Hello, Yes I'm Alive and Well

It has been nearly 4 months since I have shared (in my typically and oft-criticized, ahem friends who prefer it as a "book on tape," verbose manner) the ups and downs of the Teach for America experience. Don't worry, I am not going to attempt to cram everything in this one post. Because the truth of the matter is these 4 months have provided me with enough material to write a decently sized novel or the screenplay for a full length dramedy. I will catch all of you up to speed eventually, but the purpose of this blog is to offer up some of the highlights and lowlights, so you can share (if you wish) in the most challenging, frustrating, but easily the most fulfilling adventure of my life.

Highlights: Bill Cosby was right, Kids truly do say the darndest things. Especially five year olds. As a Kindergarten teacher, I am never lacking joy in my job. My kids sustain me and remind me daily why I stick out the less than appealing hours, paperwork, certification courses, etc. They supply me with endless stories, lots of laughter, and a boosted sense of self worth. Nothing quite like a child bringing you a rose in the morning, proposing with a heart silly band, or running towards you in the hallway in the morning saying, "I just love you so much Mees Cruz!"
There's also nothing quite like the brain of a five year old and the thoughts it produces. If you've chatted with me in the last few months, you surely have heard of one of my favorite students--we'll call him Zebra for the sake of privacy :) He is one of a kind. I'd carry him around with me wherever I go if I could, creepy I know, just to hear what he has to say about every little life encounter. Here are a few examples of Zebra's latest verbal musings:

"Ms. Cruz, I have a headache, I think you are stuffing too much learning in my brain."
"Ms. Cruz, I have a secret. I think that I used to be a vampire. Or maybe a robot."
(Pointing to his muscles) "If you think these are big, you should see my brain."
"I think you are cooler than a ninja, Ms. Cruz."


Lowlights: It ain't always so lovely and glamorous. I also must deal with temper tantrums, chronic "accidents," incessant criers, and circumstances/situations that break my heart daily. I will divulge more information later. But as I want to keep this short and relatively optimistic, I will spare the details for now. Just know this: I have threatened to put one of my children in diapers, and I also have found myself crying in my car on the way home from work far more often than could be deemed sane or normal. So keep sending prayers, luck, support, strength, and humor my way. Especially during this month which notoriously known in TFA Houston as SUCKtober and marks the beginning of the three month "pit of teaching despair" that spans until Winter Break. Yeesh. Hopefully Zebra and the rest of my wonderful kids can keep me afloat during this fun fest.

And now for a few shameless plugs:
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go see Waiting For Superman. It will be $10 (dang, movies have gotten expensive) and 2 hours well spent. If you don't believe me, take Oprah's word for it. Or Bill Gates's. Or John Legend's.
Also, if you so feel inclined, donations to my classroom project would be MUCH appreciated :) I'm halfway to project completion thanks to the generous support of wonderful friends and family. My kids will do a special cheer for you (ask Annie), and I will be infinitely indebted to you. The link follows:
http://www.donorschoose.org/lauryn.cruz
Thirdly, COME VISIT. Houston is (finally) growing on me, and I'd love to share my life here with the people I love the most! So consider this an invitation extended to all, please take me up on my offer.

And finally to leave you with the quote of the week. One to ponder, perhaps. One that has certainly challenged me and one that I hope will challenge you, too.
"A ship is safe in harbor. But that's not what ships are for."--William Shedd

Much love, always.
LC

Getting Real

I think Dickens' said it best in A Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." I think if any one line can sum up Institute, and particularly this past week of Institute up for me, it is that. I have never felt more low, more challenged, more defeated than I have this week. But I have also never felt more passionate, more impelled, and more encouraged. Allow me to explain in a little format we frequently do in TFA called high/low.

