I was inspired today.
My students came to me to sponsor a club - speak! - a club focused on listening to slam poetry, reading and then creating their own poetic performance. Today I heard things like, "you can't knock abortion at 16 years old unless you know what its like to be 16 and pregnant" and then "it's just like the people that don't agree with universal health care, they've had health care their whole lives and don't know what its like to pay for the ER every time you go" and then - "I don't want to play the race card, and I don't like to play the race card, but when people freak out that britney's on crack and act all shocked but then don't even flinch when you hear TI's trippin' on drugs, it's expected."
I also heard them talking about how their generation is getting a bad rap for being the generation that feels entitled. Then I heard them explain why they are perceived that way, explained their upbringing and AGREE that they were raised that way. The best part? They provided solutions.
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I was introduced to this guy - Carlos - and was inspired. And defeated.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qnl_zG2KwR0
How do I teach kids about finding the volume of a cylinder when this is going on? How do kids motivate themselves to become good at finding the greatest common factor of a fraction when someone is getting shot? Why would a teenager want to know more about the negative gravitational pull of Earth when there are teen moms struggling to buy formula and diapers?
Why do I feel so defeated - and yet so inspired? This juxtaposition is something that keeps me teaching, and pulls me toward public policy activism. I want to expose the hard truth but change the truth.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
I turned 26!
This is a text by Sandra Cisneros, a Latina writer and alum of Loyola Chicago. She has written "House on Mango Street" and a few other texts that are filled with love, passion and insight into the Latino spirit.
What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four. and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday. only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid. and that's the part of you that's still ten Or maybe some days you might need to Sit on your momma's lap because you’re scared. and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like when you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rungs inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.
You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven. not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is.
What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four. and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday. only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid. and that's the part of you that's still ten Or maybe some days you might need to Sit on your momma's lap because you’re scared. and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like when you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rungs inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.
You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven. not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
I teach for....
I teach so that my students will ONE DAY stand in front of a room of people and share how one teacher changed their life.
I teach so that students can advocate for themselves and know they deserve the best from themselves and demand a great education, from their teachers and earn scholarships for college.
I teach to change the minds of the people living outside of poverty and low income communities, so they can hear from me that all students, regardless of their bank account (or lack thereof) can and will achieve at the same level as their wealthier counterparts.
I teach to instill a love of learning to kids that hate school. Math rocks!
I teach to prove the doubters wrong. A student from the "wrong side of the tracks" knows hard work, knows college is a goal, knows their life will change for their family with an education....because great teachers teach change.
I teach for social justice and the future of this country.
Thanks to Teach for America for opening up this opportunity and helping me find myself and my ONE day....
One day, my students will be leaders and problem solvers.
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