I’ve enjoyed the blogging experience more than I thought I would. At first I was a little apprehensive and at times I’ve felt like my writing was homeless since no one really acknowledged it even existed. I’d thought about journaling for years though so if no one ever read it at least it would have accomplished that goal. I have to admit that blogging is quite different from writing in a private journal since you are aware that someone could be reading your thoughts on a public blog site. It’s almost as if someone is looking over your shoulder the entire time you’re writing. I really think that shapes what and how you write no matter how hard you try to believe otherwise.
Besides being an outlet for my thoughts, blogging has helped me feel more in tune with people younger than I. My sons kind of chuckled when I told them I was creating a blog for my class. I’m sure they were thinking the whole idea was hilarious. They were probably thinking of their own Myspace and Facebook sites and the thought of their mother posting pictures or accounts of her own weekend exploits was too much for them. A few days ago one of their friends came over and was talking to me while I was writing something on the Forum. He asked me what I was doing on my wireless (!) laptop (obviously surprised I even had a wireless laptop) and when I explained, I saw that same twinkle in his eye. I don’t know what the fuss is all about. My dad is 82 and he navigates the Web freely and sends me interesting websites and e-mails. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he created his own blogsite and posted a new workout routine he’s come up with at Parkside.
Some of the blogs I wrote were meant to be read by the parents of the Three Rivers Jenbe Ensemble. This caused me to strive for accuracy in my reporting and proved to be very constraining. I didn’t want to make any mistakes in spelling their names or in relating events that some of them may have attended. This caused me to go back and revise on several occasions.
Surprisingly, I found that I did some of my best writing on the blogs. One of them, entitled “Wasted Potential Space”, is something I will always keep. I’d finally found a voice to say something I’d tried to put into words for years. My student teaching was such a negative experience but I found by putting it into words, I really gained a lot of insight into myself and my future students by having gone through it.
On the negative side, trying to read all my classmates’ blogs proved to be just too time consuming. The Internet is a black hole that can suck you in faster and for a longer period of time than television can. You have intentions of checking one little thing on the Internet or reading one blog in order to comment on it and before you know it, it’s 2 a.m! A television show is finite and there are always commercials that force you to return to the reality of all the things you should be doing. On the other hand, the Internet is a maze of possibilities. There’s always something waiting just around the corner and those deadly links can lead you on a trip of no return.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Live TRJE Performance
Saturday night I attended an AISEDA fundraiser. AISEDA is the African Immigrants Social and Economic Development Agency. The organization assists newly arrived African refugees/immigrants by helping with health care, employment, housing, and overcoming linguistic barriers. At the last TRJE meeting I heard the group would be playing at the fundraiser and I wanted to see a public performance since I had only attended their rehearsals. I was also interested in making our ESL classes available to refugees that were being helped by AISEDA.
The fundraiser was held downtown at the Chamber of Commerce. I didn’t have much information so I arrived quite a bit early and was able to talk with several other people I’d seen at other refugee functions around town. It was a great networking opportunity. The fundraiser included a dinner of African food prepared by AISEDA members and also a silent auction. Beautiful articles that had been brought over from Africa were lying on tables to be auctioned off. Anyone who was interested in an item would write down their bid and then others would write under that a larger bid. The highest bidder was able to purchase the item. I met FeyFey’s wife, Karen, at the auction tables. She invited me to sit with her and her date for the night, her father, Jerry. I was glad for the company.
While we were looking over the items, the TRJE members came in and started setting up their drums and making preparations to dance. They were all dressed in beautiful African style clothing. FeyFey was the emcee and he looked like he was having way too much fun. He introduced everyone with great fanfare. I was really impressed with their performance. The dancers and drummers seamlessly meld together but it all looks so unrehearsed. With the exchange of a glance, the next dancer would move to the middle of the floor and solo dance, then fade back in with the others while another dancer moved out to the center. The audience was drawn into the performance and clapped enthusiastically. After several sets, FeyFey announced that the food was ready and lines began to form along side the tables. The ensemble was not allowed to eat until the guests had been seated with their food. The tables were laden with various rice dishes, chicken, beef, plantains, cassava, and fresh fruit. Needless to say, everyone had more than enough to eat. FeyFey kept up a running commentary while we ate and even called up several youngsters from the audience to try their skills at the drums. One of these new drummers was only two years old! FeyFey made everyone feel welcome and a part of the group. Then he introduced Tony Aduro, the head of AISEDA and several awards were given to other people who had lent their support to AISEDA’s refugees. After the awards were given, the results of the silent auction were announced. I was the highest bidder on a little handmade leather purse. After paying and talking with a few more of the parents, I left.
