Round Two!

One of my most important updates EVER coming up! I spend each day in disbelief, and that is all there is to it. I hope you enjoy these revelations almost as much as I continue to enjoy experiencing them!

The summer was great. I relaxed, spent time with family, and generally did none of the work I had planned on completing. Turns out, ironically, that this was actually a very good thing!

Two weeks before the start of this new school year, I switched subjects. No longer teaching language arts, I now teach science and social studies! The third grade class expanded to the point where we could no longer fit them all in two sections, so we needed to add a third. Our school’s reading lab teacher (of 30-some years) got pulled from the lab (due to budget cuts) and begrudgingly re-planted as a full-time classroom teacher. I will admit that I did drop the hint that I wanted to be switched out; I was completely sold on the possibility of teaching something other than a state-tested subject area and having the freedom to be as creative as a visual and performing arts magnet school could possibly allow. I wanted less stress, ultimately. And now I have all of that, while the new language arts teacher is stuck in my old trap. It is extremely liberating for me, but quite depressing and stressful for her. I spend at least a piece of every day in wracking guilt for helping to cause this situation. Even then, though, I still cannot ignore my satisfaction in my new subject areas.

But to make things interesting, my principal decided it would be best to move me to a new classroom and to keep good ole room 146 as the language arts class. Sounds great, but for one problem: that single transition set off an avalanche of other classroom moves. By the end of last Friday, five teachers and five classrooms were in upheaval and the hallways were once again a trash and junk-filled nightmare as we (read: I) tried to complete such a daunting overhaul. My principal attempted unsuccessfully to hide her stress and worry about getting her school ready for the start of school this past Thursday. It is a testament to how far I personally have come when I didn’t also freak out! Instead, I enjoyed the four days of heavy lifting and intense shifting, but I also rejoiced when I was finally settled into my new room. And because of the move, I did actually manage to complete my biggest summer project: to entirely rid myself and my classroom of clutter and extraneous resources, materials, books, and defunct manipulatives. My new room is a remarkable transformation from the cramped conditions of my old space, and every teacher (and parent!) who has walked by has found the room’s airy and welcoming feel to be quite eye-catching. If nothing else, it feels great to finally experience some pride in my teaching space.

Because of these changes, I am starting out a little bit behind, but I still find time each day to be thrilled. I can’t wait to implement all of my ideas for making science and social studies engaging, relevant, hands-on, and nothing less than the best class these new students have ever taken. I am also a second-year teacher, which is a truly incredible and gratifying experience. I came into this week as a so-called “veteran” teacher. I am no longer the newest face, which means I don’t have to earn respect or surmount that initial, racial skepticism (the latter being a phenomenon that I now more fully understand and accept). I cannot fully articulate the satisfaction and happiness I derive from my place within my school, but somehow I have managed to establish myself as a solid and influential part of the faculty. My principal has appointed me to a leadership position in the district’s implementation of PBIS (Positive Behavioral Interventions and Supports), and other, much more experienced teachers have come to me for help with beginning-of-year family and student surveys, ideas for class jobs, and even advice on how to organize and decorate a classroom. I feel respected, valued, and dare I say it—even popular. Truly incredible.

At our faculty meeting on Wednesday, I chose a seat next to one of our first grade teachers and her assistant. I didn’t particularly think much of it, but as I approached, the teacher smiled and remarked repeatedly to her assistant, “We’re in! We’re in!” as though my presence at their table was somehow a compliment to them. It really felt like one of those moments when the “popular kid” in school chooses who to grace with her presence and to whom she will temporarily imbue some of her popularity. Unaccustomed to being on the “choosing” end, I just smiled at the unexpectedly warm reception. After other teachers trickled in, another teacher at the table caught my attention: “Ms. Cook, [the first grade teacher] was just telling me, ‘We are moving up—we have some color at our table!’ But I just told her, ‘Ms. Cook comes around to my church whenever we are serving food! That’s what we blacks do. She BLACK!! She don’t count as color!!’” Could you all understand that this is the strangest and possibly one of the most profound compliments I have ever received?!