I'll start with the LOWS. Wednesday was easily the worst day of teaching I have had in my 3 weeks. I only had 8 students, but there may as well have been 80. I was reading The Little Red Hen, or La Gallinita Roja, and my little monsters (I say this affectionately, because in fact, they are self-proclaimed monsters after reading Where the Wild Things Are) were all over the place. Instead of sitting in a circle on the carpet with bocas cerradas, piernas cruzadas, manos a ti, ojos en mi (mouths closed, legs crossed, hands to yourself, eyes on me) they were laying all over each other, crawling under tables, yelling out. One child, my little Juan, legitimately fell asleep in his favorite "rock" position. I was trying (and failing) to keep up with the behavior. I was moving kids to "red" on the behavior stop light like I had never done before. However, my lovely kids are no longer scared of moving to red. They have lost interest in the 10,000 Dora the Explorer and Spiderman stickers we have purchased. So when I moved them to red, or for a few, sent them to the "Silla de Pensar" (thinking chair), they would look at me with defiant little grins and cheer. I. was. livid. At one point, I stopped the lesson, looked at them and said, "Do you guys want to learn today?" Wrong question. They said no...shocking. What 5 year old understands the urgency of literacy? What 5 year old wants to do anything but nap? What college student does for that matter? Regardless, I lost my kids that day. The icing on the cake for this day was that I was being observed by my advisor. Naturally, right? I proceeded to have to relive the disaster of my lesson twice...both times crying in frustration at my complete and utter failure. Wednesday I was ready to quit. I was ready to go home. I was completely convinced that I was not up for the job, that I was wasting my time, and even worse, my kids time. I talked to my mom and Lucy through sobs about my uncertainty and my feeling that maybe TFA isn't what I was supposed to be doing. I couldn't shake images of Kayla's proud little smirk out of my head as she walked to the thinking chair or of Juan on the floor, completely disinterested and disengaged. It was awful. And that's just Low #1.

My other 2 "LOWS" came not from teaching, but from 2 statements that have completely shaken me to my core. One day this week, I caught Juan staring into the classroom mirror as I called all the kids to line up for a bathroom break. This is usually a 2 minute process, as convincing them to do anything is a process, and while each of them sauntered to the door, Juan stepped to the side quietly. I walked over to him and asked, Juan, what are you doing? Not looking away from his reflection, he asked the one simple question: Eres yo? (is that me) I was puzzled for a second as I answered hurriedly, Si, Juan. Eres tú. And then it hit me. Hard. Juan had never seen himself, his full body reflected, in a mirror. I was crushed. I swallowed a huge lump in my through and ushered him to the line. Juan will probably forget that moment. I doubt I ever will. The poverty is real, as I discovered with Alejandra the week before. These kids are mostly unaware of what they are lacking, but I unfortunately am not. The fact that Juan is 5 and had never seen himself in a mirror until this week reminded me of the urgency of what I am doing. It also broke my heart.

The final low was in a quick statistic that our Curriculum Specialist told us during our Diversity Training this week. Our discussion was focused on literacy, as, we have learned, the achievement gap is a literacy gap, and the discrepancy that our kids face in their education is their lack of ability to read, communicate, and write. In this discussion, our CS told us that in Texas, prisons base their future construction of prison cells off of 3rd grade literacy levels. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but essentially, that means that if a child is behind by the 3rd grade, the state of Texas considers them a future inmate, as illiteracy equates to criminality. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach when I heard that. It makes what I am doing now as a Pre-K teacher and what I will do in the fall as a Kinder teacher seem so very urgent, so very necessary and crucial. I can't let my kids be that statistic. I want them to defy all statistics. I can't fail them. Can't.

The combo of those 3 moments had me feeling pretty shaken and uncertain as to my ability to be here and be successful. But then, I had a few highs to pick me up and give me the much needed reminder, that I am right where I should be, doing exactly what I am called to do.