The fundraiser was held downtown at the Chamber of Commerce. I didn’t have much information so I arrived quite a bit early and was able to talk with several other people I’d seen at other refugee functions around town. It was a great networking opportunity. The fundraiser included a dinner of African food prepared by AISEDA members and also a silent auction. Beautiful articles that had been brought over from Africa were lying on tables to be auctioned off. Anyone who was interested in an item would write down their bid and then others would write under that a larger bid. The highest bidder was able to purchase the item. I met FeyFey’s wife, Karen, at the auction tables. She invited me to sit with her and her date for the night, her father, Jerry. I was glad for the company.
While we were looking over the items, the TRJE members came in and started setting up their drums and making preparations to dance. They were all dressed in beautiful African style clothing. FeyFey was the emcee and he looked like he was having way too much fun. He introduced everyone with great fanfare. I was really impressed with their performance. The dancers and drummers seamlessly meld together but it all looks so unrehearsed. With the exchange of a glance, the next dancer would move to the middle of the floor and solo dance, then fade back in with the others while another dancer moved out to the center. The audience was drawn into the performance and clapped enthusiastically. After several sets, FeyFey announced that the food was ready and lines began to form along side the tables. The ensemble was not allowed to eat until the guests had been seated with their food. The tables were laden with various rice dishes, chicken, beef, plantains, cassava, and fresh fruit. Needless to say, everyone had more than enough to eat. FeyFey kept up a running commentary while we ate and even called up several youngsters from the audience to try their skills at the drums. One of these new drummers was only two years old! FeyFey made everyone feel welcome and a part of the group. Then he introduced Tony Aduro, the head of AISEDA and several awards were given to other people who had lent their support to AISEDA’s refugees. After the awards were given, the results of the silent auction were announced. I was the highest bidder on a little handmade leather purse. After paying and talking with a few more of the parents, I left.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Various Reflections
Mr. Shifty Eyes died yesterday. He was with his brother when their car crashed into a house. When the paramedics arrived, they realized both of them had been shot in the head. One other student who caused so much grief during my student teaching days was shot last year in an argument over a dice game. I don’t know what I could’ve possibly done to alter the future for those young men. (See my previous blog entitled Wasted Potential Spaces)
I’ve just walked out of the art exhibit and into the main hall of the new library downtown. The distinctive sound of a jenbe drum reverberates through the main hall. Another drum answers the call from the opposite end of the hall. The two drummers “call” back and forth as they move toward each other. They’ve definitely got everyone’s attention in this space where quiet is usually enforced. When they finally come together in the center of the hall, they furiously beat out a song. When they stop, the sound still reverberates, then the crowd claps. My thought was Wow! But then I wondered where the rest of the ensemble was. My friend and I continued on our way exploring the booths that were set up for International Day. At the Korean table we had the woman spell out Welcome on paper with a brush and hand-mixed ink so we could hang the banners in our classrooms. After we’d checked out all the tables we continued exploring the new library. I was surprised to run into Akin hurrying out of a room with a young ensemble member who needed a bathroom. That was when I realized the performance twenty minutes earlier in the main hall was a call to the main performance in this room that seemed hidden away. There had been no announcement; we didn’t see any signs that would’ve directed us here to enjoy the performance. The day before my sons had come to see the Colombian dancers but had reported “there wasn’t anything going on”. Obviously, the dancing and music were taking place away from the main hall, in this room. Maybe next year this can be made clearer so that more people can enjoy them.
If there were more opportunities like the Three Rivers Jenbe Ensemble would young men like Mr. Shifty Eyes be alive today?
There was another article in the paper today about Mr. Shifty Eyes. I was surprised at what a different picture this one painted. The initial article stated that both men had felonies for various infractions and suggested incrimination but now since the second brother has died, this article was obviously written to invoke sympathy for the family. There is the mention of the men’s children; one had twin girls, the other an 11 month old. The family, consisting of 9 children with various combinations of mothers and fathers, asked for prayer. While I’m not insinuating that they’re not victims of a terrible crime, how can the character of these two men change in just two days, after they have died? Through word choice and content of what was reported, the journalists leave you to draw two very different conclusions.
