I ended up on Pitt's Creative Writing webpage. I'm laughing hysterically at some story my classmate is telling. Does this happen in real life? My favorite part is the caption underneath the photo.

You can see the entire website here

TFA in Pittsburgh

Do you feel like you're with your people?

I asked this of Charles, and I suppose of myself. Your people. Our people. I liked the way this question felt as it presented itself more rhetorically than literally. Charles didn't have to answer, but he did anyway.

A couple evenings ago we milled about the Shadow Lounge in Pittsburgh's East Liberty. Our getup didn't quite fit the ambiance of our surroundings. The bar: heavy candles and lush pillows, gothic chandeliers, ornate wall mountings, dim, sexy lighting. Us: square-framed glasses, scarves drooping like drapery, scuffed loafers, collared peaks outside cable knit sweaters. We looked uniformly preppy and young. Some with pens and notebooks at the ready, you know, just in case a teachable moment presented itself. Is it possible to look idealistic? I think we did. And the muted lighting only highlighted our similarities: all of us late twenties to mid thirties, all of us having served as Teach For America teachers around the country, and all of us, for whatever reason, finding ourselves in Pittsburgh.

There are around fifty TFA alumni in the Western Pennsylvania area. 50. Who knew? We came to Pittsburgh for various reasons, of course, but the most common seemed to be graduate school or a spouse/partner who ended up here for graduate school. While my Pittsburgh life has been spent writing about education, most of these folks are out there actually doing incredible work. Rock star work. Pittsburgh is lucky. I hope it knows that.

Among these rock stars: the Project Manager who was instrumental in starting the brand new Pittsburgh Science and Technology Academy, the guy who heads up the Edible Schoolyard Project in Pittsburgh schools, the Education Director of the Pittsburgh Parks Conservancy, principals, board members, teachers, and several district-level employees who are spearheading projects and initiatives left and right. I am in awe of these people. I am in awe that they are here, in this city, and I didn't even know it. And their presence is a true testament to the long term effectiveness of TFA. Even though Pittsburgh isn't a TFA region (yet) TFA is still present and working for educational equity in a variety of ways right here.

Pittsburgh Public Schools Superintendent Mark Roosevelt came to talk about the progress of the district and answer any of our questions. Pittsburgh Public School district is receiving a seriously hefty grant from the Gates Foundation that will be allocated solely to improve teacher effectiveness. Pittsburgh went through an intense selection process for this grant and is one of a very select group of districts to receive a chunk of the $500 million dollar campaign to cultivate better teachers. This is really exciting for Pittsburgh schools. TFA is centered around the notion that highly effective teachers in low performing classrooms is the ticket to stopping the perpetuation of low expectations and significantly changing the life paths of the most vulnerable students.

TFA in Pittsburgh. Hmm. Who knew? I like it. Pittsburgh earns a point in my grade book.

18. Increase Your "Brain Smarts"

Last night, before the main event, I had my after-school program students write thank you notes to the presenters and tour guides who have made their program really exciting. So far, they've learned how to take blood pressure from the Chatham Physician's Assistants. They've visited the "helipad" of a hospital and watched an emergency helicopter take off in flight. They've even toured a medical simulation center. Out of a handful of notes, here is my favorite...

17. Teach the White Lady Things

"And don't be afraid to be, you know, assertive," says Mr. T. "Or else they'll..."

"Eat me alive," I say.

"Run you out of here," he says.

It doesn't matter that I've just explained that I used to teach middle school. I've been a substitute. Taught high school and summer school. A group of 4th graders made me cry once. I am experienced. I am made of steel and tricks and looks. Oh do I have the looks.

But, I am a white lady. So, according to Mr. T., I need to be schooled.

# # #

Kejean studies the fabric of his chair and grunts at my questions. "What do you think you want to be when you grow up?" I ask. He squirms as his 6th grade toothpick legs brush the carpet of the Principal's office. 

"Sports," he says and goes back to studying his chair.

"Look at Ms. Katie when she's talking to you," Mr. T. orders. "You've got to make eye contact, Kejean. We've been working on that. Come on now." Mr. T. pats the back of his thinning gelled waves and places one hand on his hip. "Use your words, Kejean." 

"And what's plan B if sports doesn't work out?" I ask. Say astronaut. Say neuro-chemical-molecular-astro-physicist. Just say something academic, firmly requiring college, firmly requiring that the mind, rather than the body, stays nimble and fit. 

"Football," he says. 