For starters, I rocked my Friday lesson, if I do say so myself :) I was teaching kids how to read a book and make predictions. We read The Ugly Duckling, which I must have forgotten is a terribly depressing book, especially for someone like myself who cries/gives myself heartburn at the sight of people eating by themselves. I made a huge poster in which we first as teams and then individually made predictions for what would happen to the "patito muy feo." While most of them predicted, as they always do, that the patito would turn into a monster (I really should have never read where the wild things are...), they were awesome at self-evaluating their prediction. At the end of the book, they successfully showed me either their smiley face white board (if their prediction was right) or their sad face white board (if their prediction was wrong). For the first time ever, I had 100% mastery of an objective come assessment time. I know this is a lot of boring TFA technical lingo--but essentially, I succeeded in reaching every single one of my students in that lesson. And it may seem trivial, but it was huge for me. When I walked out of the room and they all said goodbye with huge smiles and high-fives, I had the thought that maybe, just maybe, I could do this.

And then this weekend came high #2 and high #3. First, my brother came in town. TFA has a way of making you feel like not quite yourself, I can't explain it really. Maybe its the exhaustion or the gravity of what we're doing, but somedays you go to bed not really remembering how to be Lauryn, and only sure of how to be "Maestra Cruz." I don't know if that makes sense. But regardless, Adam reminded me who Lauryn is. I saw him for a few minutes at the Cardinals/Astros Game (ugh, we lost :( ) and then again for dinner on Sunday. He, naturally, had me laughing the whole time. For an instant, I didn't feel guilty not focusing all of my energy on my kids or their lesson plans. I could be a "real person," and though I couldn't help but show him all of the great pictures of my kids, he reminded me of the balance that will be necessary to helping me stay sane and stay me in these next 2 years. And I was reminded of how very lucky I am, how much support I have, and how "to whom much is given, much is expected." My family, my friends, all of you (hopefully!) believe in me. It is all of you who will keep me grounded and who remind me why I'm here when every part of me wants to go home.

High #3 was another seemingly simple moment, but one that radically changed how I'm going to approach this mission of mine. I was on the phone with my cousin Emily. She and I were discussing various things--school, faith, frustrations--both talking 100 miles a minute as we tend to do, both completely anxious with our own impending fates of the week (her's the nursing exam, mine...5 year olds). I was telling her about Juan's mirror moment, and I got choked up and angry about how unfair it is that my student is 5 and had never seen his full reflection. Em listened patiently and towards the end of our conversation, she offered up a sound little piece of southern wisdom, that perhaps Juan's "mirror" moment could be my own mirror moment of sorts. I've seen myself plenty of times (sometimes I wish I hadn't!), but I need to take the time in this experience to really check myself out. I need to take this experience as a self-reflection, to take a look at the (wo)man in the mirror, and to figure out why I'm here. I have as much to learn as my students do. Seeing Adam and talking to Emily really put things back into perspective for me. I finally realized that I can't focus on things like beating the odds, defying the statistics, changing the world one child at a time. I mean obviously that's the end goal, here. I want all of this things, and I will fight for all of them daily. But I must take my time here moment by moment. I must celebrate all of the little daily victories, I must use them as motivation to get me through those awful days, which are inevitable. I can't give up. I'm too stubborn to anyway, but, I can't. These kids need me. And I desperately need them.

So there it is. The best of times, the worst of times. I go into this final week of Institute with a new mindset, a new attitude. I am starting to learn how to take one day at a time, which is a struggle for an innate planner like myself. I am starting to be about the moment and to take the highs and lows in stride. After all, I've only been teaching for 14 days. I have so much to learn, which is simultaneously both a terrifying and invigorating thing.

