Help Upgrade My Classroom Library

To learn to read you must first love to read. I teach a 4th grade general education class in a high-need community. My school is Title I (roughly 99% of students qualify for free lunch), with a mostly Hispanic student population. Almost a majority are English Language Learners.

Of my 25 fourth graders, all but two are below grade level. Roughly a third are reading at a third grade level. The rest are reading at a second grade level or below. All of them are determined to become better readers, but our classroom library is limited, and students often struggle to find a book that is both interesting and at their level.

With an influx of new books from level K (2nd grade) to T (4th grade) I hope to inject some excitement and variety into my classroom library. By offering students a broader range of options for home and classroom reading, I can more easily capture their attention and push them to become stronger readers.

Your help will ensure that boredom doesn't limit my students potential. My students deserve books that are not outdated or badly worn. New books will create a power sense of pride in our classroom library and enthusiasm for reading. Your support will help my students overcome a major hurdle in their quest to become better readers.

My students need 18 sets of leveled readers. The cost of this proposal is $645, which includes shipping for any materials requested and fulfillment.

Thank you for your support!

The Wilds of Africa

"If you could teach there, you could teach in the wilds of Africa I bet." This is a sentiment I've heard in various forms, and verbatim this Saturday. As I'm wont to do, I read a bit deeper into the statement, and found it a bit troublesome.

What is it that mystifies people about the Bronx? The wilds of Africa? What an unfortunate choice of words, loaded with encoded racism. More tragic, is the deep psychological separation we have made as society between our inner cities and our suburbs. Or even the "good" neighborhoods and the "bad."

Allow me a tangent: Why didn't we stop genocide in Rwanda? Why does it continue in Darfur? To oversimplify it, one might say it is, because Africa is an expansive, untamed continent inhabited by dark skinned people. Perhaps a more complex, or apologist argument goes to say that there is a endemic problem of corruption started by colonialism, now perpetuated by dictators. There's nothing we can do, we tell ourselves.

It's wrongheaded enough to think this way about other human beings anywhere. But it strikes me as even more profoundly wrong to think this way about fellow citizens in our own country, and in our own cities. The equivalence between the Bronx and the wilds of Africa (or any subsection of the Third World) speaks to a disturbing moral ambivalence.

In the same way we turned our backs on poverty in Africa, we are turning our backs on poverty in America. Perhaps we don't want to believe that poverty exists in our own backyards. But more likely we don't want to believe that it's our responsibility.

The Bronx is not a foreign land. It's not a war zone. It's not some uncharted territory, filled with dangerous, uncivilized natives. And yet in attempt to compliment me for my commitment to teaching in a high-need school, someone essentially admitted they view the Bronx in such a way. If we're ever going to solve the very difficult challenges facing this country's cities (and rural areas) we have to look at these problems realistically. That starts by including such places within our own reality.

"Excuse me!"

These are two of my least favorite words uttered as a teacher. Last year they were incredibly common, this year less so. It's a phrase that's pretty much reflexive to any teacher. It's a mix of outrage, indignation, disbelief and guilt trip.

It's a versatile phrase. Which contributes to its ubiquity. Another staff member is in the room having a talk with me for whatever reason and students are talking (a somewhat natural response), and I'll stop: "Excuse me!" I get a phone call for whatever reason in the middle of the class and again the students are talking: "Excuse me!" A student disrespects a classmate verbally or physically: "Excuse me!" It applies to virtually any situation when a student is misbehaving, and God, I abhor it.

What is it supposed to mean exactly? I don't even know. I picked it up naturally last year, because it's a very common phrase in a school. I definitely remember hearing it my fair share of times when I was a student. In was ingrained in my teaching DNA I suppose through that experience and by the sheer volume of times I said it last year.

This year I'm trying to wean myself off this obnoxious phrase. It's not really constructive and it's pretty unoriginal. But, still I find myself saying it whenever I'm just struck by a kid misbehaving for reasons beyond my comprehension and/or control. I'm not sure whether it will be possible to remove it from my teaching vocabulary completely, but I'd like to try.

Lessons from a Lesson

Today I took my class to the computer lab to do some research for our biography writing projects. It was a nice change for the kids to get out of the class and get on the computers since I don't have technology as a prep this year. A couple of quick reflections:

1. I was genuinely excited for this lesson last night when I was thinking about it. How weird is that? I was actually thinking about it the night before and couldn't wait to try it out.
   
2. Most of the students are practically computer illiterate which makes internet research very challenging (as such the lesson didn't quite succeed as planned). One of my students said to me, "I've never been on a computer before." Can you imagine? 2008 and right here in New York City there are kids growing up without regular access to technology take for granted. If that doesn't exemplify the inequalities behind the achievement gap, I don't know what does.
3. Overall the lesson felt exemplary of how much I've learned, but how much I've yet to learn. Integrating technology, modeling, scaffolding, etc. were all successful. But many of the kids spent two periods without really completing an outline. I realized afterward that I had failed to make the lesson doable for all the students. Really I needed to break the outline into parts and have the students who were struggling do one part at a time. So, as usual, it feels good to be a 2nd year teacher, but I know I have a lot to improve on.