"Alright then," I say and then smile and look at Mr. T. He nods his head affirming Kejean's career of choice and purses his lips. 

"And that'll be a very typical answer coming from our kids," Mr. T. tells me. By "our kids" he means black and, most likely, nearing, if not sitting right on the poverty line.

"Oh. Right." I say, even though I know that Kejean's 4 foot 9 aspirations of playing ball and skipping college to go pro are the dreams of my former students. Save the aspiring robotic engineer, most of my 12-year-old little men wanted to shoot hoops for the big bucks. That or throw down a mean rap.

I've explained this to Mr. T. I get these kids more than you think, I want to say. But, he translates anyway, so I listen. 

Our paperwork checks out so we take Kejean and Tazhe with us. Tazhe covets the passenger side door of our van even though I'm standing right beside her. "She's coming?" Tazhe asks when she notices I'm competing for her seat. She looks me up and down. 

"That's Ms. Katie," Mr. T. says, "Remember her from last week?"

Tazhe starts to laugh. "I thought you was my teacher," she says. It's May. How could Tazhe have mistaken me for a teacher at her school? Mr. T. doesn't translate this one, but I figure it out on my own. 

"She's in the 6th grade," Mr. T. says. "Twelve years old." He shakes his head. "She's too grown up for twelve." He's referring to the fact that her breasts are spilling out the top of her v-neck t-shirt - that she's as tall as I am.

"Girls are maturing earlier and earlier," I say. And I know this fact just as well as I know Kejean's future plans involve a football or basketball. I've read the studies that explain that adolescent girls are hitting puberty even earlier than the rest. And girls who hit puberty earlier aren't equipped with the developmental skills to deal with their changing bodies and advancing males. Tazhe has more to deal with than outgrowing her training bra. But, I don't say this. I respect that I am here to get to know these kids. I am here to receive an education from Mr. T.

Our van, with cigarette butts in the ashtray and empty Cheeto's bags on the floor, proclaims "Baptist Church" on its side. We pull up to one school, then the next, collecting kids for our after school program. Rico, Jade, Rayon, Ta'Shauna. Mr. T. turns up the radio and bops his head to the beat. I realize that a side effect of no longer teaching is being embarrassingly unaware of top 40 radio hits and the latest hip hop dance. There was a time when I knew how to laffy taffy and do that zoom zoom dance. I knew at least the chorus to the current Soulja Boy song and could name drop Lil' Boosie when I needed to get my students' attention. But, today, I am not prepared for the song that makes the kids bounce across the bench seats of our van. "Birthday Sex" does not seem okay, regardless of the lettering on the side of our vehicle, regardless of the fact that we're an academic mentoring service.  It feels good feels good girl let me hit that g-spot g-spot, girl. Then: Get ready for action / Don't be astounded / We switching positions / You feel so rounded...

Mr. T. looks at me, then at the road, then at me, all while chuckling. He watches my reaction like a tour guide. I shake my head like I imagine I'm supposed to and give a little smile. He thinks he's schooling me, so I play along. It's not the lyrics or the dancing or the fact that everyone is singing along that stumps me. It's that we're in a church van. We're driving to a church. A Baptist church. But, Mr. T. believes he's giving me a cultural immersion, so I pretend to wince at the song and wince the dancing. I'm really wincing at the Baptist part of this scenario. Nothing else.

Later, I tell Mr. T. I'll be making some phone calls to the students' parents. He pauses, then gestures with his hand for effect. "Let me know if any numbers are disconnected. You see, that's a big problem we have with our kids here. Their numbers are always changing."

"Right." I say. "That's similar to my former..." But Mr. T. has already left the room.

# # #

There are 5 weeks left in our after school program, and I'll continue to let Mr. T. teach me what he assumes I don't understand. If I were assertive enough, I'd ask him to scrape deeper than the surface of our shared students - beyond their physical development, predictable adolescent dreams, dance moves and disconnected phone lines. Teach me what lies beneath - show me the rings of their trunks, the veins of their leaves. Teach me their narratives - their hidden stories and circumstances - so that we can, together, pen something meaningful. As for tonight I will pull out the strictest, firmest teacher-look I can muster, respect Mr. T.'s cultural curriculum and absorb. I am a student, too.

