Teach For America teacher blogs are on Teach For Us

of fists and fathers.

stickyfingers — Tue, 07 May 2013 05:53:59 +0100

It's an unfortunately familiar scene in my classroom - one of my students raising their hand, fist balled, ready to land a punch in a dispute over a cup of crayons or the last available tricycle. When you're caught in a classroom that bounces back and forth between two distinct languages and it's your first time interacting with 21 other children who are the same age, have the same needs, and want the same toys it can be understandably difficult to remember to 'use your words' each and every time that someone makes you upset. It's part of why this year for me has become so much more about socioemotional development as opposed to rote memorization of letter sounds or numbers; my kids can't be functioning students if they don't have basic impulse control. Kindergarten preparedness has become a lot more about developing each unique person and his or her way of thinking about the world around them than what I initially felt should be a tightly run, smoothly packaged Hooked on Phonics environment. So that being said, when J went to hit a classmate I quickly intervened by placing my hand over his and reaffirming, "We use our hands to help, not hit. Please use your words if there is a problem." Usually that little pause in the process is enough to bring a student back to the classroom and, if nothing else, avoid a confrontation. But in this instance, something in J was relentless. He is my tallest boy and largest student (keeping in mind that everyone is five-years-old or younger) but I wasn't expecting him to push me back and start pounding into the arm, shoulder, and stomach of the girl. She immediately screamed and began to back away, but at this point J had seemingly lost all control and I had lost my collected demeanor. In my head I knew that we were always to frame instructions in a positive way (i.e. "Walk, please!" instead of "Don't run!") because developmentally telling a preschooler not to do something always ends up in them curiously trying to determine why you prohibited it in the first place. But in this instance, I was trying to regain my balance and stave off the barrage of punches J was throwing: "NO! NO! Stop, J, stop please! Stop we can't hit! J, please stop!" I pulled him from the now-wailing classmate and attempted to carry him to the benches on our playground where I always try to talk sense with my kids. They're young, but they can have conversations about basic rights and wrongs of recess behavior. But something was different; he began assailing me, the ground, and screaming "NO!" right back into my face. He was flailing wildly and I was so caught off-guard; I could feel his anger but I also didn't want him to risk hurting himself or another student. I got him to the bench and felt the wave of energy shift. Like a star collapsing on itself, he briefly suspended all retaliation and went limp in my arms. I loosened my grip and waited for him to cool off, expecting the normal plummet in a student's hostile behavior once they've been separated from the situation that was causing the anxiety. But then something burst. He screamed and fell to the ground, trying to scrabble through my legs and back to the playground. It felt like he was attempting to escape but I honestly couldn't figure out from what; part of me felt like he didn't know either. There I was, clearly capable of out-strengthening him, holding onto a pant leg as he desperately attempted to flee. After what couldn't have been more than three seconds, I let go and watched as he tore off, sprinting with no regard for his surroundings until he hid himself next to a small tree planted in a secluded corner of the playground. The entire area is fenced in-I knew he wouldn't be able to leave-but the entire episode felt so spontaneous and powerful, like a lightning bolt, that I couldn't just let him sit behind the tree, hunched over and holding back tears. He eventually removed himself from the area and sidled up to me. He didn't say anything and I was at a loss - until he just wrapped his arms around my leg and pushed his face into my thigh. It was a painful reminder of just how young my students are; how much developing they have left and how much practice they need in explaining what can feel to us like basic thoughts or emotions. But it is also a reminder that despite their youth my kids do feel and there is no amount of culture-building or expectation-holding I can possess that will prevent that. I later found out that J's father had been deported right around the time of this incident. It is the second time in a month-and-a-half that one of my boys has had his dad removed from the country. When I initially sat down to write this post, I had intended on its focus being J's dad and the fact that my Head Start classroom is funded by our government; the same government that put time and effort into deporting the fathers of my students. I am not going to pretend like I'm well-informed or a knowledgeable viewpoint on immigration or current reform efforts occurring. I don't think I could pretend to do enough research before writing this post to make an articulate point on it. All I'm saying is I have two very sad little boys who are both very confused and very upset about the fact that they don't know where their papi went and are not getting answers as to when they will see him again. I'm really putting time and effort into making them feel loved and welcomed in the room and I actually see E, the other boy, making tremendous progress. But I am curious as to what I can and should offer to a student whose life has been so incredibly altered at a time when they are undergoing immense development.

