The motivational corner...
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A new year, a new school
OK. I admit it...I'm pathetic! I'm 2 months into the school year and I haven't written anything. I will do my best to post more frequently in the future! You'll notice I also changed the title of my blog... Since it's no longer "the second year" I figured I should change it. I'm not exactly happy with the current title, but it will do for now :)
I guess I'll rewind and start at the beginning.
The start of the school year was bittersweet. I was excited to teach the first cohort of 9th graders at a high-performing school... we're ranked #11 middle school in NYC according to this year's progress report. I was thrilled to teach at a school where most of the staff is as dedicated and motivated as I am. A professional environment. An administration that makes itself visible and present to students. Clear and high expectations for teachers as well as students.
On the other hand, I was sad to leave my old school, colleagues, and students. I had taught about 50 of my students for 2 years. I knew I'd miss seeing them grow up and graduate. I truly loved them.. by the end of 10th grade, they had really matured both intellectually and socially.
Sometime in October I visited them... it's amazing how much older they looked from the last time I saw them in June!
Where do I even begin?
I'm teaching 9th graders. We just started reading Harper Lee's timeless classic, To Kill a Mockingbird... even though the vocabulary is challenging, they love it so far (we're only on chapter 3, so maybe I should hold my tongue).
We've basically just been focusing a lot on characterization and note-taking. We just introduced independent reading at home, so they've had a lot of work to do. It's exciting to hear kids talk about the books their reading, and how they can't wait to finish so they can start a new book!
My co-teacher and I had them do a "One-Pager" after we were first introduced to Boo Radley. I learned about the One-Pager at the AVID conference I went to in June. It's basically a way for kids to express their understanding of a chunk of text both in words and visually. They had to pick a few excerpts that stood out to them, write a personal response to the text, and draw their visualization of the scene. I figured it'd be best to show them exactly what I was looking for in their One-Pagers, so I did one myself. I had a LOT of fun making it!! :) I love the scene where Boo is first described... blood-stained hands from killing squirrels and cats, yellow rotten teeth, 6'6'', a jagged scar on his face... he is so mysterious yet so misunderstood!
I'll take some pictures of the best One-Pagers students turned in and post them! I'll also post some pictures of my classroom.
It's hard to believe it is already mid-November. Where has time gone?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Update
Much has happened over the last month, so an update is long overdue.
A week before the school year ended, my principal told me I wouldn't have a job there next year because of the budget cuts. Since I was the last hired English teacher, I was the first to lose my job. Additionally, she cut another English teacher, the chemistry teacher, and a math teacher.
Next year looks bleak. Freshmen will no longer have 90 minutes of English and math; they will have 45 minutes. (Keep in mind, most of my students are reading at least 2 or more years behind grade level and DESERVE double English classes to give them the opportunity to progress.) Our student's math scores on the state exams were terrible. We had something like a 20% pass rate for the Geometry regents exam.
Three out of our five AP classes were cut. No honors classes. No after school activities/ tutoring (unless, of course, teachers volunteer). Aside from me being upset about losing my job, the fact that my students are going to have even less opportunities for a rigorous education upsets me even more. In fact, it's infuriating. My students deserve an education that is challenging for them at whatever level they are, but now most of the classes will be remedial.
My colleagues, to whom I am very close, are afraid the school will fall apart without the funding and support tools they need. Regardless, they will continue to work even harder to give my students what they deserve-- a quality education.
Two days after I lost my position I went to Dallas for a week-long AVID conference. AVID stands for Advancement Via Individual Determination and is a college preparatory course for students who are motivated and bright but who lack the necessary skills (reading, writing, organization, note-taking) to excel in the toughest courses. The idea is that these kids CAN excel but need the extra support to do so. I learned a ton of strategies that I can incorporate into my lessons. Although I was excited about learning new things and being trained in AVID, being at the conference with my colleagues was tough. I was sad that I wouldn't be at my school next year to see our plans and exciting ideas take root.
After taking a week to come to terms with losing my position I began my hunt for a new job. A part of me hoped that at any day my principal would call me and say there had been a budget miracle and she'd be able to keep me. Realistically, I knew I had to find a new job.
Last week, I interviewed and taught a demo lesson at a school at which one of my TFA friends taught. I liked it, but when I left the school, something didn't feel right. The AP said he loved me and would talk to the principal about hiring me.
The next day, a principal called me and asked if I'd like to come in for an interview. He told me a little about his school, which was currently a 6-8 middle school, but in the fall they're adding a 9th grade (the following year, 10th, etc. until they have a high school as well). He seemed excited, so I figured why not have another possible option.
