Reflections on a Quarter-life Crisis

Tara Teaches America: Our Students Need You

http://sharpstownipc.chipin.com/recognizing-the-amazing-ipc-olympians-at-sharpstown-high

Tara Teaches America: I don't have time

Chavez and I have 17-hour days

I don’t have time to write this. I’m going to do it anyway. I think it’s important that you know. Before I tell you what you need to know and why it’s so important, let me first explain to you what I mean when I saw that “I don’t have time.” Actually, I think I shall show you instead.

            Yesterday, I awoke at 5:32 a.m. After barely running a brush through my hair and smoothing on a bit of necessary deodorant, I swung open my apartment door. I  fumbled with the key with a pile of papers and a lunch box under one arm, boxes of stationary under the other, an extra large coffee mug in the other, and a piece of dry wheat toast hanging out of my mouth.  It was 5: 46 a.m.  when  I heard the familiar sound of my car’s engine turning over as I started it.

            The next time I found myself back in my apartment garage was 9:21 p.m. Between my two times in that parking spot, I had accomplished more activities than one person could fathom.  It often tires me just thinking about it. So much must be done, to such high standards, in such a short period of time, that one often doesn’t have time to even process what is happening. If you stop for too long, your world as you know it could crumble onto you.

            At 9: 25 p.m., I staggered into my apartment with the fatigue of the day building up in my legs in a way that makes them feel hallow and heavy at the same time. My feet pinched with every step and my nose dreaded the thought of removing my shoes. My eyelids felt as if two sand bags were attached to them by little strings and my weak little eye muscles had more than they could handle. Through my left eye, which was winning the battle against the sandbag, I looked at the refrigerator. My stomach growled loudly and the ache in my forehead told me that I was hungry but my legs refused to do any more work. So, I let my body fall into my dining room table chair and I flipped my laptop open. With a few click and slides of the cursor, I started another session of work that would last me a little under three hours.  I rested my head down at 1:28 a.m.

I have the same hours in a day as Albert Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, my next door neighbor, Cesar Chavez.

Today was the same except, instead of toast, I had a bagel hanging out of my mouth. Instead of sandbags on my eyes, it was dictionaries. Instead of my laptop, it is a stack of papers. Tomorrow will be the same.  The day after that is likely to prove the same.

Now, saying I don’t have time is technically incorrect. I have the same hours in a day as Albert Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, my next door neighbor, Cesar Chavez, and even OJ Simpson. It is how we have each chosen to spend our time that differentiates us. So, yes, I have chosen to spend my time working, rather than anything else. (Keep in mind that anything else includes sleeping, and eating.) My point is this:  I don’t think I would ever be able to fully comprehend he idea of not having time had I not become a Teach for America Corps Member.

Now, don’t get too excited. This is not meant to be a muckraking, exposé of the horrors of life in the corps nor is it meant to be a flowery account of the ideal Teach for America corps member’s experiences. It’s just my life.

The kids are fantastic but they are behind. Very behind. There are a plethora of explanations as to why these intelligent kids are significantly behind in their studies, but at the moment, I am not concerned. I am more concerned with getting them to at least grade level work.

I can say this: I hate working 17 hours a day but I know it is worth it because it is having a direct affect on the achievement gap and kids that I teach. If the Teach for America system can take a person like me who didn’t care all too much about the achievement gap and had never heard of TFA, to happily work 17 hours (8 of which are unpaid) so that she can help kids, something is working. The thought that makes me twist and turn in my bed with excitement is the idea that we could be having the same effect on our students.  

There is no doubt in mind that what I am doing is useful… Well, sometimes there’s doubt. There’s doubt among the paperwork and doubt among the bad report from the substitute. Sometimes there’s even doubt when the tests come back or the essays come in. According to TFA, I scored high on some finagled perseverance meter. Perhaps it was right because I have no intent on stopping despite the fleeting doubts.

I fully believe that if we can invest our kids in learning as much as Teach for America has invested its corps members, that we can close the achievement gap. I feel lucky to be one small part of that.

Thank You for Thinking.

New Snow

New Snow

The house smelled like burnt cinnamon and cedar.

The steps whined as he took her, upstairs.

On the dusty brown bed

Her baby pink dress and white tights looked out of place.

Each time he looked at her, she tucked her toes into the bed frame.

Her petite legs hung over the edge,

reaching for some stability.

Her stockings were thrown by the fireplace,

 Soiled with ash and soot.

Her dress was under the blanket

Frayed from use and neglect.

But then,

but then there was that one night.

All the world was behind doors but she

            She left.           

Dashed Down the Deserted boulevard

And I finally found myself, walking

I swear on that little girl’s grave, the untouched snow –

            The stuff no one walks over –

Was glistening silver specks.

It was as if the Gods couldn’t hold onto the stars

when the snow began to fall.

Tara Teaches America: Teacher Boot Camp

Teach for America’s Institute training program is nothing less than boot camp to train an army of teachers fighting a war against the achievement gap that has invaded America.