Manning Up

stickyfingers — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 06:29:27 +0100

There is something inherently emasculating about revealing oneself as a preschool teacher in conversation with strangers. It's always an interesting social experiment, however, and I usually take one of three routes: simply state that I teach pre-K, go vague and say that I work with younger elementary students, or drop the TFA bomb and let that run its course instead. ("Oh, I know someone doing that!" "Oh my gosh that's awesome, I could never do that!" "I bet your kids are so cute!") Regardless of my choice, the subsequent dialogue follows a similar arc in which I reveal humorous classroom hijinks, show off how much glue is stuck to my fingers, and make an offhand comment about really, truly loving it. And I always hate that last part, because I never understand why I feel this urge to defend the fact that while I wasn't initially interested in teaching Early Childhood Education, I can honestly say I'm glad I'm here. And that's not to say there aren't pitfalls, moments of downright confusion, or mornings where I have to drag myself into the room for yet another round of "The Bubblegum Song." But, as February begins and I settle into the familiar routine, small flickers of pure joy push me to continue growing if not for the sake of myself, for my students. __________________________________________ "Mr. Nick, do you have a grandpa?" A relatively familiar question from a preschool student; their four-year-old minds are beginning to understand that their perspective of the world does not always match up with those of the individuals around them. I have had, on more than one occasion, confused stares and blank faces when students discover that I live with neither my mommy nor my daddy and, in fact, drive my own car. "I do. He lives far away. I have to take a plane to see him," I respond, excited at this chance to scaffold a conversation and see what family member vocabulary my precocious and eldest boy remembers. "I have a grandpa. And an abuelita. And a brother and my mommy," he chatters, quickly spurting off a list of relatives. Before I can ask follow-up questions, he looks at me and says, "But I don't have no daddy." I hang in limbo. While I have a general understanding of my students' home lives, many have a carousel of adults picking them up from school each day and an eagerness to go home with a favorite aunt or relished neighbor that has never revealed an awareness of any differences between their own potentially myriad caregiver(s) and a peer's. "But I have Mr. Nick. And when I grow up, I'm going to be Mr. Omar!" he runs quickly to the bathroom door and holds it open, pretending to supervise the students washing their hands inside for breakfast. "Don't forget soap!" he happily chirps to them, then stands with his back pressed against the door and extends himself as high as possible, willing himself to grow the extra inches that might relay his new position. I can't even attempt to hide the broad smile on my face. "So you're going to be a teacher?" I ask. "I'm Mr. Omar," he repeats again. "Like you!" While I won't attempt to take credit for the fact that Omar is already one of my most consistently ecstatic students, I do feel a sense of pride in knowing that some small part of him believes that with enough vegetables at lunch, he can grow into someone like me. And while we're talking about the high school class of 2026 here, and plenty can change, it is encouraging to know that my classroom has the type of atmosphere where students regard what I'm doing as something that merits duplication. However, I also acknowledge the fact that to a young boy supported by a single mother in a school where I am the only male teacher, I may be one of his few consistent glimpses of what it means to be an adult male. And it's a responsibility I refuse to take lightly. So I think I'm done "admitting" to being a preschool teacher. From here on out, I will unabashedly own the fact that I work with 22 amazing students tirelessly each day in the hopes of preparing them for the rest of their lives. I tie their shoes, I remind them to blow their noses, and I also see limitless potential in each and every one of them. Sure, I'm not exactly certain if anyone is reading this -- but if you're me, one year ago, and you're trying to figure out what button you accidentally clicked that put you in preschool... don't worry. You have an incredibly pivotal position that entails working with students (and their families) in their first encounter ever with education (which is an entirely other experience worth posting about.) And if you're a guy considering applying and you haven't made up your mind about what you want to teach? Take a moment, consider the options, and if you dare... man up.