Though Robert, Cindy, and I met to discuss the article “Third Space” and how to teach it, I gained some interesting insight into the article “Understanding Amsterdam”. Ever the practical, I like to figure out how the article pertained to our city. Since Robert has insight into the architectural world, I asked him what he would propose to do to reclaim the downtown area of Fort Wayne using the knowledge we’d gained from the Amsterdam article. He pointed out that Fort Wayne was originally an industrial city with its center in close proximity to the factories. Since those spaces are no longer used, where is the center of Fort Wayne? Is it Jefferson Pointe? Glenbrook? Northcrest? Do we need to revitalize an idea that’s obsolete for that particular space?
I’ve just walked out of the art exhibit and into the main hall of the new library downtown. The distinctive sound of a jenbe drum reverberates through the main hall. Another drum answers the call from the opposite end of the hall. The two drummers “call” back and forth as they move toward each other. They’ve definitely got everyone’s attention in this space where quiet is usually enforced. When they finally come together in the center of the hall, they furiously beat out a song. When they stop, the sound still reverberates, then the crowd claps. My thought was Wow! But then I wondered where the rest of the ensemble was. My friend and I continued on our way exploring the booths that were set up for International Day. At the Korean table we had the woman spell out Welcome on paper with a brush and hand-mixed ink so we could hang the banners in our classrooms. After we’d checked out all the tables we continued exploring the new library. I was surprised to run into Akin hurrying out of a room with a young ensemble member who needed a bathroom. That was when I realized the performance twenty minutes earlier in the main hall was a call to the main performance in this room that seemed hidden away. There had been no announcement; we didn’t see any signs that would’ve directed us here to enjoy the performance. The day before my sons had come to see the Colombian dancers but had reported “there wasn’t anything going on”. Obviously, the dancing and music were taking place away from the main hall, in this room. Maybe next year this can be made clearer so that more people can enjoy them.
If there were more opportunities like the Three Rivers Jenbe Ensemble would young men like Mr. Shifty Eyes be alive today?
There was another article in the paper today about Mr. Shifty Eyes. I was surprised at what a different picture this one painted. The initial article stated that both men had felonies for various infractions and suggested incrimination but now since the second brother has died, this article was obviously written to invoke sympathy for the family. There is the mention of the men’s children; one had twin girls, the other an 11 month old. The family, consisting of 9 children with various combinations of mothers and fathers, asked for prayer. While I’m not insinuating that they’re not victims of a terrible crime, how can the character of these two men change in just two days, after they have died? Through word choice and content of what was reported, the journalists leave you to draw two very different conclusions.
Though Robert, Cindy, and I met to discuss the article “Third Space” and how to teach it, I gained some interesting insight into the article “Understanding Amsterdam”. Ever the practical, I like to figure out how the article pertained to our city. Since Robert has insight into the architectural world, I asked him what he would propose to do to reclaim the downtown area of Fort Wayne using the knowledge we’d gained from the Amsterdam article. He pointed out that Fort Wayne was originally an industrial city with its center in close proximity to the factories. Since those spaces are no longer used, where is the center of Fort Wayne? Is it Jefferson Pointe? Glenbrook? Northcrest? Do we need to revitalize an idea that’s obsolete for that particular space?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Jambalaya
“Are you going to that Jambalaya thing again tonight?” My husband didn’t know how accurate his slipup was. Jambalaya: any miscellaneous collection or gathering. TRJE is a wonderful miscellaneous collection of people who gather together for a unified purpose. While from the outside it looks like that purpose is drumming and dancing, the inside truth is that it is so much more.
This evening I was a few minutes late but the circle always opens to let newcomers in. The lead in question was already being passed around. This time it was, “How many people have you greeted today?” I was surprised at the number of people we had all greeted. There were a few new people in the circle this time but they quickly learned by observation how to respond; “My name is ___________. I’m the daughter/son of _____________.” There was a new person sitting next to me who needed a little prompting but while she was shy in the circle she quickly overcame her shyness when she joined in the dance class. FeyFey expounded a little more on the importance of greeting people, especially in their own language. There’s that jambalaya thing again; I love it! The elders never miss a teaching opportunity. It certainly a whole lot more than drumming and dancing. He also discussed the upcoming events and broke the good news to us outsiders that tonight was a celebration in honor of Moustapha Bangoura’s return. After the dancing lesson, there would be plenty of food in the adjoining room and the next day would be a family fun day at a bowling alley. Following that announcement, everyone broke up to prepare for Mr. Bangoura’s dance class.
