When I was in Tanzania, I had to sharpen pencils using a razor. I also had to peel carrots using some deformed version of a grater. Needless to say, I got a few cuts trying to do both of these things.
My kids constantly ask me to get a new pencil sharpener, since the old wall sharpener literally eats their pencils – when they bring them, that is. I think I’m actually going to rip it off the wall tomorrow (praise the LORD for teacher work days).
This past Wednesday, I was able to observe a Freshmen English Teacher at the number one High School in the state of Kentucky. Her kids all had pens or mechanical pencils. No sharpening required.
The trips I have taken over the past week (Louisville to observe in a class, and Ashville to reunite with friends) led me to have many new and unexpected thoughts about the education system, and I see these thoughts as vivid snapshots, stories and experiences I’ve had as a “teacher.”
Are you ready for this discombobulated string of consciousness? Let’s do this.
“Toilet, please. Toilet.” Little Vialet is asking me to go to the bathroom… again. “Hapana, Vialeti. Angalia ubaoini, tafadhali,” I discourage the visit to the “toilet.” Eventually I know she will head to the “bathroom,” but for now, I just want her to look at the board – PLEASE, child. I also hate to have them come back and sit at a desk with urine all over their skirts. Three-year-olds squatting over a hole in the ground doesn’t typically yield great results, or at least not in the eyes of this westerner.
“Ms. Putorek, can I go to the bathroom.”
“You literally just got to my class. Why didn’t you go at break? Oh, wait. It isn’t worth the argument. I’m just wasting more time. Yeah, just go. No, I don’t have a hall pass.”
The number one high school in the state has classes that are an hour and thirty minutes long. I bet you can imagine how many students asked to use the bathroom. Yep, you guessed it. Not one. Single. Student.
“How does the head teacher expect me to teach the English alphabet when I have no chalk and I definitely do not have paper,” I thought to myself bitterly during the second week of my placement. We used scraps of cardboard and scraps of paper from my book bag some days, if the kids really wanted to practice their letters. If it was a really good day, we used chalk on small chalkboards. The tiny scraps of chalk that somehow managed to find a home in the corner of the single-room schoolhouse never went unnoticed. “I swear these kids eat this chalk. Oh, wait. That one kid just really did eat the chalk. I guess that’s what malnutrition looks like.”
“Ms. Putorek, do we HAVE to take notes?” “Ms. Putorek, I don’t have any paper.” My students rip paper out of their journals, after I specifically specify this paper should NOT come from their journals. Hey, at least they have paper…even if I find the discarded remnants of their “notes” scattered across the floor after class, I suppose I’m grateful they even have paper. Some days.
“Class, you need to get out your packet of work from last week, and I need you to have a page to take notes on as well.” The entire class had the packet out AND a sheet of loose-leaf notebook paper ready at a moments notice. No fussing, no grumbles, and all of the papers were crisp and pristine and ready to be filled with the notes the teacher would dictate.
One of the worst moments in my life was leaving the orphanage on that last day. Vialet was gripping my neck, and although I felt my place in the string of volunteers that passed through and I realized I was always meant to be a temporary, forgettable presence in her little life, I also felt that grip around my neck. I still feel that cheek pressed against my own, and I wonder if she felt the tears falling down my cheeks. I turned away, running to the van, and I now wonder if I will ever forget that moment. In that moment, I believe, my fate was secured. I would always find myself working with kids, in one way or another. “Damn. Mom was right. How on earth will I be able to be a teacher though? I can’t spend another year in school,” I remember thinking to myself on the long flight back across the Atlantic.
“I am here for you. You aren’t failing my class, so you need to get that out of your head right now. “
“You aren’t here for me…you’re here for the money!”
* Insert hysterical laughter here. *
In all seriousness, the looks my kids give me could be considered skeptical at best. When I remind them that I am only here to help them and encourage them and love them, their eyes betray their masks of toughness. Their eyes dart away from mine, and then back, and they always seem to be waiting for the punch line that won’t ever come. I take no part of my job lightly, even though I really do have fun. At the heart of it all, however, is the very real probability that these kids – MY kids – face obstacles outside of the classroom that mar their experience IN my classroom. I try not to take it too personally, but I won’t ever stop looking directly into their eyes when they challenge and question my intentions.