B is for Because

bailey — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 12:34:30 +0100

Stacey and Ryan, the co-founders of eAdvance, have begun asking staff members to present at our weekly meetings about the eAdvance story and our roles in it. The following is my presentation from this morning. I met Stacey and Ryan on January 19, 2012. They were two South Africans on a research trip to the United States in an attempt to find an educational model that combined academic excellence with a sustainable financial plan. When we met, I was a primary grades math teacher and emerging leader at Rocketship Education, a charter network that had, in many ways, achieved the vision Ryan and Stacey had set. Rocketship's students had surpassed California academic standards, not only for low-income students, but for all California students. And, Rocketship had developed a financial model that would allow sustainable scaling across the United States. eAdvance, as yet a non-existent company, was a product of Stacey's studies, where she had written her Masters thesis on an innovative educational business model, and Ryan's passion for integrated technology. More importantly, however, Stacey and Ryan sought to develop a new educational model for South Africa that validated the vast potential of South Africa's children and acknowledged that without a stable educational foundation, South Africa would fail. In April, I signed on with eAdvance as the Director of Development and Leadership. In August, I moved to South Africa. eAdvance has evolved substantially since January. We are a full-time staff of four in Johannesburg supporting the opening of Spark Ferndale Primary School, the first in the Spark Schools network. Spark Schools are a set of low-fee private primary schools that will provide equitable, affordable access to high quality education in South Africa. eAdvance group, which currently manages Spark Schools, allows educators to do what they do best: educate. eAdvance removes administrative, logistical, and operational concerns from the shoulders of school leaders and teachers, providing facilities, materials, curriculum, training, and more. In this way, eAdvance ensures that Spark Schools teachers teach and school leaders lead. What a revelation! In the future, eAdvance is set to broaden its focus from school management to educational consulting and collaboration with South African educators in the public and private sectors. The idea that we can share best practices to the benefit of children without regard to the pride of adults is fairly revolutionary in South Africa. I joined eAdvance not because of rigorous academic standards or an efficient business model, although I value both. I joined eAdvance because Ryan and Stacey have designed and birthed a company that puts the dignity of human beings above all else. They are invested in doing better than has been done before because they understand that the desire of students and their families is to have better than has been had before. I'm proud to serve on the founding team of a company whose mission mirrors the mission of South African families. [caption id="attachment_10367" align="aligncenter" width="612" caption="Future Spark Ferndale scholar Yemisi working with tangrams on our September open day."][/caption]

B is for Burning Platform

bailey — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 09:16:30 +0100

On Saturday, I attended TedxSoweto, an independent TED conference focused on solutions to close the wealth gap in Africa. Before I spend this post bemoaning the state of the South African education system, I want to take a moment to acknowledge how incredible it is that Soweto was the site of a conference affiliated with the internationally renowned TED organization. The South Western Townships, or Soweto for short, were the site of massive uprisings during apartheid, which resulted in massacres of the residents and violent repression by the Afrikaans government. To drive safely through Soweto, to witness self-governing communities, and to attend a well-organized conference in an immaculate new theatre there made the progress since the abolition of apartheid real for me. Yet, huge inequality persists here, and it "is in part down to the government’s failure to educate young South Africans, particularly black ones." Last month, the World Economic Forum ranked South Africa 140 of 144 countries in terms of educational quality. The Department of Basic Education's own statistics show that only 15% of sixth graders are proficient in literacy and only 12% are proficient in math, according to national tests. Educational inequity is at the heart of South Africa's imminent failure, because it contributes to high unemployment rates, skill deficits, and the yawning gap between the rich and poor. The South African wealth gap has actually widened since apartheid ended in 1994. South Africa is standing on a burning platform, a business term meaning a situation (crisis) that forces radical change in an organization. Or better yet, according to Forbes, "We're in big trouble." South African citizens- from business people to teachers to worried parents- are feeling the pain and many are attempting to put out the fire. A parent who toured our school last week told me how desperate she is to find high quality, affordable education for her child. She told me that she is considering turning down an opportunity to move back to her native Zimbabwe in favor of remaining in Johannesburg so that she can send her child to our school. She would rather maintain her child's place in our school, because spots in great schools are so rarely available, than to risk moving home, despite the chance to reunite with her family. Her sacrifice is admirable, yet heartbreaking. In the grand scheme of things, her sacrifice is just a fraction of the effort that will be needed to rescue South African children as the platform burns. Spark Schools, the network of low fee private schools where I work, will only be able to expand so far in its mission to close the South African achievement gap. What we need here is a commitment by the ANC government and Jacob Zuma to encourage political and economic competition that will yield the creative solutions needed to put out the fire. For the Kids, Bailey

Year 3. Day 17.