Black and Gold to the Rescue

Photo from this NYTimes article

The Super Bowl is 48 hours away. Pittsburgh is wetting itself. Sure, I've known a die-hard Colts fan or two in my life. I've lived in a state that claimed the New Orleans Saints (and then started calling them the Aints after too many disappointing seasons). My father was given the opportunity to go pro after college football if he agreed to gain 70+ pounds. (My dad's metabolism just doesn't work that way). So, I'm not totally out of sync with all-matters-football. But I have never experienced the sheer mania that comes along with living in Steelers Country. 

I'm often annoyed with this city's team spirit. Not only was Charles practically threatened to be beaten up by a robust female co-worker if he didn't wear the team's colors to work the Friday before the playoffs, Pittsburgh Public Schools will be delayed two hours on Monday, Feb. 2. The website notice prefaces this upcoming delay with, "For the safety of our students..." when it should read, "Because our teachers may be too hungover from game festivities to get to work on time and because we can't have teachers vomiting on their pupils..." You know a city's football culture is big when the superintendent, using hindsight as her guide, proactively cuts the school's hours the Monday after the big game - win or no win.

I'm tired of the bee-colored scarves, loud bumper stickers, matching stocking caps. I loath the yellow jerseys, yellow yard flags, yellow towels. (I'll probably get in trouble for saying yellow instead of gold.) But that loathing was before today, before I found out that the Steelers' mustardy gold "Terrible Towel" actually serves a purpose.

Fans can't get enough of these towels. They hang limply on cubicle walls. They are fashioned to windows and lockers and rear ends. Mostly, they can be found within a tightly gripped fist swinging round and round like a lasso. I'm fairly certain the Terrible Towel does everything except dry or wipe things down. 

But, that's okay. These towels are providing tens of thousands of dollars each month to Allegheny Valley School, a nonprofit system of group homes across the state that provide programs and residences to people (10-90 year olds) with severe developmental and intellectual disabilities. Economic crisis or not, AVS runs strong thanks to late Myron Cope (longtime Pittsburgh broadcaster), who invented the towel in 1975 and handed over the towel's trademark in 1996. Thus, virtually all proceeds from towel sales go directly to AVS, who pledged to use the money to assist residents, rather than fund construction projects. Cope's decision was personal: his 41 year old son Danny has resided at AVS since he was 2. 

With the Super Bowl comes the opportunity to sell ridiculous amounts of Terrible Towels, and a Steelers victory is projected to produce 500,000 orders from fans - meaning a hefty check to continue supporting Allegheny Valley School. 

I am not one to purchase sports paraphernalia of any kind. Count me out for jerseys, jackets and hats. But I may just buy a Terrible Towel - at least I'd know it has a story and a purpose. And maybe I'd inch a little closer to welcoming this football-crazed town as my home.

Studying Adolescence

"So let's go around the room, introduce ourselves, and share something about our adolescence, okay?" Last night, in a nationality room of the Cathedral of Learning, a group of adults began class by reminiscing about that awkward chunk of time somewhere between the years of 8 and 18. A few had examples of acting out: "I frequently took my parents' car without their permission." and "I was a bully." Some proclaimed their sainthood: "I was a really quiet goody goody." Others discussed their activities: hair modeling, tennis, cheerleading.

Since 2005, adolescence has consumed a large portion of my brain. Memories of the late 90s, Pioneer Panthers, and Retin-A acne medicine moved aside to include my often quirky and wacky 6th grade students. So, when asked to recall a memory from adolescence, I immediately and instinctively sorted through my Southeast catalogue. I remembered the socially awkward times like B. throwing up twice on the first day of school and V.'s you know what in the middle of a lesson on prepositions. I remembered glimpses of identity and world view formation like when J.J. came out in his IEP meeting and when K. tried desperately to figure out the ethnicity of the new girl as he questioned, "Is you a mix?" I remembered all the notes intercepted, the girl drama, the boys who punched each other in the face. Yet, in the midst of the confusion and theatrics, there was some genuine enlightenment going on. I think. 

But the question asked me to recall my adolescence, and everything (even being bullied by C. from two doors down) seemed lame compared to the topsy turvy adolescence I lived as a teacher. So, I said, "I learned how to play the flute as an adolescent. And I joined the band." Weak. Nerdy. And so not filled with the angst and attitude that's to be expected...

But, I'm really excited for this semester. I'm taking my first ever graduate level Education class. I don't know anybody yet, but that's okay because the professor brought in chart paper and taped it around the room. We wrote on it with brightly colored markers that smelled like bubblegum and jolly ranchers. The only thing missing (and really bringing it home to TFA) was a "gallery walk"- but the chart paper and markers made me feel like I was back in education, back around people who want education at the forefront of their careers. And we're going to really dig in to the theory and psychology of adolescence, which I have decided will be great fuel for my writing.  