Whenever you're using technology with these students it's a tough trade-off. It's essential to expose them to computers and internet resources. However, they're so ill-equipped, it can be more of a hurdle than a help.

How did I get here? Why do I teach? (Part II)

Now to answer the second question is both easier and more difficult. Why do I teach? It's a question that I'm asked in some way or another any time I go on a date or have dinner with friends or meet anyone new for that matter. So, suffice it to say I've honed my answer pretty well at this point.

Today I told my colleagues that it is about equal rights, civil rights and social justice. I look at this country and I see a great deal of inequality. And it grows every day. In the past 50 years we've watched as millionaires became billionaires, and billionaires trillionaires. Inequality has a definitive starting point. And the fight for equality starts from that same place: the classroom.

The students of my classroom and classrooms like it across the country are practically invisible. They are being left behind not just by their government but by the citizens who are supposed to give a damn. I teach, because I can't stand to see a society discard millions of its citizens and I hope that perhaps by teaching I'm stopping that process. Or at the very least helping the next generation stop it.

To also echo some of the words of my co-workers I teach to empower the next generation. I teach so that they can learn the very simple but powerful ability to question. I teach so that one day they can speak up - speak up for themselves, speak up for what's right and speak out against wrongdoing. I teach, because it is a genuine chance to "make a difference".

"All around the world," one colleague said, "people do so much bad. And people do nothing. But as a teacher you are doing something and you are doing good."

I don't know if I'm a good person (last week I spent a day reminding myself how far I am from ideal). But I do know that the work I do each day is good. Even considering the immense failures of my first year of teaching and the occasional mistakes of this year, I know that teaching is undeniably good. So in many ways I teach for selfish means of self-validation. But less cynically perhaps, I teach to help the "greater good".

A year ago I was probably too bewildered to answer how I got to my school or why I was there. Maybe my answers would have been the same. But I doubt I would have understood and felt these ideas as deeply as I do today. Maybe my answers are inconsequential. Regardless, I am here, and I teach, and as long as I'm doing my best at that, perhaps the why doesn't matter.

How did I get here? Why do I teach? (Part I)

At a meeting this morning for mentors and mentees my principal had everyone share the story of how we got to our school, and why we were there. As always I kind of stumbled through my answer and once I sat back down and had time to think a fuller answer crystallized in my thoughts. As you might expect, the answer to these questions is complicated.

How did I get to a public school in the Bronx from Santa Rosa, California? Well it helped that I went to school in Philadelphia, and almost all of my best friends were moving to New York after graduation. That provided the first motivation.

When I found myself with no job prospects and graduation quickly approaching, I found another motivation. I had considered teaching for a while as a great way to gain life experience and put my youth and passion to work until I was ready for the "real world" (Can you imagine the naivete that envisions teaching as a transition to the real world?). So, I applied to Teaching Fellows, was accepted, thought about being a paralegal for a couple of weeks then settled back on teaching.

I pictured myself as a high school or middle school English or social studies teacher somewhere in Manhattan. I was assigned to teach elementary school in the Bronx. Hm. I didn't have time to dwell on it though as I was caught up in the whirlwind of pre-service training. My first interaction with 6th graders as a summer school teaching assistant assured me that middle school or high school would not have been the place for me.

Now it was August. School was a couple of weeks ago and I did not have a job. I attended a job fair, was offered a job on the spot my principal, which I accepted three days later. So, how did I get here? I suppose through a chain of hesitation, confusion and accidents that created a very fortuitous result. Thousands of miles from my hometown and comfortable upbringing, I find myself teaching fourth grade in a public school Bronx, and perhaps that's strange. But stranger, right now, I can't picture myself anywhere else.

A Trip to the Library

Did you know you can check 30 books out from the New York Public Library at a time? I found out today when I went on a trip to supplement my classroom library's biography selection. It was a fun and economical excursion (I recently realized I cannot afford to go to Barnes and Noble whenever the mood strikes). As I left, I made a realization about the power that access to information holds.

This is true in several respects. Firstly, the students reading and acquisition of knowledge is limited by the books available in the classroom. It's an altogether decent variety, but definitely slanted to the outdated and/or old dead White guy side of the spectrum.

The student's exposure to biographies is then limited by my choices at the library. Acting as a filter, I may have inadvertently biased our class's selection or looked over a book that would have otherwise caught a child's attention. I did my best to assemble a multicultural and multi-discipline cross-section of Black, Hispanic and female writers, artists, politicians, musicians and athletes. But, inevitably by choosing 30 books, a bias was implemented.