A day later, the AP of the first school called and offered me a job. I was thrilled but told him I'd have to let him know in a few days after my second interview.
Yesterday, on the day of my second interview, I went grudgingly. But, the second I stepped foot in the school I knew it was right for me. I can't exactly explain why, but my gut told me I wanted to teach there. My interview went well. I immediately fell in love with the school. The principal has a clear vision of what he wants for his teachers and students. He is passionate about education and kids and doing everything he can to build a team of motivated, driven, inspired teachers. He's the type of principal I want to work for.
After the interview, two 8th grade girls took me on a tour of the building. IT IS BEAUTIFUL. Brand new. There is a REAL full-sized gym. Beautiful library with a ton of new computers. Smartboards in every room. I think I even saw a football field out of the back window being renovated. I chatted the girls up about their school, teachers, etc. They were so cute and clearly loved their school and learning and growing as students.
After I left the school I felt both excited and sad at the same time. That's the kind of school (building) my old students deserve (my old school was in a converted warehouse. No real gym.) One with nice, modern facilities.
Later in the day, the principal called me and offered me the 9th grade English position. Without hesitating, I accepted wholeheartedly. He said, "At one point in the interview you seemed nervous, but the second you started talking about your kids, you lit up. We could tell how passionate you are about kids and teaching. That's the kind of teacher we want, so we knew you'd be right for our school." He then told me I passed the second, more difficult interview: the one with students. After I left, he asked the girls what they thought of me. They said, "Mr. O, she's great. We loved her."
So, after a tumultuous month of uncertainty, I finally feel at ease. In fact, I am thrilled.
A week before the school year ended, my principal told me I wouldn't have a job there next year because of the budget cuts. Since I was the last hired English teacher, I was the first to lose my job. Additionally, she cut another English teacher, the chemistry teacher, and a math teacher.
Next year looks bleak. Freshmen will no longer have 90 minutes of English and math; they will have 45 minutes. (Keep in mind, most of my students are reading at least 2 or more years behind grade level and DESERVE double English classes to give them the opportunity to progress.) Our student's math scores on the state exams were terrible. We had something like a 20% pass rate for the Geometry regents exam.
Three out of our five AP classes were cut. No honors classes. No after school activities/ tutoring (unless, of course, teachers volunteer). Aside from me being upset about losing my job, the fact that my students are going to have even less opportunities for a rigorous education upsets me even more. In fact, it's infuriating. My students deserve an education that is challenging for them at whatever level they are, but now most of the classes will be remedial.
My colleagues, to whom I am very close, are afraid the school will fall apart without the funding and support tools they need. Regardless, they will continue to work even harder to give my students what they deserve-- a quality education.
Two days after I lost my position I went to Dallas for a week-long AVID conference. AVID stands for Advancement Via Individual Determination and is a college preparatory course for students who are motivated and bright but who lack the necessary skills (reading, writing, organization, note-taking) to excel in the toughest courses. The idea is that these kids CAN excel but need the extra support to do so. I learned a ton of strategies that I can incorporate into my lessons. Although I was excited about learning new things and being trained in AVID, being at the conference with my colleagues was tough. I was sad that I wouldn't be at my school next year to see our plans and exciting ideas take root.
After taking a week to come to terms with losing my position I began my hunt for a new job. A part of me hoped that at any day my principal would call me and say there had been a budget miracle and she'd be able to keep me. Realistically, I knew I had to find a new job.
Last week, I interviewed and taught a demo lesson at a school at which one of my TFA friends taught. I liked it, but when I left the school, something didn't feel right. The AP said he loved me and would talk to the principal about hiring me.
The next day, a principal called me and asked if I'd like to come in for an interview. He told me a little about his school, which was currently a 6-8 middle school, but in the fall they're adding a 9th grade (the following year, 10th, etc. until they have a high school as well). He seemed excited, so I figured why not have another possible option.
A day later, the AP of the first school called and offered me a job. I was thrilled but told him I'd have to let him know in a few days after my second interview.
Yesterday, on the day of my second interview, I went grudgingly. But, the second I stepped foot in the school I knew it was right for me. I can't exactly explain why, but my gut told me I wanted to teach there. My interview went well. I immediately fell in love with the school. The principal has a clear vision of what he wants for his teachers and students. He is passionate about education and kids and doing everything he can to build a team of motivated, driven, inspired teachers. He's the type of principal I want to work for.