The experts will prove me wrong, but I'm convinced we twenty-somethings are a part of some sort of extended-adolescence. Sure, the growth spurts have stopped, the braces have been removed and the acne has calmed down. But the awkward identity formation, the confusion, the flux between angst and apathy and plain silliness...

...seems too familiar.

Palin in Pittsburgh

Sarah Palin was just outside of Pittsburgh this morning and spoke to an audience of invite-only guests about how a McCain/Palin administration would influence families with special needs children (her first policy-oriented speech so far).  She apparently didn't get the memo that a Pittsburgh-based writer (yours truly) is writing a book about Special Education and, thus, didn't put said writer on the invitation list.  I'll get over it.  Maybe.  But, clearly my phantom-book-that-might-take-yeeears-longer-than-this- MFA-program-to-finish is beside the point...

Palin promises to fully fund the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) and redirect wasteful earmark spending to special needs funding.  The Washington Post noted that Palin's charge is inconsistent with McCain's past record in which he voted against fully funding IDEA among most other Special Education programs.  Salon.com pointed out that Palin's promise to fully fund IDEA contradicts McCain's latest and vigorously stated response to the current economic crisis: an "across-the-board spending freeze". Um, I'm confused.  Read the entire 20 minute talk here.

The New York Times also covered Palin's talk and included that her special needs funding would be exempt from McCain's spending freeze and that disabled students would be allowed (using state money) to choose to attend the private/parochial school of their choice when "our public school system fails..."  Others, including the current case law, argue that we must allow the public school system to attempt to educate these students, and if that education is deemed inappropriate the public-school-in-question must pay for student to attend private school.  Approx. 7 million students receive special education services, and according to Palin's plan, all of them could switch over to private/parochial schools if the public schools "fail".  Palin, I hate to break it to you, but our public schools have failed - all students.  What happens when "regular" education students and parents demand to switch to a private school?  Are we promoting the abandonment and eradication of the public school system instead of fixing it?  What are private schools doing better than public schools in terms of educating special needs students?  Why don't we adopt those strategies in our public schools and keep our children there?  I have so many questions.  I think I'll hold my breath until Nov. 4 to decide whether or not I need to air them and demand clearer answers...

Michelle Obama in Pittsburgh

Today, in an auditorium on Pitt's campus, I was present for my first political rally during this 2008 Presidential Election season. And in that auditorium, the atmosphere was upbeat, positive - electric, even. Not once did someone boo (not once) or shout "kill him" or "terrorist" in reference to Senator McCain. There was no hostility present in the room whatsoever. And, I think that says tremendous things about the overall demeanor of Obama's campaign. Michelle Obama gave a speech that clearly articulated her husband's plan, his background and his vision. She didn't slam McCain. She didn't rile up the crowd with negative energy. She didn't have to. Her words dripped with depth and positivity and sincerity. And I so very much appreciated being a part of the invigorating yet calm environment she created at today's rally.

And just for fun, here are some notable fashion statements at today's rally...

 

And, just because this blows my mind...

We wonder why people believe these things:


And are reminded that people like this man exist in our radios:

Cupcake Week

One of the most glorious parts of my neighborhood, Squirrel Hill, is Dozen, the local cupcake shack.  And, one of the most glorious parts of Dozen is Cupcake Week, which happens to be this week.  Wednesday is $1 cupcake day, so Charles and I feasted on an after-lunch dessert of one dark chocolate cupcake (mine) and one root beer cupcake (his).  Charles swears he can taste the fizz of the root beer.  I am too busy inhaling mine to talk out any interesting nuances or hidden ingredients of this chocolaty goodness.  So, we are full.  And happy.  And we are reminded that some things about Pittsburgh taste really, really good.

Sex Education

"You can't get pregnant unless you like both go at the same time..."  

This was a phrase Charles heard frequently as a teacher in an all girls high school.  Word of mouth became the primary source of sex education for his students.  Their public-schooling had preached to them nothing but abstinence.  So, they turned to each other, believed their boyfriends and operated under completely ridiculous assumptions.  It was no wonder he watched his young freshmen drop out to raise the children they never planned to conceive.  Frequently, he'd confiscate a pregnant student's liter of soda and explain that large amounts of caffeine is unhealthy during pregnancy.  Most of his students did not behave out of rebellion - they were literally never educated, given alternative contraceptive options (besides abstinence), and once they did become pregnant they were never taught the safest and healthiest ways to carry a child to term.