The usual students gathered on the dance floor to do warm ups led by Joann, one of the dance instructors. Joanne has studied dance for years and has a daughter in TRJE. There were a few potential TRJE members out on the floor and also their parents waiting in the wings. The observers are always welcome whether they know anyone involved or not. While Joanne got everyone limbered up, the drummers took instruction from Mr. Bangoura. He would demonstrate a beat or call out instructions and the drummers played accordingly. Then Moustapha joined the dancers and went through a series of new dancesteps. One of his students from Chicago had driven all the way down to help. She was an accomplished dancer who obviously had learned under Moustapha’s expert eye. The format was identical to last week. The drummers kept up a steady beat while Moustapha’s protégé demonstrated the move they would be practicing. Then a row of dancers, usually three abreast, would dance toward the drummers, break off and circle around to try again while the next rows moved up. Their instructor kept a close eye on each dancer and demonstrated by example how to improve their technique.
When class was over, we all headed next door to a wonderful spread of food that everyone seemed to have contributed to. There was chicken, ribs, macaroni and cheese, salad, rice, vegetables, fish soup, and homemade peach cobbler and banana pudding. Before we ate, the parents stood around talking amiably and then we gathered for a blessing. While we ate, I talked with some of the parents.
This evening I was a few minutes late but the circle always opens to let newcomers in. The lead in question was already being passed around. This time it was, “How many people have you greeted today?” I was surprised at the number of people we had all greeted. There were a few new people in the circle this time but they quickly learned by observation how to respond; “My name is ___________. I’m the daughter/son of _____________.” There was a new person sitting next to me who needed a little prompting but while she was shy in the circle she quickly overcame her shyness when she joined in the dance class. FeyFey expounded a little more on the importance of greeting people, especially in their own language. There’s that jambalaya thing again; I love it! The elders never miss a teaching opportunity. It certainly a whole lot more than drumming and dancing. He also discussed the upcoming events and broke the good news to us outsiders that tonight was a celebration in honor of Moustapha Bangoura’s return. After the dancing lesson, there would be plenty of food in the adjoining room and the next day would be a family fun day at a bowling alley. Following that announcement, everyone broke up to prepare for Mr. Bangoura’s dance class.
The usual students gathered on the dance floor to do warm ups led by Joann, one of the dance instructors. Joanne has studied dance for years and has a daughter in TRJE. There were a few potential TRJE members out on the floor and also their parents waiting in the wings. The observers are always welcome whether they know anyone involved or not. While Joanne got everyone limbered up, the drummers took instruction from Mr. Bangoura. He would demonstrate a beat or call out instructions and the drummers played accordingly. Then Moustapha joined the dancers and went through a series of new dancesteps. One of his students from Chicago had driven all the way down to help. She was an accomplished dancer who obviously had learned under Moustapha’s expert eye. The format was identical to last week. The drummers kept up a steady beat while Moustapha’s protégé demonstrated the move they would be practicing. Then a row of dancers, usually three abreast, would dance toward the drummers, break off and circle around to try again while the next rows moved up. Their instructor kept a close eye on each dancer and demonstrated by example how to improve their technique.
When class was over, we all headed next door to a wonderful spread of food that everyone seemed to have contributed to. There was chicken, ribs, macaroni and cheese, salad, rice, vegetables, fish soup, and homemade peach cobbler and banana pudding. Before we ate, the parents stood around talking amiably and then we gathered for a blessing. While we ate, I talked with some of the parents.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Moustapha Banguora's Dance Class
On Thursday evening, I went to observe Moustapha Bangoura teach a Community Dance class. I wasn’t sure how this would be different from the usual rehearsals since this was open for public participation. As I entered the building, Akin was bringing some equipment in. He asked if I was there to dance and while I was open minded about the possibility, I felt it might be best if I investigated just what I would be getting myself into. Also, on my way in I was able to finally meet Andy, the managing director of the group. He suggested the possibility of creating a link on the TRJE website for my blog. I decided I would have him read everything I’d written up to that point to see if he thought it would be appropriate.