Third, the students knowledge is limited by their own abilities. As I browsed the library's biography section I was amazed by the variety, but found myself putting many books back after checking the difficulty. Of my 25 fourth grade students, perhaps three are reading at grade-level. Most of my readers are at second grade level, with a few dispersed above or below. This meant I was looking mostly for upper level picture books with the occasional chapter book.

I don't think the diversity of my biographies was hurt by the reading level of my students. However, the depth of understanding found in a second grade level text is significantly different than a fourth grade text. Each year these students fall behind grade level, they are being blocked from a deeper understanding of the world around them.

I hope to soon take my class to the library near the school. If I accomplish nothing else this year I want to expose my students to all the knowledge that exists and hopefully ignite in them a passion to pursue it. No big deal really, right?

Fight for Your Mind

I remember when I first envisioned becoming a teacher. I imagined changing the status quo. Inspiring children to learn, to question and to lead. I pictured myself engaging the students in the curriculum in a way completely new to them.

One of the most exciting opportunities I saw was in the area of history. I love history. It was one of my majors in college, and before Teaching Fellows assigned me to elementary school I hoped to be a middle school social studies teacher. As a teacher, I saw myself offering an alternative narrative to the conventional curriculum that focused on multiculturalism and debunked myths and heroes of the traditional American history.

Then I met reality. The first of many obstacles I found myself facing was time. When was I supposed to teach history? Between 30 minutse of SSR, 20 minutes of word study, 90 minutes of literacy, 75 minutes of math, two periods for lunch and prep, that leaves approximately 45 minutes in my day for social studies AND science. Hm.

Secondly, I found myself limited by myself. It is a noble idea to introduce students to an exciting and hopefully more authentic study of history. But as a first, and second year teacher, this has proven to be much easier said than done. And so, the textbook is there for me, as big a crutch as any.

Still, I've strived to at least make history real and relevant to my students. Meanwhile, my current masters class focuses on teaching social studies, and it has reawakened me to the need to breathe life and diversity into the curriculum. I hope I can find time, energy and inspiration to do so. As someone who truly believes in the importance of history, I know the stakes are too high.

One Bronx Teach Too Many

It's always an interesting experience when I run into another NYC teacher outside of a teaching/learning environment. Depending on the situation, it can be a very painful or pleasant experience. Regardless, it's always a reminder that just like students and classrooms, teachers and schools come in many different forms.

When I find myself at a dinner or party and happen to run into another NYC I always approach somewhat cautiously. Unlike my interactions with Teaching Fellows, I'm never sure what sort of environment they work in, or what sort of attitude they have towards their work. With most Teaching Fellows we're working in similar "high need" schools and we got into the program out of a similar passion and drive to close the achievement gap. Usually this is the case for non-Fellows as well, but it's not always so. But, Fellow or otherwise, I've had some interactions with other teachers that just leave me puzzled.

One of the more frustrating scenarios I've found myself in is a game of poverty oneupsmanship. When you're the only inner city teacher in a room you're usually able to just bask in the mixture of shock and admiration as you tell your war stories. Now if there's two of you in the room this won't happen as easily. Before you know it you're stuck in a competition for whose kids are poorer, whose school has fewer resources, or whose neighborhood is more violent.

Perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit, but I found myself in almost exactly this situation last night. And it sickened me. I found myself annoyed at my colleague who seemed to insist on some sort of perverse bragging right. At the same time I was annoyed at myself for caring.

I've always worried that beneath the surface, I held some very selfish reasons for teaching. Beyond wanting to make a difference I worried that I was doing it for the "dinner party reaction" - that mix of sympathy and awe that you encounter among a certain crowd (parents' friends, college friends, etc.). An extension of this is the tendency to sensationalize the characteristics of urban blight, e.g. breathless stories of child abuse, alcoholism, drugs, vandalism and violence that we encounter on the periphery of our classrooms.

I don't like to think of myself as someone who succumbs to this urge, who uses the painful environment of teaching for self-aggrandizement. And yet, last night I found myself trying to convince people at a dinner that my school was "bad enough" or whatever to compare to the South Bronx school where another diner taught kindergarten.

Meanwhile there was a tone in her voice, a barely hid, racially charged contempt for her teaching environment. ("Are there any black kids at your school?" I heard her whisper to an 8th grade dinner guest. "I just want to know if your basketball team is going to be any good.") Her devotion to teaching was obvious, but there was an attitude I sensed that was inexcusable.

Nonetheless, I still found myself dwelling on the way I was trying to measure my school against hers. I think (or at least I'd like to) that I was annoyed at the way this teacher and her family members wrote my school off as incomparable or "way better." But really, why should it matter? I'm not teaching to collect horror stories and social accolades. I'm teaching to help the kids for whom these stories are daily life. It's just one of the unintended consequences of finding myself in the room with another Bronx teacher. Sometimes I'm disgusted by what I see in them, but sometimes I find something equally ugly within myself.