Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
So much is So wrong
Systematic oppression. Institutionalized trauma. Cyclical poverty. These are concepts that swirl through my thoughts regularly. As I watch how the veteran teachers treat students that they have arbitrarily labeled as “hopeless,” “dumb,” “apathetic,” “lazy,” or “disabled.” As I listen to stories of drug abuse, broken homes, despair, hunger, and gang violence. As I see my school get resources half as often as every other school in our district (example: social workers go to all other schools once a week, but come to mine once every two weeks because we’re so far away). As I think of Eduardo Galeano’s quote: “How many times have I been a dictator? How many times an inquisitor, a censor, a jailer? How many times have I forbidden those I most loved freedom and speech? How many people have I felt I owned? How many people have I sentenced because they committed the crime of not being me? Is it not more repugnant to hold people as private property than things? How many people have I used, I who thought myself so marginal to the consumer society? Have I not desired or celebrated, secretly, the defeat of others, I who aloud claimed no interest in success? Who fails to reproduce, within himself, the world that makes him? Who is free from confusing his brother with a rival and the woman he loves with his own shadow?”. As I battle the guilt associated with even contemplating quitting such and underserved population, school, and student. As I question my efficacy of service. As my principal tells me that our school is out of supply funds for the rest of the year. As I have to request that my student not be suspended for kicking me so that we don’t waste the time that he could be using to learn how to control his emotions and develop his academic skills. Making desperate attempts to try to break the perpetuation of dysfunction. I can't help but be dumbstruck and overwhelmed. I can't help but question whether my student's family will follow through on transferring him to a school with better resources. I can't help but wonder if it will actually be an improvement.
The Nobodies written by Eduardo Galeano
Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream
of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will
suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets.
But good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter
how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is
tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or
start the new year with a change of brooms.
The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied,
running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them
The Nobodies written by Eduardo Galeano
Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream
of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will
suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets.
But good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter
how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is
tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or
start the new year with a change of brooms.
The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied,
running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them
Monday, November 29, 2010
Rural Roads and Rural Programs
I find it to be odd how so many people drive the speed limit here. Following stereotypes, people in junkers and the elderly drive below the speed limit. But pretty much everyone else follows the speed limit signs. It’s bizarre for three reasons: 1) there typically is hardly any traffic, 2) there is rarely a cop, 3) the cops don’t stop you for speeding (speaking from personal experience). Since I live so far from anywhere, I can’t suppress the temptation to set my cruise control 20 mph higher than the speed limit sign (that I can’t read anyway because it has been tagged by some local punks). Even when I am driving ridiculously over the speed limit, cops have only flashed their lights on to warn me, and then continued on their merry way. And so it continues. My cruise control even helps me out sometimes by occassionally forgetting to cap my speed, and instead continues to increase until I realize I'm going over 100 mph and still accelerating! Then I correct it.
There is one recent advancement in my job situation for which I’m extremely grateful. The Deaf AmeriCorps members have started to provide services. This means that once a week, a recent college graduate, who happens to be Deaf, will be volunteering at my school to work with me, my student, and probably the staff and the student’s family. What an ingenious program! Communities like this one that keep their deaf children in the community typically struggle with effectively interacting with the deaf children, and have no concept of how successful a Deaf individual can be. So, the New Mexico School for the Deaf (NMSD) proposed a program to AmeriCorps, in which they place successful Deaf adults in our rural communities to provide services and be a role model and example for how Deaf does not equal disabled. It has been a huge blessing for my work environment and my psyche to interact with these amazing volunteers.
There is one recent advancement in my job situation for which I’m extremely grateful. The Deaf AmeriCorps members have started to provide services. This means that once a week, a recent college graduate, who happens to be Deaf, will be volunteering at my school to work with me, my student, and probably the staff and the student’s family. What an ingenious program! Communities like this one that keep their deaf children in the community typically struggle with effectively interacting with the deaf children, and have no concept of how successful a Deaf individual can be. So, the New Mexico School for the Deaf (NMSD) proposed a program to AmeriCorps, in which they place successful Deaf adults in our rural communities to provide services and be a role model and example for how Deaf does not equal disabled. It has been a huge blessing for my work environment and my psyche to interact with these amazing volunteers.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Yay-Bih-WHAT?!
Yeibichai. If you google it, you won’t find much information. You won’t find a picture of one (extremely taboo). You might find a drawing or painting, but they’re probably inaccurate (because that’s also highly discouraged). You probably can’t pronounce it properly. Yeibichai: the lead Diné (Navajo) ceremonial dancer. Yeibichai’s are primarily responsible for the 9-day healing ceremonies that take place in the colder months, but they also have a couple of other roles in our community. As far as I can understand, the Yeibichai also leads the ceremony for the changing of seasons from fall into winter (possibly other seasonal changes also, but I haven’t been here that long).
From what I’ve been told, part of the ceremonial responsibility includes the punishment of misbehaving individuals in the community in order to bring them into balance and harmony. How does this unfold, you ask? Whipping. I rolled my eyes at it, too, assuming that even if it happens, it’s rare and discreet. Then two of the students approached my roommate in a huff saying, “It’s your fault I got whipped!” Baffled and assuming that it was going to progress into a sarcastic joke followed by “Nay”, my roomie inquired nonchalantly. They proceeded to explain that because she wrote them up, they were in lunch detention; and because they were in lunch detention, they were there when the Yeibichai came to whip the problematic students.
White mask. Animal pelts. Eagle feathers. I’d be upset, too. If you drive to the Chaco Wash, our Laundromat, you’ll see a sign that points and says Yeibichai. I don’t go that way.