The format this evening did turn out to be different than the usual Friday and Saturday rehearsals. There was no opening circle; it was run in more of a class format. The drummers were already playing and Mr. Bangoura was on the dance floor, facing the mirrors. All the participants formed rows behind him and learned by closely following his verbal and physical leads. There was a warm up in which Mr. Bangoura reminded me of Gumby, the extremely bendable rubber toy from the 60’s. Then after a few new moves that were taught strictly by imitation, the students formed rows of three to practice and showcase their new skills. While some of the other TRJE members furiously drummed, Moustapha would move across the floor toward the drummers, demonstrating one of the new dance moves. Each row of three dancers would follow, imitating him as best they could. The energy and concentration levels were intense. I stood outside, observing through a window since the participants had paid for the experience. Several of the mothers stood in the hall with me. I spoke with the mother of a 30 year old woman who had studied dance for years and even studied under Mr. Bangoura when he taught the previous fall. While she and her daughter were not members of TRJE, they seemed to have become part of this community through this experience. Agatha had taken some time out of her busy schedule to observe and also explained some of the African trip photos that were hanging in the hall. She explained how happy everyone was to see Mr. Bangoura again since so many of them had tearfully left him and his family when they’d departed from Guinea in January. Apparently, the TRJE group had felt a genuine sense of community in just the short time they had been in Africa.
The dancers continued their intense workout from 5:30 to 6:30 without much of a lull in the activity. Even the drummers had worked up quite a sweat. After a break in which everyone ran to the drinking fountain, they all formed a circle and volunteers moved into the middle to showcase their skills. There was much camaraderie and laughter. They all had a similar exuberance for the artform. While Akin had nonchalantly tried to encourage me to join in on the dancing, I realized I was definitely not in the same league. Here were people who had clearly studied dance and while I appreciate his assumption that I could participate, in reality I could no more do that than he could participate in any way in a chemistry lab with me, something I had studied for years. While we may want to become part of a community emotionally, the reality is that we may never fully realize this goal.
The format this evening did turn out to be different than the usual Friday and Saturday rehearsals. There was no opening circle; it was run in more of a class format. The drummers were already playing and Mr. Bangoura was on the dance floor, facing the mirrors. All the participants formed rows behind him and learned by closely following his verbal and physical leads. There was a warm up in which Mr. Bangoura reminded me of Gumby, the extremely bendable rubber toy from the 60’s. Then after a few new moves that were taught strictly by imitation, the students formed rows of three to practice and showcase their new skills. While some of the other TRJE members furiously drummed, Moustapha would move across the floor toward the drummers, demonstrating one of the new dance moves. Each row of three dancers would follow, imitating him as best they could. The energy and concentration levels were intense. I stood outside, observing through a window since the participants had paid for the experience. Several of the mothers stood in the hall with me. I spoke with the mother of a 30 year old woman who had studied dance for years and even studied under Mr. Bangoura when he taught the previous fall. While she and her daughter were not members of TRJE, they seemed to have become part of this community through this experience. Agatha had taken some time out of her busy schedule to observe and also explained some of the African trip photos that were hanging in the hall. She explained how happy everyone was to see Mr. Bangoura again since so many of them had tearfully left him and his family when they’d departed from Guinea in January. Apparently, the TRJE group had felt a genuine sense of community in just the short time they had been in Africa.
The dancers continued their intense workout from 5:30 to 6:30 without much of a lull in the activity. Even the drummers had worked up quite a sweat. After a break in which everyone ran to the drinking fountain, they all formed a circle and volunteers moved into the middle to showcase their skills. There was much camaraderie and laughter. They all had a similar exuberance for the artform. While Akin had nonchalantly tried to encourage me to join in on the dancing, I realized I was definitely not in the same league. Here were people who had clearly studied dance and while I appreciate his assumption that I could participate, in reality I could no more do that than he could participate in any way in a chemistry lab with me, something I had studied for years. While we may want to become part of a community emotionally, the reality is that we may never fully realize this goal.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
TRJE: After The Concert
After being out of town for five days and missing the Back From Afrika concert, I felt somewhat out of the loop but was warmly welcomed. I had arrived early again but soon Dr. Cain showed up. While we were waiting for the others to arrive, I spotted what looked like a familiar face standing alone on the other side of the room. She appeared to be a newcomer also so I went over to talk to her. I could relate to her feeling of nervousness since it is always difficult to enter a new community of any type. After talking together, I realized I had known her mother years ago when we were both La Leche League leaders. Now she had brought her son to observe and perhaps join the ensemble. He had been to the concert the previous weekend and was very interested in drumming.
