed to come up with one effective strategy for another. I have learned the importance of maintaining a "teacher face" that hides any excessive emotion, whether positive or negative. I have come to appreciate the amount of mental, physical, and emotional energy it takes to essentially "perform" for a tough crowd of students, and respond to their needs. I have been distressed by the wildly different levels of my students--one can't multiply or divide, another can't read the math questions, and yet another gets what I am saying within five minutes and can practice it perfectly in ten.

On the positive side, I have come to feel confident about my teacher presence in the classroom. When interviewed about his favorite teachers, one young man called me "a sweet kind'a lady" and warned my next year's students to "make sure to raise your hand if you wanna speak." I have also been wooed by the amazingness of my students. They are intelligent, hard working, entertaining, and upstanding young people. It is a tragedy that some of them are as behind as they are, because they are clearly capable of meeting high expectations if given the proper support.

That said, I will be leaving institute feeling only slightly pleased with my performance. I know that my students have learned new concepts and grown in confidence and comportment, but I also know that they could have grown even more if I would've known how to teach them better. I am here to incite transformational change for my students, and while I do not think that I have achieved that qualitative goal with these summer school students, I do hope that our work together has made a difference and that over the next two years, I can continue to work towards that goal for the sake of these kids.

A Portrait. Faux Pas #2

One of my students was gone on Friday. As we lined up for lunch today, I jested with him about his absence.

"Did you decide to start your holiday early, Mr. Jones?"

"Nah."

"Well what were you up to then?" I inquired with a sneaky smile.

"A guy was shot outside my house."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Wow, I am really sorry."

"It's alright."

This is a fourteen-year old man with tattoos along his arms and a glass bottle of cologne in his pocket.

This is a fourteen-year old boy who was upset when he got back his test and didn't do well enough on it to warrant a checkmark signaling mastery of the objective.

Mr. Jones ran back into class today after he had been dismissed. He was frantically searching for the praise letter I had written him.

I told him to be sure to show it to his momma.

He smiled and waved goodbye.

Cleveland, MS

Cleveland has been my home for the past month, so I thought I'd share some photos from my neighborhood that I took on a recent stroll.

The low-lying afternoon sun illuminating the trees

A lovely little corner house

Another house nearby. On a devastating note: right next door, a house was flying two confederate flags with an image of an angry white cowboy. Beneath him were the words: "We could've had it so good." I was going to take a picture, but a black family was playing in the yard across the street.

On a related note, last week I viewed Morgan Freeman's documentary, "Prom Night in Mississippi," which told the story of East Tallahatchee High School's first integrated prom night.

Which was in 2008.

Freeman proposed the project and documented its progress in the film. The issue was largely framed as a generational issue, where the parents were the ones organizing the separate proms (which is why the practice was legal) and the students were the ones advocating integration. Freeman came to the students and told them that if they wanted an integrated prom, they would have to organize it themselves and he would foot the bill. Only one or two students resisted the effort, and several students displayed unwavering courage in confronting that opposition (for example, a mixed race couple resisted the disapproval of their parents; a female student knowingly faced a beating by her stepfather for welcoming her black friends to her house (which she ran because her father was in prison and her mother was unemployed)). The film was definitely eye-opening, but I wished it would have gone deeper into the complexities of race and complacency in both generations, rather than casting the issue as solely the fault of conservative parents.
The prettiest alley I've ever seen
The Episcopal church I've been attending. This one is integrated, although the black population is much smaller than the white. That said, some call Sunday the most segregated day of the week, as most churches are uniformly black or white (with the exception of the catholic church). Yet, this is not necessarily due to race or class. From what I gather, it is largely a remnant of the fact that 50 years ago, communities were drawn along racial lines (among other things), and those communities persist not because people still have the same prejudices, but because the relationships cultivated within those bounds endure.
A bastion of familiarity. Mississippi Grounds! This coffeeshop is new to Cleveland, and I have a sneaking suspicion that its opening had a lot to do with the TFA population.
All in all, I am falling in love with the South. The peoples' kindness seems to stem from true interest and care, rather than mere politeness. The passive-aggressiveness that can sometimes seep into "Minnesota Nice" is nowhere to be found down here.

And, oh, are the sunsets spectacular.