After the interview, two 8th grade girls took me on a tour of the building. IT IS BEAUTIFUL. Brand new. There is a REAL full-sized gym. Beautiful library with a ton of new computers. Smartboards in every room. I think I even saw a football field out of the back window being renovated. I chatted the girls up about their school, teachers, etc. They were so cute and clearly loved their school and learning and growing as students.
After I left the school I felt both excited and sad at the same time. That's the kind of school (building) my old students deserve (my old school was in a converted warehouse. No real gym.) One with nice, modern facilities.
Later in the day, the principal called me and offered me the 9th grade English position. Without hesitating, I accepted wholeheartedly. He said, "At one point in the interview you seemed nervous, but the second you started talking about your kids, you lit up. We could tell how passionate you are about kids and teaching. That's the kind of teacher we want, so we knew you'd be right for our school." He then told me I passed the second, more difficult interview: the one with students. After I left, he asked the girls what they thought of me. They said, "Mr. O, she's great. We loved her."
So, after a tumultuous month of uncertainty, I finally feel at ease. In fact, I am thrilled.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Highs and lows
As many of you are probably aware, the city is facing severe budget cuts which could result in 5,000 or more teacher layoffs. Layoffs are determined by certification area and seniority. District 7 in the Bronx (my district) could lose 21% of its teachers.
The budget crisis will undoubtedly devastate my school and my students. My school could lose some of the most dynamic, dedicated, hard-working, creative, inventive, intelligent, competent teachers it has. This thought is extremely upsetting for me.
My principal delivered some bad news to the staff a week ago- layoffs are coming and we must brace ourselves for the worst. No after school activities next year. No tutoring. Possibly no AP or honors classes. All second year teachers could go. Even fourth year teachers should worry.
After receiving this news, last week was particularly difficult for me. Until that point, I figured my principal could pull strings and keep my job (as she said she'd try to do). I've been worried about finding a job if I lose mine, but what's more upsetting is the prospect of leaving my kids and my school. I've known about 50 of my students for two years now--I've seen them grow up, mature and improve drastically.
Last Thursday, I graduated from Lehman College. What a relief! Finally. No more traveling to Lehman twice a week for class.
On Friday morning, I received a letter in my mailbox from my principal. She wanted me to go to the conference room 4th period to discuss "something positive." I was thinking perhaps she found a way to save my job!
At the beginning of 4th period, I made my way to the conference room and saw Peter (another TFA teacher who teaches my students Global) waiting there. We wondered what was up.
As we entered the room, 15 of our sophomores sat around the table and all cheered and clapped for us, yelling "Happy graduation! Congratulations!" I could have cried. They presented us with homemade cards signed by everyone in the room and a cake. We sat in the room for the period eating cake, laughing, joking, smiling. We enjoyed every minute.
I left school that day feeling valued and cherished as a teacher.
In three days, my principal will let me know if I've been laid off. (Although that could, of course, change throughout the summer, as the budget has not been signed.)
The budget crisis will undoubtedly devastate my school and my students. My school could lose some of the most dynamic, dedicated, hard-working, creative, inventive, intelligent, competent teachers it has. This thought is extremely upsetting for me.
My principal delivered some bad news to the staff a week ago- layoffs are coming and we must brace ourselves for the worst. No after school activities next year. No tutoring. Possibly no AP or honors classes. All second year teachers could go. Even fourth year teachers should worry.
After receiving this news, last week was particularly difficult for me. Until that point, I figured my principal could pull strings and keep my job (as she said she'd try to do). I've been worried about finding a job if I lose mine, but what's more upsetting is the prospect of leaving my kids and my school. I've known about 50 of my students for two years now--I've seen them grow up, mature and improve drastically.
Last Thursday, I graduated from Lehman College. What a relief! Finally. No more traveling to Lehman twice a week for class.
On Friday morning, I received a letter in my mailbox from my principal. She wanted me to go to the conference room 4th period to discuss "something positive." I was thinking perhaps she found a way to save my job!
At the beginning of 4th period, I made my way to the conference room and saw Peter (another TFA teacher who teaches my students Global) waiting there. We wondered what was up.
As we entered the room, 15 of our sophomores sat around the table and all cheered and clapped for us, yelling "Happy graduation! Congratulations!" I could have cried. They presented us with homemade cards signed by everyone in the room and a cake. We sat in the room for the period eating cake, laughing, joking, smiling. We enjoyed every minute.
I left school that day feeling valued and cherished as a teacher.