This particular teacher who called me black is unquestionably the most outspoken in terms of referencing race. On several occasions the two other [white] TFAs and I have been on the receiving end of her good-humored teasing, especially since we are three young, white teachers in a harem of black female teachers (and they are both men). Even when only two of us chat together within her eyesight, she cannot refrain from making a comment about the “white meeting” going on right under her nose. So for this woman to call me black, even in a strange, kind of back-handed way, I have never before come so close to feeling such a true sense of belonging. I never would have thought it possible after only one, partially shaky year, but here I am in all of my racial ambiguity!

I also find it comical that I am the one who counts as “color” at a table of black women. It is so much fun to think of this as an unusual twist on the prevailing goal of “diversity.” Mind-bending. Truly.

And for the record, I do not show up at her church only when they are serving food. It happened once, after another teacher explicitly invited me. I cannot help the coincidence. And I cannot help that her church is the only other place in Clarksdale (outside of school) where I have felt sincerely welcome and at home. :)

The first two days of school, I ROCKED. It. OUT. I spent a lot of prep time planning exactly how I wanted my classroom to function, and so I was extremely explicit in teaching my procedures and routines. I have approached the new year with a detailed strategy and awareness of where third graders are mentally and developmentally. I can already tell that these new ones still seek the approval of their teacher, so I am heaping on the positive praise and withholding my attention when students misbehave. They almost fall over themselves trying to gain my praise, and their eagerness is written on even the toughest of their third grade faces. I am going to focus my classroom on positivity so much that when these third graders become more like fourth graders and no longer need my approval, it will be too late for them to change their habits. I am going to single-handedly take on character education and actually succeed. It has only been two days, but I feel pretty confident that we are on track. Remembering where I was after two days last year, I have at least made some HUGE improvements. And this initial success has preserved my almost overwhelming excitement for the school year.

My interactions with this round of parents definitely have a different vibe. Last year I did my best to feign confidence as I grappled to establish some credibility, and I was not always successful. This year, I can sense that my reputation has preceded me…in a GOOD way. I am not simply a white teacher in a black school; I am a white teacher who has somehow embraced the local culture so well that I have left my more prejudiced parents deeply confused. I break every expectation and every rule they have for white teachers. I had a mother stop by yesterday and ask about her son, knowing that he has a history of being a challenging behavior problem. I simply stated to her that he is a talker and I was obliged to move him to a new seat that day. She immediately assured me that she wasn’t going to tolerate his misbehavior in my class and that she would handle any problems he caused. I stopped her short and explained that he had handled the switch so well that I rewarded him by moving him back to his regular seat with his classmates. I told her that I understood when certain students can’t sit together, and I would be sure to rectify any personality clashes her son might have with his table mates by making the necessary moves as we all got to know one another. I told her with sincere assurance that I do not expect any serious problems from her son this year and am not worried about having had to move him that day. She seemed to blink and look at me anew, and then asked me, “What is your name?” It struck me as an important breakthrough.

And I am delighted to report that I am starting to notice some things that I will miss about the Delta when I finally choose to leave this place. I will miss always getting to wave at strangers on the street as I drive past, and actually getting an enthusiastic wave in response rather than puzzled looks. I will miss running into parents, fellow teachers, and students in most public places, and the feeling of satisfaction that comes from holding a teaching position in this community. I will miss the daily opportunities to break down racial prejudice in an area of the country that seems to have invented the art of judging people based on color and the most discouraging of stereotypes. I will miss fitting in everywhere and nowhere. I will miss making the smallest of differences in this seemingly steadfast society.

I realize how utterly opposite this new update is compared to ALL of my previous entries, and that is why this one is so important. I know that I have a history of fairly quick adjustment, but this one astounds me. And I am so completely pleased with the results. When I joined TFA, I was never truly excited about my choice or the impending undertaking. If anything, I felt somewhat forced into it because of a terrible economy and my indecision about my long-term future. But now, I realize that I cannot even begin to comprehend the greater forces at work.