Everyone seemed to arrive at the same time and we formed a large circle, seamlessly incorporating the newcomers within the group. The libation ritual began right away. This time I wasn’t the oldest person present so Akin gave permission to begin the ritual. Since it appeared the plant that was previously used had passed on over with the people we were honoring, a beautiful African violet took its place. Malik proposed the lead-in question this week: If you could go back and change one thing about your life, what would it be? This was an excellent question and caused a lot of deep thought. While some regretted the lack of time spent with family members, the majority of regrets were about not having studied hard enough in school and how that was now causing hardships. Surprisingly, a few of the students were fortunate enough to not have any regrets. Tyrone was the last to speak and he drove home the importance of living life in a way in which we will have no regrets. He pointed out how we should consider our behavior before we act, as our actions cannot be reversed. He then reprimanded the group for attitude problems they had exhibited while having their pictures taken after the concert the weekend before. He stressed the importance of the word “’ensemble” in the group’s name and how that denotes a cohesiveness among the group. Each member’s behavior is a reflection of all the others in the group. This image may be the only illustration outsiders have of the group as a whole so each member’s behavior in public is extremely important.
The group broke up and after the usual flurry of activity a circle of drummers began practicing in the main rehearsal room. Mary Ann and I noticed that some of the students were missing so we went off to find them. In the room next door, the novice drummers were being taught by Julia and Tyrone. Julia graciously invited Mary Ann and I to join them so we set up a couple drums and started pounding away. At first I was having a difficult time establishing the correct tempo but then one of the lead jenbe drummers came by with two sticks and silently (not a word was spoken) demonstrated the correct technique and tempo and with body language invited me to join in with her. When she left, I was then able to keep pace with only a few minor mixups. Some of the drummers were quite young but they worked very hard to keep time with the others. There were several other new drummers there and everyone was accepting and patient as we all struggled to master the technique. As the lunch break neared, we were each asked to play solo and we all did surprisingly well. In the hall afterward, Julia mentioned how much easier it was to work with the little ones since Mary Ann and I were present. It was then that I realized I was not just a fly on the wall, but actually performed a silent function. How many communities are we a part of in which we don’t consider our importance but in reality we would be sorely missed if we weren’t present?
Everyone seemed to arrive at the same time and we formed a large circle, seamlessly incorporating the newcomers within the group. The libation ritual began right away. This time I wasn’t the oldest person present so Akin gave permission to begin the ritual. Since it appeared the plant that was previously used had passed on over with the people we were honoring, a beautiful African violet took its place. Malik proposed the lead-in question this week: If you could go back and change one thing about your life, what would it be? This was an excellent question and caused a lot of deep thought. While some regretted the lack of time spent with family members, the majority of regrets were about not having studied hard enough in school and how that was now causing hardships. Surprisingly, a few of the students were fortunate enough to not have any regrets. Tyrone was the last to speak and he drove home the importance of living life in a way in which we will have no regrets. He pointed out how we should consider our behavior before we act, as our actions cannot be reversed. He then reprimanded the group for attitude problems they had exhibited while having their pictures taken after the concert the weekend before. He stressed the importance of the word “’ensemble” in the group’s name and how that denotes a cohesiveness among the group. Each member’s behavior is a reflection of all the others in the group. This image may be the only illustration outsiders have of the group as a whole so each member’s behavior in public is extremely important.
The group broke up and after the usual flurry of activity a circle of drummers began practicing in the main rehearsal room. Mary Ann and I noticed that some of the students were missing so we went off to find them. In the room next door, the novice drummers were being taught by Julia and Tyrone. Julia graciously invited Mary Ann and I to join them so we set up a couple drums and started pounding away. At first I was having a difficult time establishing the correct tempo but then one of the lead jenbe drummers came by with two sticks and silently (not a word was spoken) demonstrated the correct technique and tempo and with body language invited me to join in with her. When she left, I was then able to keep pace with only a few minor mixups. Some of the drummers were quite young but they worked very hard to keep time with the others. There were several other new drummers there and everyone was accepting and patient as we all struggled to master the technique. As the lunch break neared, we were each asked to play solo and we all did surprisingly well. In the hall afterward, Julia mentioned how much easier it was to work with the little ones since Mary Ann and I were present. It was then that I realized I was not just a fly on the wall, but actually performed a silent function. How many communities are we a part of in which we don’t consider our importance but in reality we would be sorely missed if we weren’t present?
