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.