Besides being a 10th grade global history teacher I also teach a class called AVID, or Advancement Via Individual Determination. Though the name is as corny as some of my other past involvements (I named our high school Christian a cappella group...wait for it...The Heavenly Voices!) It's actually a great program that serves students who are academically driven and wanting to be college bound. Apart from teaching them specific skills and acting as their overbearing parent while they're in school, I basically get to do anything with them that increases their awareness of the world and the opportunities that lies within it. Muhahaha!
So, after hearing about Stop Child Trafficking Now I pitched it to my AVID students thinking it would be a great community service and team building opportunity. It was the first time I'd ever done something like this with my students and I braced myself for the difficult task of getting my students who have a hard time getting their own basic needs met to invest in this effort. I showed clips, had them research statistics on child trafficking, and delivered lip quivering speeches. To my surprise, some of my students really took hold of this cause and began running with it. They made posters and fliers and posted them all over the school. I helped them get organized into researchers, location managers, and action planners and we made plans to sell baked goods and soda during our lunch periods. The goal was for us to raise $150 in 3 days which we were going to donate at the culminating event - a 5K walk in Manhattan. Our fundraising efforts were only for three days because it hadn't been long since school started back up and the walk happened just yesterday. I had my doubts along the way but a group of my AVID students really took it from my hands and ran the entire operation. In fact, they were so on top of it that I gave over the reigns almost completely to the elected student team captain and they ended up raising $250 in just 3 days! They were so proud of themselves, and rightly so.
The morning of the walk was unmercifully early and very wet. Purim, who's not a morning person, braved the hour train ride up to the Bronx to help me pick up my students. Of the 11 that said they'd go, only 5 showed. It was pouring and it was 8am. I didn't blame them. Even I didn't want to be there. But I put on my happy face and dished embarrassing jokes at my students all the way down town. By the time we got out on the other end, however, my students were already regretting being there. By the look on their faces you would have thought they were being forced to clean dirty bathrooms! Long story short, we got through the walk and several of the students even had really meaningful conversations with some of our super encouraging friends who were also participating in the walk. Though we were tired and soaked we put on our best smiles and took this picture at the end of the walk. Soon after, we finished out the day with a couple of pizzas and made for our respective beds. I sincerely hope my students understand the significance of what they have done for children worse off than they all over the world. It was a tough lesson to be learned, but I believe they are better for it.
I just watched another student of mine, Deonte, walk out of school today under Sheriff's escort, suspended for five days. He had been caught skipping class for the fourth time. Talking with him in our assistant principal's office was an experience akin to what I imagine it is like trying to break a CIA covert operative. Deonte simply had nothing to say to me or our principal.
After watching Deonte in his Intro and Algebra I classes last year, I knew that he had a natural knack for math. Ideas came easy to him when they baffled others... I know because he passed his previous two math classes despite sleeping through most lectures and practice sessions. He would simply pick his head up, fill out his worksheets, and go back to sleep. Two things -- at least, two surface symptoms -- continually held him back. He rarely came to class if he wasn't escorted by an administrator, and his friends constantly pushed him in the wrong direction.
Coming back to the present moment... the worst part of his stonewalling was the complete lack of defiance, pride, or cockiness in his demeanor and facial expression. Most young men in high school, when they're staring down the barrel of disciplinary action, exhibit a brash confidence... a cocking of the head, an ever-so-slight combative sneer curling their lip, a protruding chin. Deonte showed me nothing.
And I mean nothing.
His eyes were vacant lots that screamed of resigned apathy. His slumped shoulders suggested that he might have been an abused, overworked pack mule in a previous life. He showed no spark of... anything.
I don't know for sure, and maybe I never will, but I can easily envision what produced that in him. I think that one day, someone important to Deonte told him one of the following things:
1) You're going to end up just like your father. 2) You're a worthless loser. 3) You'll be lucky to hold down an overnight job at WalMart. 4) You're nothing but a pain. 5) You'll be in jail before you'll ever be in college. 6) You'll end up strung out on drugs. 7) Etc...
