School's Out!

(When you're happier than the students that the Friday afternoon bell has rung...)

So, after spending a summer floating around between two part-time jobs I loved after resigning from my doctoral program, I decided that I couldn't be a hippy forever (especially while paying rent in Tenleytown). I decided that I wanted to teach. Yes, teach! I mean, I planned on being an assistant professor and eventually a tenured professor anyway during and after I got my doctorate, so how different could it be? Right?

WRONG.
The whole application process was something of a whirlwind for me, and it seemed like it flew by quicker than it started. But it was official. On August 17, 2011, I became a DC Public Charter School 12th-grade English teacher.

My very first full-time job EVER!

Regular paycheck AND benefits? Pssssh... I brought back the Harlem Shake (within the confines of my car) after I signed that contract.

And then came the reality.

"You're teaching DC kids? Yikes!"

"Oh wow... do you REALLY think you can handle that?"

"Well... I guess you'll be investing in a firearm shortly."

When I was growing up, I loved school with an undying passion, and most of my friends loved it as well. Now, I realized that this would be a jaded perception to approach the school at which I am currently employed, which houses a large portion of children throughout the day who only come to get a meal and could really care less, or who do care and are afraid to show it for fear of being hassled by others.

I knew that the odds were against these kids: at least 80% are on the free lunch program, the majority of them cannot pass basic math and reading tests, and many come from households without parental support.

This was the complete opposite of my childhood experience, and I went in expecting the worst.

First of all, I'm 4'10" and I look like a child.

No.

Seriously.

I get carded for rated-R movies.

And last month, someone asked if I wanted crayons and a menu with a dinosaur and a tic-tac-toe game (but I did do that tic-tac-toe though...)

I'm also a first-year teacher, and though I passed the Praxis with flying colors, I am still not certified.

So, odds against me, too?

Perhaps.

On my very first day of school - August 31, the 12th grade students (and 7th grade, for that matter) towered over me - some with confused looks, and others looking like, "is this for real?"

Images of them getting into fights in class, throwing desks, and pinning me against a wall and stealing my money filled my mind instantly as I walked to the front of the classroom.

Oh God.

What am I doing here?

"So, you're new? Why did you decide to teach here?"

To be perfectly honest, I wanted to teach, was out of a job, and a friend of my mother's that is employed there gave me the call to apply.

But why am I here?

Because my biggest class is 16 students.

Because the staff took me under their wings like the small child I appear to be.

Because I wanted to make a difference in a neighborhood similar to the county from which I came.

But as the day progressed further and further, I realized that this was exactly where I wanted to be. Not just because of those reasons, but because it came so naturally to me, as if God himself put me there (and I believe He really did).

By the end of the day, I learned that many students had lived hard lives, and at only 16, 17, and 18 years old, that says a lot. Most of them fend for themselves. Most of them can't do the basic things many of us take for granted.

But I also learned that when those students come into my class, they feel safe enough to tell me things and trust that I will not only listen, but care. Someone they can joke with, but also someone who will teach and make sure that they learn (and care enough to pry their genius out of them). Something many have never felt before.

There were no fights.

I was not cussed out.

There were no weapons or threats.

Just kids. Kids wanting to maintain the facade of their "swag," but were really interested in learning and becoming better people.

And as much as I love when that weekend bell rings (and I do - trust and believe), when I wake up every  weekday morning, I put on my clothes, guzzle my coffee, and walk through those doors with the main reason I teach at that school:

To prove those ignorant people - including myself - wrong about so-called "DC kids."