And so I leave you all again with a quote that I feel will also carry me through the ups and downs and highs and lows of this coming week and the 104 weeks that will follow this one, "I LONG TO ACCOMPLISH A GREAT AND NOBLE TASK, BUT IT IS MY CHIEF DUTY TO ACCOMPLISH HUMBLE TASKS AS IF THEY WERE GREAT AND NOBLE."--Helen Keller My job here is certainly an urgent one. It is one that will require great perseverance and great passion. And while the end goal is obviously, always, to close the achievement gap, to make the dream of ONE DAY a reality, it is also to get my Juan's, my Alejandra's, and my Joaquin's to leave my classroom smiling, to leave my classroom wanting to come back the next day, and to know that someone truly and deeply believes in them. I challenge myself to remember that even when I am the worst of days. I challenge all of you to remember it, too, in whatever way it is that you can. So, here's to all of us accomplishing with great pride all of the humble tasks we will each face in our respective walks of life!

Much love always.

My First AHA Moment (thank you, Oprah)

As hard as this is to admit, I have spent a lot of the last 3 weeks feeling sorry for myself. Yes, I do the strenuous work necessary to close the achievement gap for some of the most under privileged children in Houston, Texas, I have often found myself feeling more sorry for ME than for THEM. It sounds backwards, I know. And I don't know why I feel the need to confess my selfishness to all of you and the greater blog-o-sphere, except that I need to get it off my chest. Let me explain a little. As I've already shared on this blog, and to many of you through desperate texts and phone calls, the schedule of institute is pretty horrendous. It's basically boot camp--complete with concrete barracks (in which the lights and AC are motion sensored, and I am too short for them to sensor my motion), a dining hall (where watching people ea alone gives me heartburn), and people running around at all hours to complete their various missions (aka lesson plans that must be printed, copied, hole punched, and practiced). I spend a lot of my time looking for bilingual pre-school books. That means I've read where the wild things are (or donde viven los monstruos) and pretty awesome translations of if you give a mouse a cookie and alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day about 60000 times. On a good night, I average 4 hours of sleep. Then, I go to Tijerina Elementary School and teach 10 little monsters (they actually DO think they are all monsters after reading Where The Wild Things Are--bad lesson planning on my part) anything from reading, writing, math or science. I am observed 2 a week by a SMT (school mentor teacher) and a CMA (corps member advisor) who make me more nervous than a Coronado fire alarm and then meet them twice a week to debrief on the things I am doing well versus those things that I need to improve on. See, here I go again. Needless to say, in the MINUTES in between all of this, I complain. A LOT. I talk about how exhausted I am. About how if I have to ask the kids to cross their legs one more time I'm going to pull my hair out. I complain that its too humid, the walk to the gym is too long, the food is getting old.

Wrapped up in all of my own woes, I lost sight of the big picture. Until this week, when I had my first 2 AHA moments that will hopefully sustain me in the next 2 weeks and 2 years. I was sitting on the floor during Academic Intervention Hour with Juan Chantaca. Juan is what my collaborative group likes to call an emo-in-training. His favorite position in class is "la roca" or one in which he curls up into a ball, head down, unresponsive to anything any of the teachers have to say or do. Juan is an attention-seeking little boy and he is also one of the most curious and driven children I've ever met. Anyway, we were working on making patterns. I would make one, he would copy, or try to. We did this over and over again for 15 minutes. We were having a 50% success rate, and I was bored to tears, already trying to calculate what I would need to do in order to get 5 hours of sleep instead of 4, when Juan looked at me with a huge smile. "Maestra Cruz, mira" and I looked to where he was excitedly pointing. He had made a pattern himself. Now, I know this may seem so minor. But it hit me looking at his face, beaming, seeking my approval, seeking my recognition that YES, Juan you did it! My eyes watered up, as they so easily do, and I gave Juan a "DAME 5" or a high-5. And I realized no matter how simple, how mundane, how trivial these moments seem, these are going to be the moments that define my next 2 years. This was my motivating AHA moment, a big smile from my little emo.