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Wasted Potential Space
I’m student teaching in an inner city high school. I’ve aced every one of my undergrad biology classes and I’m a walking fountain of knowledge. I can lecture for hours on sexlinked traits, sodium-potassium pumps, and heterogeneous blah blah blah. But the students are intimidating (one of them follows me around the room with his eyes and mumbles threats under his voice) and the “real” teacher is unsupportive and disappears every day to the teachers’ lounge. At least that’s where I think she is; she is never anywhere to be found.
That experience was enough to make me reconsider the teaching profession. The following summer I received a call several days before the school year would begin, offering me a job “teaching high school seniors who had not passed the ISTEP exam”, no contract, so no strings attached. If I didn’t like it, I could give two weeks notice and head back to Parkview Hospital. The class was called FOCUS. But focus on what exactly? The answer to that question seemed very vague.
I was hired on a Thursday and at the end of the staff meeting I attended on Friday, I was handed a key to my first classroom. School would start on Monday and everyone seemed to be in a frenzy to get started so I took my key and set off alone in search of my room. After wandering down deserted halls, I found C110 and turned the key, opened the door, and walked into a deserted classroom. I sat at the desk and looked around the room. I would start teaching in a few days and I still wasn’t clear on what it was I’d be teaching! There were some file cabinets in the room so I decided to look for clues. I spent the day searching through all the drawers and found papers with titles like: How to Conduct Yourself at a Job Interview and: How to Resist Peer Pressure. I dug through the desk drawers and found personal items from the previous teacher who had been abruptly fired because of his ineffectiveness.
I thought of how bored to death I would be if I were to teach some equally bored teenagers what to wear to a job interview and I put myself in their place. If I wanted more than anything else to get my diploma and get out of high school, what would I want someone to teach me? The skills I needed to reach that goal. The things I didn’t know that made me feel stupid and an outsider. And I would like to be taught not by “someone who knows” but by a real person who relates to me on more of an equal level. I immediately set to work compiling materials that would help me do that. I found some remedial math books, English writing exercises, and other tools I could use. I spent the weekend planning and acquiring more materials. By Monday I was ready. I was very apprehensive though. I looked back on my student teaching experience and again regretted not following through with my first inclination: to stand at the front of the biology class and drop that heavy textbook into the garbage can, then encourage my students to do the same. I wanted to teach biology in a way that was relevant to my students' lives. To sit around lab tables examining crustaceans and bacterial colonies. But I was not willing to creatively challenge the status quo. Now I felt just like Martha did in her poem, “Stripping”. Instead of “hiding behind my lectern in my two-piece gray suit of armor” like I had during my student teacher episode, I was going to “walk, stripped of armor and lecture notes among (my) students, anticipating being caressed or cut”. What if ALL of my new students were like Mr. Shifty Eyes?
I worked at that job for two years and it was the best job I ever had. I had an assistant who I loved, a black woman who taught me a lot about her culture and the culture of many of my students. Our classroom was filled with laughter and personal stories that our students related. We built relationships with them that we still have to this day. We did hands-on math exercises outside on warm spring days and wrote essays about relevant issues, such as, how 911 affected their lives personally. Almost every one of our students went on to graduate and we celebrated that with them.
While I’d like to say I figured it all out for myself, I have to admit I searched out other teachers who were also teaching FOCUS. We “pooled our resources” and “created an intermediate arena” over the phone and via intraschool mail, sharing materials and ideas. Welch says that “it’s through such potential spaces that teachers form the voices of critique and possibility they need to address in both their classrooms and institutions”. I used these potential spaces to improve what went on in my classroom but when the time came to face the “institutions” who wanted to eliminate FOCUS classes we were all strangely silent, accepting the verdict handed down from “up top”. Money was tight and any nonessential classes were eliminated.
I subbed at that high school the following fall. During my lunch break, I went to my old classroom. I looked through the window and there was a young woman sitting at my old desk. I opened the door, walked in, and saw students sitting around idly, some even on the desks. The classroom was now being used for Inschool Suspension. These were the students who had not, would not, pass the ISTEP test. The learning had stopped; the dialog was over. They would spend the rest of their lives sitting on the curb just like they were sitting on their desks.