In three days, my principal will let me know if I've been laid off. (Although that could, of course, change throughout the summer, as the budget has not been signed.)
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Silenced
The following post is an excerpt from a paper I had to write for grad. school.
On the National Day of Silence—a day on which hundreds of thousands of students nationwide take a vow of silence to raise awareness of the anti-GLBT bullying and harassment in schools—my students silenced me, their gay teacher.
I’ve been both haunted and humbled by my students’ responses to homosexuality. Some students believe gay people are sinners and therefore are going to hell. Some students believe gay people are disgusting and repulsive. Some students believe gay people are, well, just normal people. Some students believe gay people are wonderful and beautiful individuals who should be embraced and cherished by society. My students’ responses to homosexuality—or any sexual orientation that strays from heterosexuality—fall on a wide spectrum ranging from complete acceptance to tolerance to intolerance to virulent hate. During the last year and a half, I’ve come out to two students—Chris and Eliana. Both students are gay. Both students struggled with their sexuality. Both have inspired me.
E
E was in my sophomore ELA class last year. She was bright, inquisitive, talented. During the fall she was an obnoxious student—always talking, laughing inappropriately in class, disruptive at times. So, we butted heads. On a mid-April morning around 7:55 a.m. while frantically preparing for second period, I noticed E walk into the Main Office, her parents not far behind her. They stopped to talk in the hall, and I proceeded after E, concerned.
“E, what’s up?”
“Oh nothing Ms. Brady,” she replied, her eyes transfixed on the floor’s discolored linoleum tiles.
“You sure?”
“Uhh. My parents found out I’m gay. Again.”
“Again?”
“Yea, they found out last year and grounded me for the entire summer.”
“Oh, no, I am sorry,” I replied, not really knowing what to say next.
“It’s OK Miss.”
“So they found out you’re gay. But why are they here?”
“They want my girlfriend suspended,” she said.
“Suspended? What? Why?”
“Because they said she turned me gay.”
I realized if I hid my sexuality from her I could inadvertently cause her to lose more hope and crawl deeper and deeper into a closet she so unwillingly constructed.
“E, I’m proud of you. You’re courageous. I was nowhere near as brave as you were when I was in high school. I hid until college. I was too afraid of coming out--my family, my friends. If you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thank you Miss, that means so much.” We had never understood each other more completely.
Before we could conclude our conversation, her parents walked into the office. I introduced myself, albeit reluctantly. I wanted to yell at them and tell them they were destroying their daughter, pushing her away, forcing her to isolate herself from them and the rest of society. I wanted to tell them they were permanently scarring her. Instead, I walked away.
Later, E told me that her parents dropped her off at school, picked her up immediately every day. They forbid her to take part in extracurricular activities, cheerleading, or hang out with friends. At home, she retreated to her room, never leaving because when she did they harassed her. She stopped eating and lost weight. She fell victim to her parents’ homophobia and complete misunderstanding of her. In June she told me her parents were forcing her to transfer because the school “was too gay.” The last time I saw her she was walking down the street away from the school after taking her last Regents exam.
“Please email me if you ever need to talk,” I said as we stopped on the corner.
“I will, Miss.” She walked down the Grand Concourse and out of my life.
(In October, E’s girlfriend flagged me down in the hall. She said E wanted to relay a message to me: “Thank you, Ms. Brady, for your support and everything you did for me last year. I'll email soon.” A few simple words. But they meant so much to me.)
C
I first met C in my freshman Writing Seminar last fall. He was slightly overweight, proud of his Puerto Rican heritage, self conscious, insecure, a “ladies’ man.” I sensed early on in the year that Chris was grappling with his sexuality. He seemed out of place among his friends who were all girls. As the year progressed, I noticed that he was changing. He began losing weight, his group of friends changed, he became more sure of himself in class. I wanted to reach out to him, but at the same time I did not want to offend or hurt him in my attempt to offer an ear.
On the National Day of Silence last April I asked the students who participated to reflect on why they took a vow of silence. In his reflection, C came out to me. In May, my students wrote I-search papers on a hero who had inspired them. C chose to write about Harvey Milk. Over the next month, I saw him grow significantly as a student and individual. He took ownership of his education, became proactive. He came out to his group of friends who now seemed to love him more than they ever did before. They admired his courage, his strength, his convictions about his identity.