And then I had an AHA moment that made the achievement gap real for me, that made the economic gap real for me. I was sitting eating breakfast with my kids one morning this week, across from a little girl named Alejandra, who, the youngest in the class, is easily the most far behind. This chubby-cheeked little monster was eating her cereal hastily, she loves breakfast and lunch time, and in between explaining to me that she wants to be a police officer and that she loves to cook tortillas with her mom. In her excitement to talk and eat, she spilled some milk on her dress. I handed her a napkin and she began to wipe it off, blushing a bit. As she was wiping, she noticed a hole near the collar of her dress. This was not a hole that you get from snagging your shirt on something, this was a hole from a dress that has been worn and re-worn. She quickly looked up to see if I had noticed the same hole, I averted my eyes to pretend as if I hadn't, and then out of the corner of my eyes, I watched as Alejandra broke my heart a little bit. She stared at the hole, and then hurriedly brushed her hair over it so that neither myself nor anyone else would see it. Alejandra rocked my world with that gesture. I had been lamenting just the night before to my friend Maria about how much I needed to go shopping for cuter teacher clothes, and I had never once considered the very real plight of my students. I am teaching them because most of them, are living in or near poverty. I guess with the little kids its easier to ignore. They generally seem very happy and content, completely unaware of the gravity of their situations, that I too forget and ignore. But Alejandra was painfully self-aware in that moment; for whatever reason, she felt the need to cover that hole in her shirt, and it be it out of shame or pride, she hid the hole. I wanted to kick myself for my selfishness and ignorance. I was ashamed. And I replay that moment in my head over and over again, reminding myself that I am dealing with real people here and up against a very real problem. It sucks to admit that I had lost sight of that.

I've gotten really caught up this week in frustrations that my kids are too rambunctious to learn anything. I spend more time convincing them to sit down in a circle, to stop singing Justin Bieber and listen, and to PLEASE keep your hands to yourself that I do trying to teach my objective. At the end of institute, we'll administer an assessment that will judge their progress for the summer. I am terrified my kids will leave these 5 weeks knowing nothing more than they did coming in. That I will have failed them. Because how do you explain to a bunch of 5 year olds that its them against the world when it comes to education? That the time is short but the need is great? That we can't waste any more time NOT distinguishing b from d, because I don't want them to become another achievement gap statistic? I hope this doesn't seem melodramatic to any of you. This is just what I think about on a day-t0-day, minute-to-minute basis. I will never have a job more physically and mentally as exhausting as this. But I also don't know if I will ever have one that is as fulfilling. So when the frustrations are high and the energy is low, I need to remind myself of the urgency of what I'm doing. I need to remind myself that Alejandra, Juan, and even Kayla--who may be the death of me--need me to advocate for them, and need me to prepare them for what will be a 13 year long fight for an education that they deserve, but may not necessarily be given.

People often talk about the blind idealism of us, TFA-ers, that we naively think we can go out and change the world one child a time. There is some truth to that--we are naive, and I do want to change the world--but we are not above getting jaded by the system or by our own selfishness. I must remind myself daily that I want to be here and that I need to be here. I must not lose my idealism.

Again, I leave you with a quote...another song, actually. I've been introduced to the musical genius of matisyahu here in Houston (yes, about 6 years later than everyone else--Annie Ryon, my musical taste needs you). A few times a week, my school director at Tijerina plays the song ONE DAY by Matisyahu. One day is shaping this experience for me in more ways than one. First because, ONE DAY is the mission of Teach For America (One day, all children) and second because the lyrics talk about how this work is a struggle but that we must continue to fight the good fight with it. So bear with me, friends and family. I apologize for the phone calls in advance, but when I do call or text, please remind me, oh-so-kindly, to suck it up and to get back to work. Matisyahu put it much more eloquently...

Sometimes I lay under the moon
And I thank God I'm breathin'
Then I pray don't take me soon
'Cause I am here for a reason

Sometimes in my tears I drown
But I can never let it get me down
So when negativity surrounds
I know someday it'll all turn around because

All my life I been waitin' for
I been prayin' for, for the people to say
That we don't want to fight no more
They'll be no more wars
And our children will play, ONE DAY.

