I spent the weekend in DC for the 20th Anniversary of Teach For America. The event was energizing and engaging, and felt kind of like, as Kim Smith of New School Venture Fund put it, a revival at a megachurch. Throughout the weekend over meals with old friends who I taught with and in conversations with current corps members, I kept feeling waves of nostalgia. There's a lot I'd like to write about TFA--and I know that TFA often incites fierce debate within the education world--but for now I'd just like to bask in my nostalgia and share a letter that I wrote as second year corps member to the new incoming corps.
January 6, 2006
Dear Future Bay Area Corps Member,
The sun is just emerging from behind the yellow foothills as I drive to Lester Shields Elementary each morning. A world away from its geographic neighbors, Google, eBay, and Apple, I exit highway 280 into Alum Rock, San Jose, the community where I teach, the community that I have come to love. I pass La Taqueria, Lee’s Vietnamese sandwich shop, and Target, and drive by the row of single-family homes that lead to my school.
When I was first accepted into the Bay Area corps, I didn’t know much about San Jose. I thought of it as a relatively new city. But fourth grade California history taught me that San Jose is one of the oldest cities in the state. It was established as a mission in 1797. In a sense, however, I was right. The face of San Jose is constantly reinventing itself, appearing always new. The city experiences continuous influx; people move in every day from all corners of the world to pursue technology, agriculture, education, or simply better living circumstances. It is not uncommon for a student to show up at my classroom door two months into the year, with a blue note that reads, “Please welcome Freal into your class.” Before me today stood a nervous boy who has just moved to the U.S from the Philippines. People move here for their future.
“Estás estudiando para tu futura,” Vanessa’s mother told her during parent teacher conferences last week. My students’ parents understand that education is the key to advancement. They look at the public schools, overburdened as they are, as places of hope, opportunities for a better life. And you, the teacher, “la maestra,” embrace that hope, encourage that drive and, through lesson after lesson, begin to create the tools that can make those dreams become a reality.
In the dynamic bed of overlaying cultures that shape my classroom, nothing is ever simple. Progress is sometimes exposed as bittersweet. I couldn’t help but applaud the first time Eric spoke in English in class. At the same time the first crack in the gulf that may well separate him from his Spanish-speaking family was created. Students struggle to understand the differences around them, and I, the teacher, struggle to learn how to orchestrate them. The multitude of perspectives can invigorate and enrich the learning environment. But it is a give and take process where everyone changes and new cultural hybrids are formed right before my eyes.
At times, the responsibility of being in charge of the education of 34 fourth graders is overwhelming. I look over their reading scores, at students two, three, four years below grade level, and the urgency of the situation intimidates me. I feel inadequate. But low student performance is not some abstract concept I grapple with in a textbook. It is something I work to improve everyday, in every interaction that I have with my students and their families, from shaking their hands each morning before they enter class, to thinking of an engaging way to teach long division, to giving a student a high five when they finally get 100 percent on a spelling test. The faces of my students inspire me, and the support, creativity, and dedication of my fellow corps members rejuvenates me.
Brett, a gregarious fellow corps members from Michigan, and I planned our lessons together for the first several months of school last year. It would take us an entire day to do what we can now do in a few hours. Together we wrestled with confusing aspects of the curriculum, gave each other advice on ways to motivate challenging students, and tried to think of ways to make whatever we were teaching a little more fun. The spirit of collaboration has continued into my second year, where fourth grade teachers come together, frustrated with a math curriculum that failed to address the fourth grade standards, and created a long-term math plan. My classroom has never been an island; my colleagues are present daily through concrete teaching practices as well as the development of my pedagogy.
At 8:00 in the morning, the bell will ring. Your students will be waiting in line, silhouetted against the backdrop of the foothills. A parent will wave to you across the playground, as children stand ready for a new day. And you will lead your class into your classroom to make a difference.
Julia Stiglitz
2004 Bay Area Corps Member
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