Ann Fessler, author of The Girls Who Went Away, compiles dozens and dozens of interviews with women who conceived during the 50s and 60s - the pre-Roe v. Wade era.  It was startling how similar their stories were to one another - although most were raised in nice, suburban, affluent homes, these girls were never given access to contraception or vital sex education.  They were told to resist their boyfriends' passes, yet when he wouldn't relent and she wound up pregnant, she was the one that carried the massive shame, was ushered in secrecy to a home for unwed mothers (or forced to marry) and strongly encouraged to surrender her baby to adoption.  Most of these women were traumatized for the remainder of their lives, having relinquished a child, as they were told they were unfit for motherhood and would bring even more shame to their family if they kept their baby.  

Fessler (an adoptee) is currently working on a documentary film version of her book and spoke on Pitt's campus Monday.  She also visited my literature class yesterday, and I so very much admire and applaud her efforts to give these women voice, as most have felt forced to keep their "shameful" past a secret.  

However, while Fessler reports on a different era - an era that made birth control virtually impossible to receive and watered down sex education - she emphasizes the fact that we (as a nation) still have a long way to go.  Abstinence only sex education is centered around a myth that young people will follow this suggestion.  Some do.  But 45% of teens under 18 have already had sex - and what happens when they don't know their options? Unplanned pregnancies.  The current administration is proposing a bill that would allow any health care provider, pharmacist, nurse, etc. to refuse to assist with any medical service he or she finds objectionable (see Hillary Clinton and Cecile Richard's Op-Ed).  This ranges from prescribing a monthly packet of birth control pills to performing an abortion.  It is already standard that a doctor can choose not to perform an abortion.  This law would take women's choices and stigmatize them further - equating birth control with abortion.  And, because not all "objectionable" services are clearly defined under this law, any medical professional would have the ability to deny any form of treatment or medication that went against their personal morals or beliefs.  Where do you draw the line?

Having witnessed the consequences of what happens when young girls (and boys for that matter) are not properly educated and given choices (whether that be abstinence or birth control), I'm fearful of reverting even further back toward the days of pre-Roe v. Wade.  In my opinion, we still have quite a long way to go and stepping backwards by allowing women to feel shameful and stigmatized for asking for birth control pills seems to move us in the wrong direction.  Unplanned pregnancy is clearly a traumatic experience (whether the next step involves abortion, adoption or early motherhood) - so why aren't we equipping our young people with education and contraceptive options that would no doubt help parents enter into parenthood when they plan to? 

I've Graduated...

There are three students in my Memoir course.  But I don't mind because I have graduated...

#  #  #

"You mean you haven't been planning your first-day-of-teaching-outfit for days?"  Charles was confused as he watched me leaf through my closet, debating my options and allowing my fingers to graze the textures of my fabrics: scratchy polyester, stiff denim, sturdy cotton.  

"No, I haven't been planning my outfit," I spouted back.  "Now help me decide: jeans or skirt?"  

"Just wear what you always wear around campus.  Just wear jeans."  As always, I appreciated Charles's participation in my self-indulgent debate.  And, as always, I listened.  Yet despite his opinion, I chose what I was always going to.  

"I'm going to wear this black skirt," I said. "I'm worried that they'll think I'm a lot younger than I am if I wear jeans."  

#  #  #

On Friday, I graduated to high school.  It was a nice change planning for my new students.  Instead of making glittery posters of our class rules and consequences, I printed off copies of my lengthy syllabus.  Instead of wondering when (because it's only a matter of time) someone would fall out of their chair, I wondered which colleges my new students would apply for.  And, instead of dry cleaning my one Ann Taylor pant suit, I mixed and matched the parts of my wardrobe that said "creative" and "grad student".

I'm a part-time high school teacher.  And I love it.  I brought cookies for us to share (read: I gave them sugar) and no one had a giggle attack or fell into a convenient sugar coma.  We read and wrote and they didn't raise their hands.  They don't call me Ms. anything - just my first name - and we're Facebook friends because when it comes right down to it, I could feasibly be their big sister.  

I've graduated to high school.  And I'm excited to see my students progress as I learn how to adapt my middle school ways to fill their pre-college, gifted noggins.

Stay tuned for more revelations regarding high school teaching...