Happy 4th of July, everyone. Much love, always.

Someone's Superman

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFN0nf6Hqk0

Check it out. The charter school program I will be teaching at this fall, KIPP, will be featured in the film.

Why Am I Doing This? Funny you should ask...

It certainly seems like the question of the summer: Why are you doing Teach for America? Last year when I was busy on SLU's campus recruiting my fellow students and friends to what I believed was the noblest of causes, I had a very good answer to that question. I would rattle off statistics that would shock people "Because only 1 in 10 children from low income households will ever graduate from college" or "Because about 50% of kids from low income households won't even graduate from high school." I would state with conviction that I believed I had the power to make the difference. I was doing Teach For America because it was I wanted to, it was what I felt I SHOULD be doing.

But when I was asked this question this week (either by fellow Corps Members, people around Houston, or just by myself) I found myself faltering for an answer. You see, this week marked my first 5 days as an official, teacher and my second week of the infamous Institute that one may as well call Teacher Boot Camp. We wake up at 5:30 every morning, board busses by 6:40, spend the next 9-10 hours on our school sites teaching and learning, come home and begin a night of lesson planning, and hopefully make it to bed by 1:30 in order to get that much needed four hours of sleep. If you know me, you know I am NOT a morning person. I believe Lucy, Annie, and Nicole used to have a name for me sophomore year--the cranky, crazy, crabby Cuban, was it??--that referred to the "Lauryn" I was when I didn't get enough sleep or had to wake up earlier than 8 am. Suffice it to say, this whole no sleep thing has definitely affected my conviction in my crusade against Educational Inequity. Basically, when I thought about why I was doing Teach For America this week, the question became something more accusatory...like, why in the heck WAS I doing this program?? To put it into perspective, this first week (I'm teaching bilingual pre-k...which will put a lot of the following into context)...I completely failed at teaching kids their shapes (HOW DO YOU FAIL AT THAT?!), spent an entire hour teaching kids how to properly sit in a circle, had a kid ask me if I was the black princess from The Frog Prince (Ok, so maybe I didn't hate that one too much), and the icing on the cake...had a child poop her pants. Yep, this is my summer. On Thursday night, I found myself in tears, thinking, I can't do this, I'm ready to go home. I couldn't remember why I was doing TFA, all I knew for certain was that I was over-tired and underwhelmed with what my first week had to offer. I had seen more than one person quit this week, I was starting to think maybe they had the right idea. After all, the Coronado pool and 4th of July in Chicago didn't sound too shabby...

Then, on Friday afternoon, my summer school director played us a powerpoint that detailed the impact of our 2 years. In the next 2 years, I myself will directly affect 200 kids. That means that in Houston, where we have nearly 300 incoming corps members for 2010, Teach For America has the potentially to radically change the life trajectory of (let me whip out my calculator, I am only a pre-k teacher after all :) ) 60,000 kids. I don't know if that gives you chills, but it certainly gave me some. And then the powerpoint proceeded to tell us that across the nation there are 4510 people joining the TFA cause this year, meaning we can touch the lives of nearly 900,000 students in the next year. I mean with numbers like that the impact is inevitably HUGE. In 31 cities and Washington D.C., TFA will be going into classrooms working tirelessly (and tiredly) to make the mission of "One Day, All Children" a reality. Seeing those numbers, I started to think, Gosh, we're really doing something here. And I remembered in that moment, why I am doing Teach for America. Because, ok, let's face it, the numbers are idealistic. Chances are I won't reach all 200 children who cross the threshold into Maestra Cruz's in the next 2 years. But I know I can and will reach one. And those other 199 will certainly provide me with some good stories...and hopefully not so many more bathroom accidents.

