When I applied to Teach for America, I was given a bumper sticker that says, "In Two Years, You Won't Recognize Yourself."
It's only be six months and I already think that is an understatement.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Student Snapshot
Stephan is seven years old. His uniform is always wrinkled and missing parts. He has a sense of humor that shouldn't come so naturally to a second grader, but somehow he is almost always smiling. Almost-unless he is hungry.
You see, Stephan is one of the children that society hides so well. Living within the red lines of West Philadelphia, he is non-existent to the outside world. His father, for the most part, is out of the picture. His mother works around the clock, even with her extreme case of sickle cell anemia. This schedule (that some would call neglect, though his mother has no ill intent) leaves his nine-year-old sister as the head of the household. She makes dinner when there is money for dinner, which is not often enough. Mostly, Stephan and his sister rely on the free breakfast and lunch at school.
However, this week Stephan and his sister did not come to school for three days. Ms. A (my partner-in-crime who shares our half of a classroom) called home to find out about their absences. All of the numbers we have for his mother were disconnected, and his father did not answer. The only person left to call was his paternal grandmother, who was confused about which Stephan Ms. A was talking about. (Apparently, Stephan's father-also named Stephan-has named all of his sons after himself.)
Once things were straightened out, the truth was revealed-Stephan and his sister had not been to school because their mother is in the hospital. With no adults home and no money for public transportation, the pair was physically and financially unable to make it to school.
Yes, even the School District of Philadelphia's policies seem to overlook children like Stephan. In an effort to cut funds, the SDP decided to change who qualified for bus service. Instead of living 8 blocks (1 mile) from school, children are now required to live at least 12 blocks (1.5 miles) from school. And since Stephan and his sister live only 11 blocks, they do not qualify for free bus service.
Two burning questions come to mind: 1) How have Stephan and his sister been able to eat for the past several days? and 2) Exactly how long will we allow these children to be invisible?
You see, Stephan is one of the children that society hides so well. Living within the red lines of West Philadelphia, he is non-existent to the outside world. His father, for the most part, is out of the picture. His mother works around the clock, even with her extreme case of sickle cell anemia. This schedule (that some would call neglect, though his mother has no ill intent) leaves his nine-year-old sister as the head of the household. She makes dinner when there is money for dinner, which is not often enough. Mostly, Stephan and his sister rely on the free breakfast and lunch at school.
However, this week Stephan and his sister did not come to school for three days. Ms. A (my partner-in-crime who shares our half of a classroom) called home to find out about their absences. All of the numbers we have for his mother were disconnected, and his father did not answer. The only person left to call was his paternal grandmother, who was confused about which Stephan Ms. A was talking about. (Apparently, Stephan's father-also named Stephan-has named all of his sons after himself.)
Once things were straightened out, the truth was revealed-Stephan and his sister had not been to school because their mother is in the hospital. With no adults home and no money for public transportation, the pair was physically and financially unable to make it to school.
Yes, even the School District of Philadelphia's policies seem to overlook children like Stephan. In an effort to cut funds, the SDP decided to change who qualified for bus service. Instead of living 8 blocks (1 mile) from school, children are now required to live at least 12 blocks (1.5 miles) from school. And since Stephan and his sister live only 11 blocks, they do not qualify for free bus service.
Two burning questions come to mind: 1) How have Stephan and his sister been able to eat for the past several days? and 2) Exactly how long will we allow these children to be invisible?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A Constant Battle
Violence is prevalent on the streets of Philadelphia, particularly around my school. Located at 52nd and Lancaster, the school is on the northern end of Murder Alley--a nickname for 52nd Street north of Market. Our children come from these streets, these families, and this violence.
Yet, it is never them that I fight. It is only the ridiculous school policies and politics that I am constantly battling.
The past month-and-a-half have been spent fighting, at least in a figurative sense. Fighting for heat in my closet-sized classroom, for light in the Special Education room, for more space so that the children who need foundational skills can actually focus and learn. I've fought for the falling ceilings to be repaired, for the multi-purpose room (which turns into the neighborhood night club on weekends) to be a safe place for our children.
I've been battling discrimination from certain staff members based on the color of my skin. I've battled Stewart's newly found mental illness and tantrums--not to mention pushing for him to get the mental and physical health treatment he needs.
Most recently, I have been fighting to get books for my children who are 2, 3, and 4 years behind in reading. Yes, as the reading specialist I do not have books to teach literacy. And when you look at the street violence and the fact that policymakers look at male literacy in 3rd grade to determine how many prisons to build, having no books is repulsive. Even criminal.
It seems as if the cards are stacked against my students--not because they choose this or their parents choose this, but because school politics disregard the reason we are here in the first place: to teach each other and to learn.
The true challenge is to transform my anger into hope for change. There is so much potential. We just have to act now. My children can't wait much longer...
Yet, it is never them that I fight. It is only the ridiculous school policies and politics that I am constantly battling.
The past month-and-a-half have been spent fighting, at least in a figurative sense. Fighting for heat in my closet-sized classroom, for light in the Special Education room, for more space so that the children who need foundational skills can actually focus and learn. I've fought for the falling ceilings to be repaired, for the multi-purpose room (which turns into the neighborhood night club on weekends) to be a safe place for our children.
I've been battling discrimination from certain staff members based on the color of my skin. I've battled Stewart's newly found mental illness and tantrums--not to mention pushing for him to get the mental and physical health treatment he needs.
Most recently, I have been fighting to get books for my children who are 2, 3, and 4 years behind in reading. Yes, as the reading specialist I do not have books to teach literacy. And when you look at the street violence and the fact that policymakers look at male literacy in 3rd grade to determine how many prisons to build, having no books is repulsive. Even criminal.
It seems as if the cards are stacked against my students--not because they choose this or their parents choose this, but because school politics disregard the reason we are here in the first place: to teach each other and to learn.
The true challenge is to transform my anger into hope for change. There is so much potential. We just have to act now. My children can't wait much longer...
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