Deonte and so many young men like him have heard something like this and embraced it as the truth. Maybe they've heard it so often that they can't fit any other possibility into their minds.
You probably know at least one young man in your life that has heard something like this. Please tell him something different. Give him another vision.
"I have set before you today life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life, that you and your children might live." ~Deuteronomy 30:19
Teaching, in many ways, is an art. The most subtlest of things can make or break a class period. It can be the way a teacher greets or not greets students at the door, or the pace a teacher walks around the classroom. These subtle yet powerful tips are not really taught in graduate schools. They can only be learned on the job, on the front lines, often times through many trials and many errors. So, here is the first of many teaching tips that I have picked up along the way that may be of interest to you. I encourage you to try these out in your classrooms and let me know how it goes.
My first tip:
After asking a question to the class, walk AWAY from the student who answers it. I have seen teachers going toward the student giving the answer in order to her him/her better. This is a mistake. You want the student to project so the entire class can hear. You never want a classroom discussion to become an A - B conversation because you'll lose everyone else, and that's an open invitation for disengagement and management issues. A classroom discussion should indeed be a whole classroom discussion, so walk away from the ones giving answers to make them project.
Logic and the ability to employ deductive reasoning is my favorite -- and I believe one of the most important -- higher-order critical thinking skills that we teach in high school. Really, it's the ability to argue well.
I get mentally and emotionally exhausted listening to students make a point about simple things. For example...
STUDENT #1 - No, Lebron James is the best player.
STUDENT #2 - Uh uh, it's Kobe.
#1 - Word on what?
#2 - Word on my life, Kobe's better.
#1 - Man, whatever. Word on my life, Lebron got like, 50 points a game last year.
#2 - Who got the championships? What?! WHO GOT THE CHAMPIONSHIPS? Word on what?
#1 - He soft. Lamar Odom did all the work.
#2 - Man whatever. Word on my life Kobe's the MVP.
And so it goes for minutes on end. There's no common ground of assumption. No one has agreed upon the criteria for a good basketball player. And the two combatants certainly aren't actually listening to each other's points. Here's what I'd like to see...
STUDENT #1 - I submit to you on the basis of individual statisical output that Lebron James is a superior basketball player to Kobe Bryant.
STUDENT #2 - I will agree to those grounds on one condition. Team postseason winning percentage must be included as a valid statistic for consideration.
#1 - Agreed. Will you allow plus/minus floor minutes also?
#2 - Yes.
#1 - Lebron James bested Kobe Bryant in every major statistical category last year, including points, rebounds, and assists per game, and even matched Kobe's supposedly superior perimeter shooting at 35%.
#2 - However, Kobe's plus/minus efficiency on the floor during the season was higher, indicating that his team more often outperforms opponents when he is on the floor.
#1 - That may be true for the regular season, but Lebron raised his plus/minus number to a whopping 35 during the playoffs.
#2 - Speaking of the playoffs, how did those wind up? I seem to remember Kobe hoisting the championship trophy after all was said and done.
It may be a juvenile example, but I don't think it an unreachable goal to expect students to be able to say of any given statement, "If 'A' is true, then 'B' is also true, and 'C' is false." We are preparing a generation of legislators, attorneys, philosophers, law enforcement, and writers. Each one should be able to watch an argument, and as Socrates once commanded, follow the evidence where it leads.
Evidence, truth, and reality matter. They should hold sway over all of our students, and should trump commitments based on emotion, assumption, or stubbornness.
Would you like to try your hand at thinking logically? Try this logic puzzle out. I'll post the solution in my next entry.
I remember their eyes. They had a certain intensity that they lacked all year long. Today they were alert. Alert, like when they hear gunshots outside their windows at night, alert. Alert, like they were expecting an earthquake to start shaking their minds empty, alert.
“What if we forget everything we’ve learned Mr. Choi?”