misskatja — Tue, 18 Sep 2012 06:39:18 +0100

It's hard to say goodbye to summer, even when you're 4 weeks into the year. Was I really in Argentina a month ago? Did that trip to Brazil actually happen? Can those memories of sipping coconuts on Rio beaches already be fading? Year three has brought an unanticipated frenzy. First trigger: I moved to a new school. With new expectations. A new staff culture. And new modes of management. (Read: I feel out of place and unsure of how to approach the bosses.) Stage 2 trigger: I switched grade levels. You'd think jumping from 4th to 2nd grade would be easy breezy, but that would underestimate the value of being able to work independently for extended periods of time. Working in 15 minute chunks means being on your toes. Constantly. Escalating trigger: PLCs 3 mornings a week? I'm all for collaboration. In fact, it's the reason I opted to switch schools. But our team isn't particularly experienced as a collective. And "to each his own" seems to be the mentality. So how are we to use these early morning meetings? The straw that broke the camel's back: I seem to be painting a picture of myself as a dud. Every time I turn around, it's as if I've committed another misstep in the eyes of my school's executive. It's demoralizing to feel like I'm doing everything wrong. No need to scold. We're all adults. It leads me to question myself..do I lack common sense? Am I being oversensitive? Is it just a bad Monday? I've never felt so unvalued. I've never lived more for the weekends. Long days. Short weeks. Time flies. Looking forward to a month from now, when routines are for real and the summer-state-of-mind dust has settled.

B is for Build

bailey — Wed, 12 Sep 2012 13:16:51 +0100

Five weeks ago, I moved to Johannesburg, South Africa to join eAdvance as the Director of Development and Leadership. It turns out that opening a primary school is an all-hands-on-deck sort of endeavor. Yes, I do develop curriculum, design professional development sessions, and hire terrific faculty, but I am also responsible for a number of random tasks that seem to change hourly:

Today, I received quotes for roof repair of the building that we are currently converting from an insurance company into a school.
Weekly, I review samples of uniforms, textbooks, pool nets, classroom furniture, bathroom and kitchen products, student supplies, and all manner of other materials.
Recently, I was put in charge of selling several thousand dollars worth of office furniture that the former renters left behind when they vacated the building.

We are all learners here- there are infinite details to consider as we build a safe school with adequate resources to drive student achievement and happiness. Jumping into the deep end, though, is not just a question of tangible materials. Because our staff come from varied backgrounds- geographically, intellectually, and in terms of career experience- we spend much of our time in healthy debate. I find myself trying to soak up as much business knowledge as possible so that I can understand the intricacies of marketing, admission, fees, and long-term sustainability. Our business-minded team members ask questions constantly about assessment, special education, behavior management, and curriculum. I am grateful and proud to be part of a founding team that is humble and thoughtful in disagreement and, ultimately, unified in our decisions. On Saturday, September 22nd, we will have our first Open Day for families interested in enrolling at Spark Ferndale. We will set-up a model classroom, provide access to our online software, and serve refreshments as families meet our staff and register for the 2013 school year. As I have met with families over the past month, I have been struck by the universal sentiment expressed that excellent educational options are simply inaccessible in South Africa. Even the majority of government (public) schools charge fees that far surpass the fees our private school will charge next year. Those that do not charge fees exist in dire circumstances: often operating with no running water, inconsistent teacher attendance, outdated textbooks and few student materials, little compliance with state assessments, and lack of professional development and leadership opportunities. The market here actually differs substantially from that of the United States, where the injustice lies in the juxtaposition of well-resourced public schools and failing public schools, both of which are free. Here, there are no free education options that truly teach students. The private school system has expanded rapidly to fill in gaps left by the government, but there are still very few affordable options for low and middle income families. As such, our school (and in the future, our entire network) will serve a diverse community of students, in terms of race and geography; what these students will have in common is a need to access internationally-competitive education for an affordable price. I am, to put it simply, so happy to be living and working here. I think of my Rocketship students and imagine our future Spark scholars and feel filled with purpose and appreciation, even when the roof leaks or I am coordinating toilet paper delivery. For the kids, Bailey [caption id="attachment_10356" align="aligncenter" width="612" caption="One of our founding Spark families after registering their son for kindergarten."][/caption]

The tiny people!

misswon — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 15:48:47 +0100

"Miss Won! Today at recess, I was writing with my pencils (holding two giant Ticonderoga pencils)... so my muscles got strong AND my brain got strong!" -1st grader in my class, after malleable intelligence lesson