04:00 – Wake up

Today's New York Times:
A Chosen Few Teaching for America

Alneada Biggers, Harvard class of 2010, was amazed this past year when she discovered that getting into the nation's top law schools and grad programs could be easier than being accepted for a starting teaching job with Teach for America... NY Times.

The sun has not yet begun to shine but teachers in training are waking up all over the Delta State University Campus. While my roommate is still sleeping, I begin applying toothpaste to my mosquito bites in the dark. By the time I get to bit number thirty, I lose patience and move on. Holding up the weight of my eyes, I pull out the one towel that I brought with me that also doubles as a pillow. While I wash my face, I can think of only two things: sleep and student achievement. If I hadn’t applied the toothpaste, I’d be thinking of three things.

By the time I come out of the bathroom, Emily has woken up and is trying to decide on shoes, “Well, these look better but these will protect me from the mosquitoes… and these don’t hurt as much when my feet swell on the bus. What do you think?” She says looking between me and the mirror. I point to the ones that will protect her from the mosquitoes.

 05:00 – Breakfast

 The DSU dining hall bustles with the sleepy energy of young teachers on a mission. Everyone is dressed in business casual and holding a lunch box, packed free for us by TFA. I skip over the breakfast food, grabbing a yogurt and granola bar, and head to leave as soon as I had come. The buses idle in the parking lot and I can see the sky getting a bit brighter behind them. The air is already thick and getting thicker from the fumes of the buses. The mosquitoes wait in the grass for their next meal to come their way.

 05:30 – Bus Ride

 As soon as the bus leaves, we open all the windows, and the sound of seat conversations is droned out. The teachers lean their heads against the front of the seats to nap as the sun rises behind them. Mississippi passes us by with mostly grass, KFCs, and a house every so often. Seeing a person outside during this one hour bus drive is very rare.

06:30 – Sessions

Our group of teachers sits like students in the auditorium waiting for our next lesson on lesson planning. “So what are the key points in this objective? Remember, think of knowledge and skills and break it down from there,” our curriculum specialist urges us in his ‘teacher voice’ as I try to write in my 4 inch green binder. The three hours of choppy sleep from the night before can’t seem to hold up the weight of my eyes. My pen struggles down the page as my head droops slowly. After three hours of alternate sleeping and note-taking, I feel prepared to make my very own lesson plan.

09:30 – Inspirational Story

We gather in another auditorium to hear the inspirational stories of past corps members that have changed lives. There always seems to be something like, “even if Jemal was the only student who was affected by my teaching, I would have thought every minute of being a teacher was worth it.” For the most part, the stories are like caffeine for the aspiring teachers. For me, they are just emotionally draining. Each time I hear of a child’s life that has changed, I think of 1 more, or 10 more, or 100 more who are still victims to the achievement gap. The omnipresence of the achievement gap weighs my feet, my eyes, and my shoulders. I itch my mosquito bites, and look at the patterns I can make between them on my foot.

11:00 – Lunch

It seems early to eat but it’s been six hours since breakfast and our stomachs are louder than our teacher voices. We munch on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while we ponder over our class objectives. Big Goals + Investment + Management = Student Achievement. Should be easy. Right?

 11:15 – More Sessions

The classroom of tired teachers sits patiently while our mentors tell us of the challenges to come. What if your kids don’t speak English? What if they are racist? What if the parents disagree with you? What if they still aren’t getting it? What if you fail? What if you fail? What if you fail?

  4:15 – Bus Ride

Teachers bustle onto the bus which is far hotter than it was in the morning. There are conversations here and there but the yellow bus’ silence is on

ly disturbed by sleepin

g teachers and red pens on paper. The smell of deet and Mississippi fills the bus.

5:30 – Dinner

Fried Okra, Friend Chicken, Cornbread, and Mashed Potatoes. We are definitely in Mississipi.

6:00 – Literacy Session

“The achievement gap is a literacy gap. No matter what subject you are teaching, you will also be teaching literacy,” we are told. How do you teach a kid to read? Sh-o-p; Sh-o-p. Shop. Shop. Ok, I got it now: repeat words a lot and they will be able to read… wait, is that it? The desire for sleep floods my brain and I can’t think. Gotta close this achievement gap. Achievement gap. Achie…..zzz.

WAKE UP! We’re on a mission.

9:00 – Resource Room

Eager teachers clamor around experts to ask questions about how to better teach their students. Is this book too hard? Will they enjoy this? Is it appropriate to teach children Christmas stories? So many things to consider but my bites are starting to itch again and it’s all that I can think about.

11:00 – Copy Center

All 615 of the corps members at the Delta Institute seem to be at the union at once. All of them are doing one of five things: planning lessons, printing, sleeping, complaining, or copying. Often, they are doing more than one at the same time. The copy room is my favorite room. Copying is usually the last step in lesson planning and it means that the sleep is near. Papers and people float about the halogen-lit room while the staff pumps popular songs through the speakers to keep us awake.