Alert like they were ready for flight, but not to stay and fight, and win, alert. They were so afraid that they were quiet. It was surreal. After months upon months of chaos I felt somewhat in control for the first time, and it was nice.
“Who ate a good breakfast this morning like I told you to?” I asked to comfort, but all I got were blank stares, a couple of “sheeesh” and a few shaking heads. “You guys are going to do great as long as you remember to do everything I taught you.” I made another feeble attempt but knew I was just wrapping clear scotch tape around broken legs.
I hadn’t taught much at all that first year, and frankly, I had no confidence that my students were going to pass the exam that morning either. My students would simply remain in the “far below standards” category, and many would not even see the backs of the “approaching standard” kids because I wasn’t able to get them on that path to begin with. I tried so hard. I barely slept, and many a morning I lay in bed tortured in my soul because I loved my students but seemed not to be making any progress with them. I really tried to teach, but they simply didn’t let me.
The phone in the corner of the room rang alarmingly in the midst of tense silence. Sandy from the office notified me that Corey, a student who had missed more than half the school year, had shown up on this particular day. How did he know to come on the day of the English Reagents Exam when he missed everything else? Principal Thomas was escorting him down to our room as the rest of class 705 sat waiting to hear the squealing wheels in the halls to come around with the exams. Anthony twisted in his chair to whisper something to Israel, and then peered over at me with a whiny face begging me to save him from this nightmare. I desperately wanted him to do well on this exam, but I was powerless and I simply answered with a raised eyebrow and a shrug of my shoulders from across the room.
“Whaddup my NIGGAS! The king’s back in the house!” Corey announced himself as he busted through the door punishing the wall behind it. He came impressively dressed for the special occasion. He had freshly done cornrows, and his shape-up was so straight and tight I could have parked a car against it. He had on clean white Jordan’s under his baggy jeans that were thoughtfully tucked in on the front of his shoes behind the tongue. Black and white laces crisscrossed each other and none of them were twisted like they inevitably do. Reaching almost to his knees was a bleach white Sean John t-shirt. Corey swaggered in with a certain confidence about him that was intimidating, and even as he addressed the class he managed to make eye contact with me out of the corner of his eyes only for a split second but just long enough to assert his dominance and disrespect for my authority.
“Welcome back Corey. Please take a seat at the desk in the back.” I tried my best to appear unnerved by his obnoxious entrance.
“Oh, I gotta sit in the back now cuz I’m black right? Yeeeaaah son, I got you! This little Asian punk’s tryin’ to play a brotha.”
I felt my jaw tighten and sensed my sanity jolt as if a car door unmercifully jammed it between two metal frames while attempting to settle in for a smooth ride. I held my breath, wanting to spit out curses propelled by saliva and exasperated breaths. But I held it. I turned around and held it, letting it wheeze out slowly from the corners of my mouth, like when you carefully unscrew the cap on a shaken Pepsi bottle. I felt my anger stretching the tiny capillaries in my eyes, but I managed to hold my composure.
One would expect a class to look on nervously and wait for the teacher’s wrath to engulf the aggressor in such a situation, but my students burst out laughing and gave Corey high fives, their minds completely off the exam now. In that short moment I lost the class and I couldn’t bring them back to that place of focus, the place of utter fear and nervousness, their hell and my haven.
Students were out of their seats and walking all around me like I was nothing but a friendly ghost and as if my stern urging for them to “Sit down and be quiet!” were just the sounds of their neighbors fighting behind thin walls. I hated feeling powerless. How did these thirteen year olds manage to make me feel so small and stupid, and so often? Damn it!
Without any regard for me, the class settled down on their own and resumed their zombie status when the exams arrived with Ms. Ramos, the short fiery Puerto Rican school aid. She always felt bad for me when she walked into my class, and I guess also felt obligated to scream the cornrows off my kids before leaving the room. This assistance often didn’t help because it fueled the students’ rambunctious spirits even more just before they were left alone with me again. Still, I always appreciated her intentions. She was a good lady. She once stole butcher paper from the office for me so I could cover my bulletin boards sky blue.