I made the mistake of not keeping a blog during my first year of teaching. Things got rough, busy, etc. but I don't want to let that become an excuse this year! I really want to record all the little moments that make/have made being a teacher such a wonderful experience. That way, I can look back and remember the parts that make me feel like, "YES! I am actually doing this right!" This ~~job~~ life can get so stressful, but isn't that the way it always is? Little MK in my class is adorable. His arm "muscles" are probably the diameter of a quarter (HE'S SO TINY!), and his big eyes are probably even bigger than his arms are. Yet he comes into the classroom, saying this, as he's "flexing" his biceps. Sorry, MK, I think you're gonna have to work a bit on the muscles part and upgrade from pencils to weights, but RIGHT ON about your brain! =) ADORABLE. As much as teaching first grade terrifies me, it is also possibly the coolest job ever. First/second graders are such LITTLE PEOPLE but they have such big hearts. Coming from a neuroscience background, I always have fun teaching malleable intelligence in the beginning of the year (and throughout), but this year with the combination class is just too cool. I'm trying to teach words like "malleable", "intelligence", "brain", "muscle" to my second graders (which I thought would be a challenge in itself)... but ended up teaching them to the first graders too. Their abilities just amaze me. I never know how far to push or how much to "baby" them... they're so tiny yet they're capable of so much.

B is for Band

bailey — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 13:31:55 +0100

My students are featured on the band OK Go's Facebook page for their simple machine drawings based on the music video "This Too Shall Pass" (http://vimeo.com/10977948). As a Do Now activity in spring 2011, they were instructed to watch the video, choose a favorite simple machine, and explain how the machine changed the direction of the force in question. We talked about how inclined planes allow objects to move not only across but up and down and how wheels and axles multiply force by making the object move faster. Kudos to Henry, Dayanara, and Estrella for having their great scientific artwork posted! Their drawings are here: www.tinyurl.com/okgorocketeers.

B is for Belief

bailey — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 13:11:56 +0100

Today marks one month since I left the Bay Area. In 11 days, I will move to Johannesburg, South Africa to begin my next adventure in education. I will serve as the Director of Development and Leadership for EAdvance, a uniquely South African education company that provides affordable private education to low income communities. Similar in form and content to Rocketship, eAdvance will leverage individualized learning and innovative education technology solutions to close the South African achievement gap. My position focuses on curricular development, talent recruitment, and leadership training, so that all faculty are equipped with the necessary resources and skills to serve students and their families. Our eAdvance primary schools will be the first schools in South Africa to employ blended learning. When I consider this 3+ year commitment, it is not lost on me that I am still very much a learner. With only two years experience in education, I am hyper-aware of how much listening I will do in my new role, how many questions I will ask. But I am also grateful to have been placed in Rocketship as a corps member, because the intense environment at RSED nurtured my knowledge, skills, and mindsets around education reform at an increased pace. The philosophy of leadership and responsibility based on merit, rather than seniority, is one that I will take with me wherever I go in education. And I will never underestimate how trust and cooperation with families can propel students to academic achievement. My second year in the corps was more difficult than my first year, hence the drop in blog posts. Maybe it was moving to a new grade and learning to teach new content or maybe it was teaching and tutoring after school daily, but more realistically, I think the difficulty came from higher professional expectations and daunting personal challenges. In my second year, I became more aware of the importance of solid school leadership and the issues that can arise when teachers feel unsupported by their leaders. I also understand more concretely the effect that staff morale has on educating students, maintaining school culture, and impacting the community. And, above all else, I am convinced that tough personal circumstances for a teacher can heavily influence classroom results- after all, are teachers ever really not teachers, even outside the classroom or at home? When you are in the business of educating students of the achievement gap, the hours and effort you put in are not limited to the 9-5 workday. So, when a friend died and my parents' marriage ended this spring, I processed it all while teaching. And one month after leaving the Bay, I am still mourning both losses every minute of every day- even as I prepare for what comes next. What is summer "vacation" really, but the first opportunity a teacher has to breathe? This month, I have reflected on my beliefs surrounding education reform. All of these will constantly evolve, but this is where I stand for the moment.

Students of all ages are capable of achieving any vision set for and with them. They will rise to the occasion- whether mastering a complicated classroom procedure or mastering difficult academic material. With high expectations, explicit directions, investment by teacher, family, and student, and love, all students can do all things.
Students deserve enrichment and extension opportunities. Learning through exploration and "safe" failure yields lessons that "stick" and builds curiosity. If I had to point to one student action indicative of future success, it would be question asking. My strongest students academically participated in enrichment activities with their families or at school and asked thoughtful, probing questions about academic and social issues. (Many thanks to Rocketship for funding Laura and me to co-teach the after school art program and to Techbridge for funding me to teach after school engineering!)
The best teachers are teachers, not computers. Individualized, predictive software can effectively fill in knowledge gaps or provide academic previews and extensions, but it cannot replace the power of human interaction to cultivate deep understanding. I was humbled to work with a faculty at Rocketship that built strong relationships with students, which magnified the potential for academic growth in each kid. Great love seems to be the best hope we have to move with students to their goals and beyond.