So Why am I doing this? Its because it's what I want to be doing, and it is what I should be doing. I think back to the kids I met at the immersion school, my Marlena who used to tell me, "Teach, school is BOOTY!" or Caleb who cried when we were working with making change because he said he couldn't stop thinking about how his mom and dad didn't have any money or Brian, who was more interested in rapping the latest Lil Wayne than learning his alphabet, and I do this for them. I think about Joaquin, a 5 year old in my class this summer, who--though he still can't recognize all of his shapes--ran up to me after school one day this and told me with his infectious smile, that his name starts with a "J," and I remind myself that I am doing this for him.

Tomorrow morning will mark day 6 as a teacher for me. And when that alarm clock goes off at 5:30 in the morning, I won't be happy, but I'll be ready. As someone told me this week, "Your ONE DAY, ALL CHILDREN mission starts now. It's beautiful thing." And indeed it is.

Live a Life Less Ordinary

Two weeks ago life was pretty easy. I was sitting on top of the world as a college graduate, waking up late in a pretty great apartment with some REALLY great friends. Two weeks ago I was considerably carefree, living in that wonderful limbo between college and the Real World where, I'm a little ashamed to admit, my mother still did my laundry and yet I had the freedom to do as I wanted when I wanted. Two weeks ago seems like 20 years ago.

On June 8th, I moved to Houston, Texas to begin my 2 year commitment with Teach for America. I was not unaware of the great challenge this commitment would be. In fact, I was VERY aware...so aware that I have had anxiety about the infamous "Institute" since January when I was accepted into the program. I also have never underestimated or been unaware of how very blessed I have been all of my life. That "life" that I nostalgically lamented over above is a life that I wouldn't trade for any other. And though most of you are probably familiar with my self-depricating jokes, I consider myself a very lucky young woman to have been raised by a stable, faithful, and endlessly entertaining family and have been surrounded by a similarly loyal and wonderful group of friends (that I mostly consider an extension of my crazy family).

Regardless, I often wonder what I did to deserve the charmed life I was given. Sometimes, and it seems so weird to admit this in such an impersonal public forum, but sometimes, I feel very unworthy. I think for me, the last 4 years have been a huge growing-up process, (well, in some ways...) and I have come to realize that I have taken many things for granted: my faith, friendships, people in my family, and most pertinent for the purposes of this blog, my education. I'm not going to go off on a soap-box regarding the glaringly harsh statistics about the achievement gap in the United States, although the past week has provided me with enough heartbreaking statistics to talk for a lifetime, but I do wholeheartedly see and believe now that education, something that was "a given" for me, is a right not afforded to all and something must be done to change that. Immediately. So, for me, Teach For America is my opportunity to be apart of that change, it is a chance to stop taking things for granted, to work relentlessly to build a life as blessed as mine for the kids I teach, to make myself at least a little bit more deserving of the life I life. I will be serving (and I say serving here because I do believe this to be a sort-of mission work) at KIPP Sharp Elementary School in the fall as a Bilingual Kindergarten teacher, and it will be my most proud mission to prove to those kids (the class of 2023!) that they are SO worthy of a quality education.

It goes without saying for those of you that know me, but I am a word person. I love quotes and can be pretty easily gripped by a fantastic line in a TV show or movie or moved by the lyrics of a song. It should come as no surprise then, when thinking about how to end this first blog post of my 2-year adventure in Houston, that I resort to quotation. I was perousing the web for some new music to add to my "studying playlists" (yes, I am a nerd, and yes I AM studying on a Saturday post-college. Thank you, TExES and TFA) I came across a band called Carbon Leaf. In one of their songs, they have a lyric that says quite simply, "Live a life less ordinary." I suppose thats what I am trying to do here in Houston. I want to live big, live purposefully. I want to do something here that someone, even if it is a 5 year old named Joaquin, will remember. I will (and everyday do) miss my comfortable and fantastic life in St. Louis. But this new chapter is invigorating, and I promise to give it my best shot. I invite you all to join me in the laughter, joy, and with me, the inevitable tears, it will bring.