With Ms. Ramos out of the room, the tests were now out on everyone’s desk and I began to read through the directions. Silence resumed over the room, but just as I got to “Remember to only use a number two pencil to fill in the circles” Corey stood up and proceeded to belt out off-key notes to I Believe I Can Fly. Maybe he was more scared of failing than anyone else in the room. Maybe he knew he would fail and simply wanted to delay the inevitable. Either way he did not stop. He kept on going despite my repeated instructions for him to sit down and be quiet.
I could not endure him singing, taunting me as he joked with his eyes, a smug grin on the corner of his mouth, and completely disarming me of all authority. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and I tore into him without mercy,
“Save your voice for the subways kid cuz you’re going to need it to feed yourself in about three years!“
That’s what I said to a boy who had been thrown away from birth, yanked from one abusive foster family to another, left alone to fend for himself in the streets—completely foreign to my reality—by making deals and winning respect. I made an imprint on this 15-year-old kid that day. He was just a kid.
Everything that happened afterwards is a blur. He was spitting threats into my face one minute and then was being dragged out the door by blue uniforms the next. Maybe he had succeeded. After all, he had saved himself from failing the exam by never having to take it.
Consequences will follow my condemning prophecy as he would later be thrown into jail for possession of cocaine. He was caught while pimping a girl in the streets. However, he was indicted for possession of cocaine the police found in the inside pocket of his jacket, which one of his girls were wearing. Learning of Corey’s fate recently, I couldn’t help but wonder what I could have done differently from all his other teachers in his life, and if it would have made any difference.
Social Justice, the concern of the century
Every gender, race, social class and history
embraced and treated without bias
but can all claim it as their reality?
It's one thing to preach and another
to practice or believe
in the end we all politely agree
From top to bottom flow policies
but they're just diversions created to last
only as long as their authors' political terms
Step into my classroom where
hormones fly like balled up paper
where different tongues represent different flags
where yellowing eyes and tattered hopes are life's norms
where from within our school's barred windows
We look out into the avenues of our nation's neglected
We look out through our barred windows
like our brothers and our fathers.
They didn't choose this.
They've been cornered into
the dregs of society. Stand-
ardized, compartmentalized
institutionalized,generalized
demoralized, economized
Social Justice?
It must be taught and practiced
within our classroom walls
but it'll always be
in conflict at the heart of every child
and every teacher.
Yes, social justice is a must
but it's like the hazy horizon
We can see it in the distance,
We might even walk towards it,
but the morning sun always seems to rise
on yonder, far away from where we stand.
It's there, but never here.
I just finished watching "Boyz n the Hood" for the first time. It wasn't an intended part of my post, but it had a profound enough effect on me to make it into this entry.
Set in South Central L.A. in the early 1990s, the movie follows two brothers, Doughboy and Ricky, and their friend Tre, who lives across the street. Ricky and Tre have reached the end of high school, and each have bright futures ahead of them in athletics and academics -- but they are haunted by the destructive lifestyles chosen by so many young men around them, including Doughboy. In the end, Ricky is gunned down by gang members provoked by Doughboy's volatile temper.
I'm not about to attempt a full-blown commentary on this situation faced by boys across the country. This movie just elicited an emotional reaction from me, because in those characters, I see the young men whom I teach every day.
Today, I had a very candid talk with my class. I mentioned in passing that I expect all of them to master our material because it will be important to their continued education in college. One student commented quietly (he didn't think I could hear him),
"No way they'll let me into college."
You should know two things about this young man, whom we'll call Devon. He is very intelligent and comprehends math concepts easily. He also has a troubled past, having moved from another city two years ago. Judging by Devon's comment, he has embraced an all-too-common self-fulfilling prophecy. He believes that his future is more or less set. He probably envisions himself living a life of low-paying menial jobs, broken relationships, and possibly even prison. When I heard his comment, I felt the call and need to speak what was on my heart.