The school in Louisville was prestigious. It was grand. It was MASSIVE. It was filled to the brim with students who, overwhelmingly, knew their role in the education system. They are on track to graduate and then attend college. It’s a no brainer. Even the teacher I observed wasn’t timid when she told me that their school was “academically rigorous” and did not have high rates of poverty because “well…students from low-income families typically don’t score as well on tests.” I couldn’t argue with her. Nothing she said was false, nor was it in poor taste. I guess I just looked at her students and projected my own students into that classroom. What if MY students were in those seats, with the pencils and paper readily available?
But then again, what if my kids from Tanzania were in MY classroom in Inez?
The “what if’s” of this job will kill you just as quickly as the realities our students face daily.
Another humbling reminder of what is at stake in this country came in the form of a reunion this weekend in Asheville, North Carolina. This summer during our training in Mississippi, I had the extreme privilege of meeting some of the best people I could have met. These people are all very different. We hail from different universities, regions of the country, and backgrounds. We all had different experiences in school, and we are all placed in vastly different schools now, with Teach for America. What astounds me, however, is that despite what is different about us, we are all similar in one magnificent way – we believe that one day, all children will have the opportunity to attain an excellent education. (Get ready for some TFA buzzwords, people)!
My friend, Tommy (SHOUTOUT, Tommy, SHOUTOUT TO YOU), is working in a district that is basically still segregated. Yeah, you read that right. But don’t worry – it gets even crazier. He told me that the leaders of the school system refuse to make moves towards integrating more seriously, because they know their jobs would be lost if they competed against the white board members. They would rather accept the fact that their students suffer the direct consequences of racism and inequity, than accept their unemployment. After all, they have to support their families too, you know?
My friend Elisa is making moves toward challenging the status quo – slowly. If your school is failing by every measure, things cannot stay the same, right? But how do you convince very sweet and caring teachers that their way just isn’t working? You might think statistics would be enough proof, especially for math teachers, but as we are all learning, sometimes proof is only another way one can make excuses. Let’s blame the students. Let’s blame their parents. Let’s blame the Government. We will blame anyone and everyone… but not ME. It can’t be that MY teaching is lacking. It has to be something else.
Hunter and Kassie and Lucy and Aaron – they are all making strides towards educational justice, too. Hunter is teaching math, and I admire anyone who can put their passion and drive into a subject that so many kids feel defeated by before they even pick up their pencils. Although I do not know Hunter well (yet), I can guarantee that his students could not be luckier to have him as a positive role model. Plus, his class ring from Texas A&M is terrifyingly intimidating to a sleeping student. Sleeping in class? All he needs to do is knock on their desk and they’re alert and ready to work (just kidding…kind of…)
Kassie, though I only got to know her better this weekend, sleeps on an air mattress and does so without complaint. She teaches at an Early College high school, which is vastly different from the high school I teach at. What is amazing about Kassie, aside from the fact that she just returned from Bulgaria where she served as a Fulbright Scholar, is her calm spirit. She is definitely the type of person I would want teaching a student who is on an “early college” track. She will get the job done – no doubt.
My Lucy! This sweet girl has so quickly become a ROCK for me in Kentucky, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Lucy gets cussed out, and rather than blame the student, she wonders what she should be doing differently. Lucy is humble and kind, and would never accept anything but the best for her kids. I have never met someone so focused on her faith and her NEED to help those around her. Plus, she’s kind of the best letter-writer EVER. First hand experience, y’all.
Aaron maintains a smile, even when his students look up at him and grumble “today is a free day, right Mr. Honn?” He does this with patience and a fantastic sense of humor that still astounds me. He uses his unique experiences, his positivity, his faith and his humility to his advantage. Luckily, I get to work with him everyday, so I know for a fact that his students think he is “so cool…and I have never learned as much as I do in his class.”
So, now that I’ve bragged about my super cool friends, I hope you all get a better sense of just how blessed I am. In this season of my life, I feel hopeful, I feel joyful, and although I sometimes feel overwhelmed and out of my league, I have never been happier. Thank you, friends, for your humility and strength. You all inspire me, make me laugh, and remind me just what is at stake in this educational war we willingly signed up for.
P.S. Spring in Asheville will be just as epic.
“When everything feels like an uphill struggle, just think of the view from the top.”
haliewanders 