Fast-forward four months to September. C sported a purple mohawk, wore faded skinny jeans, got his lip pierced, pinned a rainbow flag next to his Puerto Rican one on his backpack. He was out, and proud to be out, but depressed at the same time. His parents struggled to accept his new “lifestyle.” He struggled with their inability to support and understand him. But he was confident and had found a great group of friends who accepted him for who he was. A few times, I slipped a post-it note to him during class--“Hey C. I can see you’re upset by something, and that worries me. If you need to talk, I’m here.” He’d nod, his eyes averted mine, returning to complete his work mechanically. I worried about him.
In December, he wrote his “coming of age” narrative essay about his experience coming out and how it has empowered him and given him strength to confront any problem. I saw so much of myself in his words. After tearing his essay apart and providing constructive feedback on the writing process, I wrote him a note.
C,
I am both moved and inspired by your story. You’ve written the coming out essay I never wrote. I am proud of your courage. You say that coming out has been both liberating and painful. You’re exactly right. I didn’t have the strength to accept my sexuality until my junior year of college, and it was exactly as you put it--liberating and painful. I felt sure of myself, comfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life. I no longer felt like an outcast who hid from the rest of the world. But, after the first time I said the words, “I am gay,” I felt anxious and fearful of how others would perceive me. Like you, I worried about my parents and friends’ reactions. Your story has inspired me. I am very proud of you.
We’ve never talked about being gay. We’ve respected each other’s privacy. We’ve established an unspoken bond and understanding of each other. And he knows I am his ally.
I have been deeply humbled and moved by E’s and C’s courage to come out in an environment that ultimately does not accept gay people. They’ve blazed their own pathways to discover their inextricable identities and true happiness. They’ve given me a renewed courage to take pride in who I am. And they are, in many ways, my heroes.
The Day of Silence, April 16, 2010
I woke up the morning of Friday, April 16 with butterflies in my stomach. It was the Day of Silence. I was excited to see how many students would participate and take a vow of silence to support their GLBT classmates and take a stand against the blatant and subtle homophobia in schools. I was nervous about hearing anti-gay slurs or witnessing harassment. Before second period, I pinned a “National Day of Silence” pin to my button-down and slipped on a red bracelet that read, “What will you do to end the silence?” over my wrist. I made my alliance to the GLBT community visible for the second time in two years.
The day was running smoothly until eighth and ninth period. During eighth period, a student shouted out.
“Miss. Why you wearin’ that pin?”
“Because I support the Day of Silence.”
“For gay people? And why aren’t you silent?”
“It’s for anyone who rejects the homophobia gay and lesbian kids face. And I am taking a stand to support tolerance.”
“Oh. Well, you gay?”
“Sessay, I’m not discussing my private life here. I’m saying I’m supporting the students who have been silenced by their homophobic peers.”
“Oh. Can I have your bracelet then? I support the Day of Silence.”
“Sure,” I said, masking my incredulity.
(The very next day Sessay asked if gay people could get married in New York. When I said they couldn’t, she replied, “Good. Gay people are nasty.”)
In 9th period, the students were completing an Anticipation Guide to prepare them to read Othello. One of the statements was, “Jealous boyfriends are good because they protect their girlfriends.”
“Well, Miss, what if I don’t have a boyfriend? What if I have a girlfriend?” Andrea said.
“Andrea, sure, you could change it to girlfriend or significant other. The reason I used ‘boyfriend’ is because in Othello Desdemona’s husband is jealous.”
“Oh, OK.”
Sasha, overhearing this conversation screamed, “You nasty. Girlfriend? What are you gay?”
“No!”
“Good. Gay people disgust me.”
Half the class silently perked their heads up to see what I’d say. The other half laughed and encouraged her. I asked Sasha to walk outside with me so we could talk, otherwise she would have made a scene. I asked her if she knew why I wanted to talk to her.
“Because I said that shit about gay people.”
“And do you understand why that is hurtful or offensive?”
“Miss. No one in the room is gay. I know that.”
“Sasha, whether there are gay people in the room or not, your words are inappropriate.”
“Oh, OK. You’re right.”
We returned to the room, and students started sharing their responses. Although I can’t remember how it came up, another student shouted out, “that’s so gay.”
“Guys, can we not use ‘gay’ as a synonym for ‘stupid’? It’s offensive,” I replied calmly but irritation and disgust ate at my stomach. Seriously, when is the bell going to ring?
“Miss, why you offended by that? You goin’ to make us think you gay or somethin’,” Itati yelled, laughing, from the back of the room.
“I’m just supporting tolerance.”