What I explained to the class was that I truly expect them to have the opportunity to attend college when they graduate from high school. If they choose not to attend, it will indeed be because they chose another path... not because their high school career precluded it. I expect them to take difficult classes after mine -- classes that would stretch their abilities, cause them headaches, challenge them.
Most of all, I wanted them all to know that they still had a clean slate ahead of them. Regardless of what ghosts might hang over them, they had the potential to change, and to see a better fate befall them than they had witnessed.
I walk into class every day taking for granted that every student will still be there. Granted, Durham, NC is nowhere close to Los Angeles in terms of daily stress and danger. Maybe I'm getting too worked up over a movie. My hope is to milk every opportunity I have with these kids, even if only for 90 days.
That's what the administrators are calling my classroom this year. It's also my new nickname among my closest co-workers as punishment for taking my job too seriously. It's a difficult name to say though - Print Rich. I can't even say it twice in a row without swallowing my tongue. I didn't foresee that agreeing to show my room to teachers as an example of a print rich classroom would bring so much persecution! (For those who are not familiar with this term, it refers to a well prepared classroom that is rich in text, pictures, diagrams, and other relevant literature and/or objects that are conscientiously designed to increase student literacy and understanding of the subject content taught in it) If I wasn't being harassed with text messages under the table all throughout today's professional development I was being visited by the entire all male deans' office while I was taping up the global history time line yesterday in my room. They have been giving me a hard time because they are being asked to follow suit and make their rooms just as "print rich," and frankly it's a bit too much to ask of such manly men.
Almost every day my co-workers try to distract me from planning ahead, from taking meetings seriously, or from taking on leadership responsibilities within the school. Don't get me wrong, it's important to laugh and not take everything so seriously. Otherwise, I'll burn out by the time Christmas rolls around when students uniformly decide they are going to make the teachers earn their vacation days. They fight more frequently and with increased violence, they become restless during lessons, and all the norms you've established with them become lost in their distant memories. It's around this time I see teachers throwing back double shots of Red Bull outside the corner bodega before lowering their shoulders and charging into school. It happens every year. I really should remember to capture this scene with my iphone this year and share it with you all.
Truth is, it's not easy to stay motivated and to keep pushing against what seem like immovable mountains. I couldn't help but be somewhat discouraged to know that my co-workers only see genuine effort as a rookie mistake or as in my case sucking up to superiors. But after everyone left the building and all I could hear were my own feet against the broad tile floors and my hands smoothing out posters against bulletin boards, I had to remind myself that I do all of this unto God. Inner city students are who God has called me to love and serve. However, I have not yet seen mind blowing results since I started teaching at the high school level three years ago. In many ways I feel all the miraculous successes I saw during my prior three years at MS 201 didn't transfer and that I have had to start all over. But I don't perform miracles. What I can and continue to do is stay faithful to what's been given me and do my absolute best every day. I love and relate with my students the best way I know how, I prepare until I am dry of ideas, and I teach to the best of my God given ability. I will do these things excellently through Christ who gives me strength. God will do the rest, and you can be sure that results will follow to the testimony of God's amazing love and power for my students.
The morning of the walk was unmercifully early and very wet. Purim, who's not a morning person, braved the hour train ride up to the Bronx to help me pick up my students. Of the 11 that said they'd go, only 5 showed. It was pouring and it was 8am. I didn't blame them. Even I didn't want to be there. But I put on my happy face and dished embarrassing jokes at my students all the way down town. By the time we got out on the other end, however, my students were already regretting being there. By the look on their faces you would have thought they were being forced to clean dirty bathrooms! Long story short, we got through the walk and several of the students even had really meaningful conversations with some of our super encouraging friends who were also participating in the walk. Though we were tired and soaked we put on our best smiles and took this picture at the end of the walk. Soon after, we finished out the day with a couple of pizzas and made for our respective beds. I sincerely hope my students understand the significance of what they have done for children worse off than they all over the world. It was a tough lesson to be learned, but I believe they are better for it.
