Institute Poem

You sent me a post card
From your European vacation
That you got for graduation
When you arrived in Portugal.

I get it in my mailbox
At 6:30 to a school bus
Lugging
a thousand pounds
Of books and hopes
Of Do Now dreams
Of future things
That I now fight
for my students
to own.

In my bag
Lugging now with me
A thousand pounds
of fears and worries
Of urgency and a step that’s hurried
Because time is now more precious kept
Than it has ever been.

“I
Wish
You
Were
Here.”

I gaze off into sandy beaches
Of the world’s farther reaches
Wondering what that life teaches
And thinking to myself-
No.
No.
I wish you were here.
I wish you were here
So you could see
Around the closed doors
And closed eyes
That make my students compromise
Dreams that many of us
Took for granted
Dreams that many of us were handed
Gift wrapped
Poverty slapped
Lacking for books,
Not for brains
Worn seams and stains
Walking home alone in the rain
Every single day.

I wish you were here
So you could see
The birth
the worth
the risk to dream
gleam
in the dark
spark
from “I’m stupid”
to I’m not only smart
but I am ready to start
I am ready to start
working,
because I’ve got a plan.

That sheepish smile
that says “I get it”
that makes your insides feel
like if you let it
they might just light on fire
with pride
they might just ignite
and you’d glow from the inside
out.
oh how

I
wish
you
were
here.

…and I might have been envious
Of your endless summer
But at 5:45 I cannot stop and wonder
What city you are in
Or what things you’ve photographed,
when we see our students map futures
Instead of following maps.
I will no longer wonder
If you are sleeping in
Because the time is now my friends
to begin.

So when people ask us,
What we are doing with our summer
Who we are going to be
What we are going to make
You tell them
With pride my friends
At any dinner party
At any double date
We make
Eyes wide
With futures now newly considered
We make minds wide
With potential dreams that defy fate
We make mind’s eyes perceive
Future schemes
That even the grandest of challenges
can no longer negate.
Plans.
Saying always now, “I Can”
Doctors, lawyers, vets, architects-
Together we make
Hope appear.

Oh,
How I wish
You had been here.

--Jaclyn S.
TFA Houston Institute ‘07
Jackson Middle School

It's Okay To Laugh

I am finishing up my summer school class this week. Tomorrow I turn in final grades and so for the next few days I have to somehow convince my students that what they're doing is still important and worthy of being done. Now that I can see an end in sight and the pressure is easing up a bit, I am getting to loosen up a little bit too. I am finally allowing myself to laugh at the extremity and the silliness of it all.

For example, today when I walked into my class, Alex was sitting in his desk and had two balloons stuffed into his shirt so that he looked like a very well-endowed woman. When I kindly asked Alex to remove the balloons so that we could get started with class, Alex replied, "But, Miss! They're natural!" He refused to remove the balloons for the whole class period.

I am learning to enjoy the moments like these and ignore the moments when I have to wedge myself between Diego and Apolonio so they don't start throwing punches at each other.

What Do I Want To Be When I Grow Up?

All I do anymore is tell stories about "my kids." Yes, I have become one of those lame ladies who don't have lives outside of their students, but at Institute that's all you really have to hold onto. You spend 20 hours a day cursingTFA because you only get 3 hours of sleep, but it's all so you can spend that 1 hour a day in the classroom.

I don't think my kids really know what to think about all of the 20-somethings that invaded their schools half-way through the summer (one of them invited me to "the club"), but to tell the truth, we don't really know what to think of them either. All night long, I go through my class roster in my head and think about all of them: what's worked for them, what hasn't, who I fought with, who I connected with, who I am getting through to and who is just pushing me away. It's scary that even though I am severely sleep deprived, I have to take sleeping pills to fall asleep because I can't stop thinking about what I need to be doing better. Something just isn't clicking. I am not a very good teacher. There must be something I can do better. After two weeks of teaching, mostly I have a running list of "what not to do" once I start again in my region. I have to dig very deep to try to find things to hold onto so I don't pack up my bag and call it quits.

Even though I don't think I am doing what I need to be doing, I can't stop caring. I guess that's why my suitcases are still empty. Today I watched 7 faces drop as they found out that the other 10 kids in our class would be passing onto the 8th grade and they would not. It almost broke my heart. I have to keep on teaching those 7 kids for the next two weeks to see if I can get them to pass, but the other 10 get to go home. I gave my e-mail address to one girl who swears adamantly that she wants to be a lawyer. She spells lawyer like "law," July like "glie," and career like "cerre," but I am going to get that girl to law school.

Game On

I am completely indoctrinated. I run around with catch phrases like "significant gains" and "relentless pursuit of results" in my head, and I dream about "closing the achievement gap." It is 9:45 pm here and I am just now getting a chance to eat dinner. There is such a sense of urgency that not a minute is wasted. I wake up between 4:45 and 5:00 am. I don't get to bed until about 1:00, but I may have to start staying up later to get some more work done. I don't drink a lot in the morning because we don't get bathroom breaks during the day. There just isn't time right now. We don't break for lunch, we work on through. To the outsider this may seem like unnecessary cruelty, but everyone here is completely devoted. We are devoted to the 50% of the 13 million impoverished children in our country who will not graduate from high school. I am devoted to the boys and girls in the eighth grade writing class I shadowed today, who literally did not know how to read and had no one care that they did not know how to read. I am devoted to the idea that (as my friend Andrew so eloquently put tonight), no matter where you start, you can finish someplace else.

I start teaching 7th grade writing on Monday. How the hell am I going to do that?

P.S. Later in the summer and throughout the school year, I want you all to remind me of this post when I start crying and thinking about quiting.

Sí, eso es

la vida