Teachers and their students today desperately need potential spaces that “support not only individual changes in particular classrooms, but also collective challenges to institutional structures”. If we had used our potential space for institutional change, those same students would have been engaged in challenging, meaningful, activities that would’ve made them active members of our culture.
That experience was enough to make me reconsider the teaching profession. The following summer I received a call several days before the school year would begin, offering me a job “teaching high school seniors who had not passed the ISTEP exam”, no contract, so no strings attached. If I didn’t like it, I could give two weeks notice and head back to Parkview Hospital. The class was called FOCUS. But focus on what exactly? The answer to that question seemed very vague.
I was hired on a Thursday and at the end of the staff meeting I attended on Friday, I was handed a key to my first classroom. School would start on Monday and everyone seemed to be in a frenzy to get started so I took my key and set off alone in search of my room. After wandering down deserted halls, I found C110 and turned the key, opened the door, and walked into a deserted classroom. I sat at the desk and looked around the room. I would start teaching in a few days and I still wasn’t clear on what it was I’d be teaching! There were some file cabinets in the room so I decided to look for clues. I spent the day searching through all the drawers and found papers with titles like: How to Conduct Yourself at a Job Interview and: How to Resist Peer Pressure. I dug through the desk drawers and found personal items from the previous teacher who had been abruptly fired because of his ineffectiveness.
I thought of how bored to death I would be if I were to teach some equally bored teenagers what to wear to a job interview and I put myself in their place. If I wanted more than anything else to get my diploma and get out of high school, what would I want someone to teach me? The skills I needed to reach that goal. The things I didn’t know that made me feel stupid and an outsider. And I would like to be taught not by “someone who knows” but by a real person who relates to me on more of an equal level. I immediately set to work compiling materials that would help me do that. I found some remedial math books, English writing exercises, and other tools I could use. I spent the weekend planning and acquiring more materials. By Monday I was ready. I was very apprehensive though. I looked back on my student teaching experience and again regretted not following through with my first inclination: to stand at the front of the biology class and drop that heavy textbook into the garbage can, then encourage my students to do the same. I wanted to teach biology in a way that was relevant to my students' lives. To sit around lab tables examining crustaceans and bacterial colonies. But I was not willing to creatively challenge the status quo. Now I felt just like Martha did in her poem, “Stripping”. Instead of “hiding behind my lectern in my two-piece gray suit of armor” like I had during my student teacher episode, I was going to “walk, stripped of armor and lecture notes among (my) students, anticipating being caressed or cut”. What if ALL of my new students were like Mr. Shifty Eyes?
I worked at that job for two years and it was the best job I ever had. I had an assistant who I loved, a black woman who taught me a lot about her culture and the culture of many of my students. Our classroom was filled with laughter and personal stories that our students related. We built relationships with them that we still have to this day. We did hands-on math exercises outside on warm spring days and wrote essays about relevant issues, such as, how 911 affected their lives personally. Almost every one of our students went on to graduate and we celebrated that with them.
While I’d like to say I figured it all out for myself, I have to admit I searched out other teachers who were also teaching FOCUS. We “pooled our resources” and “created an intermediate arena” over the phone and via intraschool mail, sharing materials and ideas. Welch says that “it’s through such potential spaces that teachers form the voices of critique and possibility they need to address in both their classrooms and institutions”. I used these potential spaces to improve what went on in my classroom but when the time came to face the “institutions” who wanted to eliminate FOCUS classes we were all strangely silent, accepting the verdict handed down from “up top”. Money was tight and any nonessential classes were eliminated.
I subbed at that high school the following fall. During my lunch break, I went to my old classroom. I looked through the window and there was a young woman sitting at my old desk. I opened the door, walked in, and saw students sitting around idly, some even on the desks. The classroom was now being used for Inschool Suspension. These were the students who had not, would not, pass the ISTEP test. The learning had stopped; the dialog was over. They would spend the rest of their lives sitting on the curb just like they were sitting on their desks.
Teachers and their students today desperately need potential spaces that “support not only individual changes in particular classrooms, but also collective challenges to institutional structures”. If we had used our potential space for institutional change, those same students would have been engaged in challenging, meaningful, activities that would’ve made them active members of our culture.
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