12:00 – Sleep

I lay down on my bare mattress and roll up my towel under my head. I’ve already armed myself with an extra coat of bug-spray but I know some are still going to get through. While my eyes want nothing more than to close, the achievement gap keeps them open.

Tara Teaches America: Who Knows What Kind of Adventure This Will Be?

I never pictured myself as teacher. No, not a teacher. I’ve tutored and I’ve mentored but I never thought I’d be a teacher.  I was even part of the Future Teachers of America program at Barnstable Middle School back in the day, but it never even crossed my mind. Yet, here I sit on a flight to Houston as a proud member of Teach for America.

  Less than two weeks ago, I was still forcing my mind to accept the fact that I’d be spending another summer on Cape Cod. After my graduation, my family and I admired the most expensive piece of paper I now own: my diploma. We rested it on top of the haphazardly placed boxes in the car and gathered inside my apartment. I scanned the apartment for forgotten items but only found tender, unforgettable memories. The walls were empty but I could still see every single decoration, inside joke, and vows of friendship that we had only a few days ago taken down. I palmed the wall, half expecting to take a piece with me. With a deep breath of 98 Mountfort Street in my lungs, I closed the door of the apartment and I fought to keep my eyes forward. We got back to the Cape at about midnight that night but I had an overwhelming desire to get into my car, drive to Boston, and just be.

  After a few days in despair, snapping at my family and hating everything Cape Cod, I made a conscience decision to stop being, in its purest form, a brat. I made a list of positive affirmations to say to myself if I caught myself being negative. “I’ve been studying for 16 years! I want to go out and use my knowledge!” I sung to my mother while swinging my arms around with the idealism of youth on my fingertips, “Yes, I didn’t want to do that on Cape Cod but I will make great things happen.” Feeling so full of energy and vigor, I chased my tail trying to find a job. I was either over qualified or under qualified for every job for which I applied; I needed a goldilocks job: just right. With no job, I applied myself to self-made “summer projects.” These projects ranged from training for a half-marathon, volunteering at the Red Cross, spending time with my little sister, and getting to the beach at least once. In these projects, some trivial, some ambitious, and some significant, I found solace.

  I went up to Boston for a post-grad presentation at my internship and, of course, I made a few days of it, visiting friends and driving around my favorite places. Sitting in Espresso Royale, I felt empty. I didn’t see familiar faces and I couldn’t hope for any to come through the door within a couple of minutes.  I listened to some rising Sophomores chatter about how they couldn’t believe their first year of college was over and I literally had to hold a hand over my mouth to stop myself from beginning a rant that could last for hours. That’s when I gave it up. It was done. I couldn’t get it back no matter what I did, nor would I want to do that. I have very few regrets from my college experience and I feel that it prepared me in the way it should. Now, it’s my turn to drive my own development.

  When I got back to the Cape that night I plopped onto our over-sized couch and opened my laptop. An e-mail with “Your Teach for America Application” in the subject line waited for me. I looked at the date, “May 20^th, right on time.” Teach for America stated in its waitlisted e-mail that it would give us a final answer by May 21^st. The bland subject-line didn’t excite me. I skimmed the words looking for, “We regret to inform you blah blah blah…” but it was nowhere to be found. My entire torso went numb when I finally read, “We are pleased to offer you a position as a corps member in Teach for America.” I must have known that I was going to accept but, for some reason, I wasn’t happy at all. I was angry. Angry that I had been a second-string corps member and that I had finally forgotten about Teach for America. It was like an ex-boyfriend who had left you for someone else and, just as you get over him, he wants you back. Well, I wasn’t going to let Teach for America walk all over me like that. I had plans!

Of course, the thought of the possibilities manifested themselves throughout my day. Teach for America did have a mission aligned with my goals and values, after all. I did think that Teach for America was making great strides in bridging the education gap and building leaders. I definitely didn’t want to stay on Cape Cod for another year and forgiveness on a couple of student loans wouldn’t be so bad. I finally came around, and realized that if I didn’t get back together with Teach for America, it would always be the one that got away. So, I accepted. Two Years. In Houston. Teaching for America. 

  There will inevitably be crushing defeats and devastating failures. I can only hope that the gratifying rewards will be able to compensate. As cliché and corny as it sounds, I want to make a difference. I only hope that I can maintain my idealism throughout my two years and beyond. I believe in the mission of Teach for America to my very core and I will be pursuing those goals endlessly. I could pretend that I don’t have any doubts about myself but I do. I don’t, however, have any doubts about my students, and that is what will make me work harder every single day. I’m setting goals that other people think are impossible and I’m looking at those goals with every step, making sure those steps are working toward the goal. The goal: A fair shot for everyone.

Oh! We’re beginning our decent. It’s time to turn off all electronics, store our tray tables, and put our seats in the upright position. I can’t see Houston just yet but I know it’s waiting for me.  I guess this is the end. Well…actually… it’s just the beginning.