After some sneers and chuckles, I quickly moved on. At that moment, I was deeply hurt and enraged. Am I really the only teacher who ever confronts homophobic comments in the classroom? Do all other teachers enable the comments and let them slide? How could that be possible?
I left school feeling defeated. When I walked to the subway tears slid down my cheeks. My students had done exactly what I was standing up against. They silenced me.
On the National Day of Silence—a day on which hundreds of thousands of students nationwide take a vow of silence to raise awareness of the anti-GLBT bullying and harassment in schools—my students silenced me, their gay teacher.
I’ve been both haunted and humbled by my students’ responses to homosexuality. Some students believe gay people are sinners and therefore are going to hell. Some students believe gay people are disgusting and repulsive. Some students believe gay people are, well, just normal people. Some students believe gay people are wonderful and beautiful individuals who should be embraced and cherished by society. My students’ responses to homosexuality—or any sexual orientation that strays from heterosexuality—fall on a wide spectrum ranging from complete acceptance to tolerance to intolerance to virulent hate. During the last year and a half, I’ve come out to two students—Chris and Eliana. Both students are gay. Both students struggled with their sexuality. Both have inspired me.
E
E was in my sophomore ELA class last year. She was bright, inquisitive, talented. During the fall she was an obnoxious student—always talking, laughing inappropriately in class, disruptive at times. So, we butted heads. On a mid-April morning around 7:55 a.m. while frantically preparing for second period, I noticed E walk into the Main Office, her parents not far behind her. They stopped to talk in the hall, and I proceeded after E, concerned.
“E, what’s up?”
“Oh nothing Ms. Brady,” she replied, her eyes transfixed on the floor’s discolored linoleum tiles.
“You sure?”
“Uhh. My parents found out I’m gay. Again.”
“Again?”
“Yea, they found out last year and grounded me for the entire summer.”
“Oh, no, I am sorry,” I replied, not really knowing what to say next.
“It’s OK Miss.”
“So they found out you’re gay. But why are they here?”
“They want my girlfriend suspended,” she said.
“Suspended? What? Why?”
“Because they said she turned me gay.”
I realized if I hid my sexuality from her I could inadvertently cause her to lose more hope and crawl deeper and deeper into a closet she so unwillingly constructed.
“E, I’m proud of you. You’re courageous. I was nowhere near as brave as you were when I was in high school. I hid until college. I was too afraid of coming out--my family, my friends. If you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thank you Miss, that means so much.” We had never understood each other more completely.
Before we could conclude our conversation, her parents walked into the office. I introduced myself, albeit reluctantly. I wanted to yell at them and tell them they were destroying their daughter, pushing her away, forcing her to isolate herself from them and the rest of society. I wanted to tell them they were permanently scarring her. Instead, I walked away.
Later, E told me that her parents dropped her off at school, picked her up immediately every day. They forbid her to take part in extracurricular activities, cheerleading, or hang out with friends. At home, she retreated to her room, never leaving because when she did they harassed her. She stopped eating and lost weight. She fell victim to her parents’ homophobia and complete misunderstanding of her. In June she told me her parents were forcing her to transfer because the school “was too gay.” The last time I saw her she was walking down the street away from the school after taking her last Regents exam.
“Please email me if you ever need to talk,” I said as we stopped on the corner.
“I will, Miss.” She walked down the Grand Concourse and out of my life.
(In October, E’s girlfriend flagged me down in the hall. She said E wanted to relay a message to me: “Thank you, Ms. Brady, for your support and everything you did for me last year. I'll email soon.” A few simple words. But they meant so much to me.)
C
I first met C in my freshman Writing Seminar last fall. He was slightly overweight, proud of his Puerto Rican heritage, self conscious, insecure, a “ladies’ man.” I sensed early on in the year that Chris was grappling with his sexuality. He seemed out of place among his friends who were all girls. As the year progressed, I noticed that he was changing. He began losing weight, his group of friends changed, he became more sure of himself in class. I wanted to reach out to him, but at the same time I did not want to offend or hurt him in my attempt to offer an ear.
On the National Day of Silence last April I asked the students who participated to reflect on why they took a vow of silence. In his reflection, C came out to me. In May, my students wrote I-search papers on a hero who had inspired them. C chose to write about Harvey Milk. Over the next month, I saw him grow significantly as a student and individual. He took ownership of his education, became proactive. He came out to his group of friends who now seemed to love him more than they ever did before. They admired his courage, his strength, his convictions about his identity.