My kiddos and their families were and continue to be my family. I had my students for two full years, and our ability to perceive emotions in one another, to anticipate struggles, to overcome challenges, and to laugh together helped me survive an extremely difficult time personally. I am so grateful for all 93 of my Rocketeers. And so proud of what we achieved! For the Kids, Bailey [caption id="attachment_10347" align="aligncenter" width="612" caption="Rocketeers in Henry Cowell state park explore the redwoods!"][/caption]

one thing's certain: I am here.

stickyfingers — Tue, 26 Jun 2012 07:44:01 +0100

Applying to Teach For America was easy. I'm not saying getting in was simple, and I'm definitely not saying that the extensive amount of work required throughout the application process was a walk in the park -- what was easy was determining that this organization, this cause, was aligned entirely with the vision I had for myself following my college graduation. Getting placed in a preschool classroom, however, was not. In the uncertainty prior to my acceptance to the 2012 corps, I imagined a wide array of possibilities: getting in, not getting in, getting placed in a region I wanted, getting placed in a region I'd never expected -- but one thing was a constant, and that was the notion that I would relay my English degree into impacting the lives of students through Shakespeare and similes, persuasion and prose. And then I got placed in a classroom that views literacy through a student's ability to recognize letters of the alphabet and blend syllables into words; the names that I'd once imagined written across the tops of essays were now the crowning achievement, and just writing that name was a sign of kindergarten preparedness. I acknowledge the fact that the achievement gap often begins prior to a student's even entering school and recognize that a strong foundation in education will significantly increase a young man or woman's ability to graduate high school or go to college. But even in the overwhelming joy I felt at my acceptance to TFA, a small part of me was crestfallen at the slightly tarnished ideal image of myself that I had whimsically created. In the weeks leading up to my time on the west coast, numerous elements of the pre-work ascertained the importance of ECE and highlighted the exciting chance I had to mold the lives of my young students. The preschool teacher can be just as influential on the child as the parent or caregiver, and the opportunity is immense to foster deep, fundamental change in the way an entire family focuses on education. But as I spoke with fellow soon-to-be Bay Area teachers at Induction, I realized that I hadn't entirely shed my slight frustration with the fact that this placement seemed so disjointed from my expectations. And while I typically hate disclaimers, I want to quickly digress to note that I am fully aware of the fact that this minute complaint is nothing compared to the plights of the communities in which TFA works. As the news so readily reminds us, being a college graduate with a job is a rarity these days, and being one who is enthusiastic about that work is even more exceptional. So don't take my brief internal conflict as an example of being ungrateful; I am enthusiastically accepting the challenges before me and am willingly entering a preschool classroom as a humble newcomer to these cities that have welcomed me into their children's lives. That being said, today I walked into the school that will be my training ground for the next 5 weeks; though it was child-free, there was something special in seeing the setting of what will hopefully be great change, both in my students and in my self. The concrete made it feel more concrete, if you will, and somehow in that moment I began to have my first realization as to just what it means to have a vision. My fear that fellow teachers would see my pre-K placement as a glorified babysitter was not dictated by their expectations of me, but by my concerns regarding the work itself. The vitality of the services being provided by this school in Los Angeles and the school that would eventually (well, hopefully) hire me in the Bay is present in every piece of work hanging on the wall, every story told by a teacher with clear pride. And not pride in themselves, but justified, contagious feelings of worth attributed to the students and the work they were doing in their classrooms. I will be molding the lives of high school graduates next year -- they just don't know it yet, and when the Class of 2027 moves the tassel on their mortarboard in some small way, I'll have hopefully made an impact. I'm not deceived by their big eyes or sticky fingers, and I'm not going to be distracted by their obvious precious tendencies and naive perception of the world around them. I am going to set high expectations, I am going to commit myself to their futures, and I am going to bring them to the threshold of their abilities with everything I can muster. They may be young, but they are mighty, and they will know and understand that they have every right to have access to brilliance, the ability to self-determine their interests, and the fortitude to overcome obstacles. Sure, finger paints and building blocks may not have been the tools I initially predicted in the upcoming fight I am delving into against educational inequity. But with everything I can muster, I am certain that though my students may be cute and their minds malleable, they will be aware of the fact that they deserve a future -- a future brimming with hope, opportunity, and a desire to continue learning more.