Fast-forward four months to September. C sported a purple mohawk, wore faded skinny jeans, got his lip pierced, pinned a rainbow flag next to his Puerto Rican one on his backpack. He was out, and proud to be out, but depressed at the same time. His parents struggled to accept his new “lifestyle.” He struggled with their inability to support and understand him. But he was confident and had found a great group of friends who accepted him for who he was. A few times, I slipped a post-it note to him during class--“Hey C. I can see you’re upset by something, and that worries me. If you need to talk, I’m here.” He’d nod, his eyes averted mine, returning to complete his work mechanically. I worried about him.
In December, he wrote his “coming of age” narrative essay about his experience coming out and how it has empowered him and given him strength to confront any problem. I saw so much of myself in his words. After tearing his essay apart and providing constructive feedback on the writing process, I wrote him a note.
C,
I am both moved and inspired by your story. You’ve written the coming out essay I never wrote. I am proud of your courage. You say that coming out has been both liberating and painful. You’re exactly right. I didn’t have the strength to accept my sexuality until my junior year of college, and it was exactly as you put it--liberating and painful. I felt sure of myself, comfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life. I no longer felt like an outcast who hid from the rest of the world. But, after the first time I said the words, “I am gay,” I felt anxious and fearful of how others would perceive me. Like you, I worried about my parents and friends’ reactions. Your story has inspired me. I am very proud of you.
We’ve never talked about being gay. We’ve respected each other’s privacy. We’ve established an unspoken bond and understanding of each other. And he knows I am his ally.
I have been deeply humbled and moved by E’s and C’s courage to come out in an environment that ultimately does not accept gay people. They’ve blazed their own pathways to discover their inextricable identities and true happiness. They’ve given me a renewed courage to take pride in who I am. And they are, in many ways, my heroes.
The Day of Silence, April 16, 2010
I woke up the morning of Friday, April 16 with butterflies in my stomach. It was the Day of Silence. I was excited to see how many students would participate and take a vow of silence to support their GLBT classmates and take a stand against the blatant and subtle homophobia in schools. I was nervous about hearing anti-gay slurs or witnessing harassment. Before second period, I pinned a “National Day of Silence” pin to my button-down and slipped on a red bracelet that read, “What will you do to end the silence?” over my wrist. I made my alliance to the GLBT community visible for the second time in two years.
The day was running smoothly until eighth and ninth period. During eighth period, a student shouted out.
“Miss. Why you wearin’ that pin?”
“Because I support the Day of Silence.”
“For gay people? And why aren’t you silent?”
“It’s for anyone who rejects the homophobia gay and lesbian kids face. And I am taking a stand to support tolerance.”
“Oh. Well, you gay?”
“Sessay, I’m not discussing my private life here. I’m saying I’m supporting the students who have been silenced by their homophobic peers.”
“Oh. Can I have your bracelet then? I support the Day of Silence.”
“Sure,” I said, masking my incredulity.
(The very next day Sessay asked if gay people could get married in New York. When I said they couldn’t, she replied, “Good. Gay people are nasty.”)
In 9th period, the students were completing an Anticipation Guide to prepare them to read Othello. One of the statements was, “Jealous boyfriends are good because they protect their girlfriends.”
“Well, Miss, what if I don’t have a boyfriend? What if I have a girlfriend?” Andrea said.
“Andrea, sure, you could change it to girlfriend or significant other. The reason I used ‘boyfriend’ is because in Othello Desdemona’s husband is jealous.”
“Oh, OK.”
Sasha, overhearing this conversation screamed, “You nasty. Girlfriend? What are you gay?”
“No!”
“Good. Gay people disgust me.”
Half the class silently perked their heads up to see what I’d say. The other half laughed and encouraged her. I asked Sasha to walk outside with me so we could talk, otherwise she would have made a scene. I asked her if she knew why I wanted to talk to her.
“Because I said that shit about gay people.”
“And do you understand why that is hurtful or offensive?”
“Miss. No one in the room is gay. I know that.”
“Sasha, whether there are gay people in the room or not, your words are inappropriate.”
“Oh, OK. You’re right.”
We returned to the room, and students started sharing their responses. Although I can’t remember how it came up, another student shouted out, “that’s so gay.”
“Guys, can we not use ‘gay’ as a synonym for ‘stupid’? It’s offensive,” I replied calmly but irritation and disgust ate at my stomach. Seriously, when is the bell going to ring?
“Miss, why you offended by that? You goin’ to make us think you gay or somethin’,” Itati yelled, laughing, from the back of the room.
“I’m just supporting tolerance.”
After some sneers and chuckles, I quickly moved on. At that moment, I was deeply hurt and enraged. Am I really the only teacher who ever confronts homophobic comments in the classroom? Do all other teachers enable the comments and let them slide? How could that be possible?
I left school feeling defeated. When I walked to the subway tears slid down my cheeks. My students had done exactly what I was standing up against. They silenced me.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Lily
Yesterday was a special day.
During my last unit, in which we studied Night and other Holocaust memoir pieces and films, I reached out to Facing History and Ourselves--an organization that helps educators link history to moral choices today--about having a Holocaust survivor speak to my students. I emailed with a woman at Facing History for a few weeks, and then didn't hear from her.
Spring break passed, we finished studying the Holocaust, and we moved into our next unit (we're reading Othello). I felt terrible because I had mentioned to my students I was trying to have a survivor come speak. Then, last Thursday night, my contact at Facing History emailed me. A survivor--Lily Margules--was set to come the following Tuesday. On Friday and Monday, I scrambled to gain permission from my administration, reserve the biggest room in my school, and organize which 75 of my 130 students I was inviting.
On Monday and Tuesday morning I woke up with knots in my stomach. I was nervous. Nervous things would go wrong. Nervous she'd get stuck in traffic. Nervous my students would disrespect her.
Around 10:30 Tuesday morning I met Lily outside of my school. The moment I met Lily, I felt connected to her somehow, almost as if I'd known her my entire life. I can't explain why I felt that way, but I did. She was so cute-- wearing a green skirt suit and heels. Heels!
At this point 75 of my students were already seated and waiting for her arrival. The second I opened the door, the room filled with applause. All eyes were on Lily as she walked to the middle of the room. I gave her water and pointed to a chair if she wanted to sit.
I briefly introduced Lily. Then, she began her story. She asked if anyone knew what "survivor" meant. One student, K, raised her hand tentatively. She said quietly, "someone who makes it through a difficult time." Lily, who moved toward K to hear, said, "Please speak up honey, grandma is hard of hearing." Everyone laughed. I could feel her warmth and desire to connect with my students on a deeply personal level.
For the next 45 minutes, the room was silent except for the bell and the trucks passing on the highway outside. Every student's eyes were transfixed on Lily as she walked around the room pouring out her painful memories of the Holocaust.
Lily's story made everything I had taught my students real. Her words had a power I cannot describe. Her poignant story moved every student in that room.
As Lily told a story of her act of resistance against the Nazis, a few students wiped away tears. After surviving the Vilna ghetto, a few slave labor camps and two concentration camps, in January 1945, Lily and her sister (among others) were forced on a death march. I cannot do her story justice. They trudged through the snow for days. One of Lily's friends had started limping, so Lily and her sister tried to help her stand up and continue walking. Their efforts failed, though, and the Nazi guard shot her in front of everyone. The guard then said, "You're all cold. Go, take her coat." No one else had a coat. Lily said that everyone stood there. No one took the coat from the girl they loved and cared about deeply. That was her act of resistance against the Nazis inhumanity. She refused to be turned into an animal.
After Lily took questions, we thanked her for sharing her story, for dedicating time to connect with us. Four of my students presented her with flowers. She hugged and kissed each student on the cheek, thanking them. (Let's just say I fought my hardest to hold back tears but failed miserably.)
After I dismissed my students, I was shocked by how many (maybe 30) gathered around Lily-- to say thanks, introduce themselves, shake her hands, and hug her.
As I said goodbye to Lily outside of my school, I felt like I was saying goodbye to one of my grandparents. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. As the car drove away, I felt incredibly humbled.
Friday, April 9, 2010
The birthday
Somehow my second period class (superstars) found out that tomorrow is my birthday. At the beginning of class, all they wanted to do was talk about me, my family (the triplets, especially. Sorry Myles :) ), and what I was doing to celebrate. I promised them if they worked their hardest on their essays for 40 minutes we could have the last five to talk and I'd answer some of their questions.
But, of course, after spending the whole period helping them with their essays I looked at the clock when there was a minute left in class.
As I was doing so, everyone sang "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs. My face became bright red ("Miss, you're blushing!" )and I couldn't stop smiling.
Nothing can ruin my day now.
But, of course, after spending the whole period helping them with their essays I looked at the clock when there was a minute left in class.
As I was doing so, everyone sang "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs. My face became bright red ("Miss, you're blushing!" )and I couldn't stop smiling.
Nothing can ruin my day now.
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