From what I’ve been told, part of the ceremonial responsibility includes the punishment of misbehaving individuals in the community in order to bring them into balance and harmony. How does this unfold, you ask? Whipping. I rolled my eyes at it, too, assuming that even if it happens, it’s rare and discreet. Then two of the students approached my roommate in a huff saying, “It’s your fault I got whipped!” Baffled and assuming that it was going to progress into a sarcastic joke followed by “Nay”, my roomie inquired nonchalantly. They proceeded to explain that because she wrote them up, they were in lunch detention; and because they were in lunch detention, they were there when the Yeibichai came to whip the problematic students.
White mask. Animal pelts. Eagle feathers. I’d be upset, too. If you drive to the Chaco Wash, our Laundromat, you’ll see a sign that points and says Yeibichai. I don’t go that way.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
What's it like to live in the Middle of Everywhere?
Let me quantify just how remote I am for you:
People in the closest towns don’t recognize the name of Pueblo Pintado and ask, “Where’s that at?”
This area of the country is best known for how dark it gets…and subsequently has one of the best observatories in the nation. No light pollution does wonders. However, night driving is can be annoying when headlights seem to just absorb into the blackness rather than illuminating it.
A day of rain requires me to cancel volleyball practice so that people don’t have to deal with the dirt-turned-mud roads.
A couple hours of rain requires low gear, four-wheel drive, and driving at 1-2 mph in order to not slide off the roads.
When I take a student home at night, I know I wouldn’t be able to find their house in the daylight because a)it’s so barren b)there are no signs or landmarks and c)it’s so dark that I couldn’t see landmarks if there happened to be some.
The food stands that are set up on the side of the road double as drive-thrus...for horseback.
I spend my free time catching black widows and terrifyingly large wolf spiders…and then mail them (live) to Rachael Niemi for her science classes.
The kids charge their Ipods in outlets during class…because they don’t have electricity at home.
An exciting excursion to take during the school week? The Chaco Wash Landromat. Not because it’s so exciting, but because I get to leave the High School compound and get clean clothes.Exciting excursion option number 2? The gas station. No. I do not have a grocery store here. Yes, a box of cereal does cost $7 at the gas station.
Sometimes I see little kids, barefoot, playing games around their hogans and houses. And it reminds me of when I went to Mexico and Belize.
People in the closest towns don’t recognize the name of Pueblo Pintado and ask, “Where’s that at?”
This area of the country is best known for how dark it gets…and subsequently has one of the best observatories in the nation. No light pollution does wonders. However, night driving is can be annoying when headlights seem to just absorb into the blackness rather than illuminating it.
A day of rain requires me to cancel volleyball practice so that people don’t have to deal with the dirt-turned-mud roads.
A couple hours of rain requires low gear, four-wheel drive, and driving at 1-2 mph in order to not slide off the roads.
When I take a student home at night, I know I wouldn’t be able to find their house in the daylight because a)it’s so barren b)there are no signs or landmarks and c)it’s so dark that I couldn’t see landmarks if there happened to be some.
The food stands that are set up on the side of the road double as drive-thrus...for horseback.
I spend my free time catching black widows and terrifyingly large wolf spiders…and then mail them (live) to Rachael Niemi for her science classes.
The kids charge their Ipods in outlets during class…because they don’t have electricity at home.
An exciting excursion to take during the school week? The Chaco Wash Landromat. Not because it’s so exciting, but because I get to leave the High School compound and get clean clothes.Exciting excursion option number 2? The gas station. No. I do not have a grocery store here. Yes, a box of cereal does cost $7 at the gas station.
Sometimes I see little kids, barefoot, playing games around their hogans and houses. And it reminds me of when I went to Mexico and Belize.
Don't worry, I leave town everyweekend to go to...town. Seeing friends, going to events, and buying groceries helps maintain my sanity. Here are a few things from the Albuquerque Hot Air Balloon Festival.
Monday, September 27, 2010
An Advance Apology in Case I go Crazy
My job is hard. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting. It makes me cry. A person can only hear some things so many times a day before the words start to knock things loose upstairs. Oh, I’m weak-minded and pea-brained? Oh, you’re failing because of me and not because of the fact that you pout and waste time and refuse to look at me when I’m signing? Oh, slapping me in the face and swearing at me is “teasing”? Oh, I should think it’s funny when you talk about cutting off my head with gardening shears? Oh, I’m stupid because I don’t want World War 3 to happen and I don’t think the world will end in 2012? Oh, you’re in trouble again because I’m mean and not because your actions need to be followed up by discipline? Okay. Whatever you say.
And then there are the times when my job actually breaks my heart. The education system has failed my student so miserably that he actually believes he earned the “passing” grades that he has been given all of his life. If that was true, he wouldn’t be in 10th grade and reading at a K-1 level and computing math problems on a 2nd grade level. If that was true, he’d have a better understanding of social norms and educational expectations. If that was true, he’d be able to express himself and cope with frustration effectively. He actually thinks that if he continues on the path that he’s been on, he’ll be able to go to college like everyone else. He complains about how lonely it is and how bored he is out here. He’s so bored that he wants to be frozen and preserved until the year 2548 when life will be more exciting. He feels alone because he doesn’t have full access to English and can’t hear while simultaneously not having developed his sign language skills enough to be able to identify with being deaf. He has said that since his language isn’t ASL and it isn’t English, his language is war. Subsequently he’s even more isolated because no one wants to only talk about war and the end of the world with him.
Every day that I’m here on the rez, I experience things that baffle me. The problem is—I’m becoming desensitized to a lot of it. So when I found out that one specific teacher let his kids out of class over ten minutes early so that he could go to lunch, the absurdity of that action almost didn’t register. When I find out that another student 5 students just started coming to school, four and half weeks into the year, I shrug and say, “Welcome to the Rez.” When I found out that the propane tanks that are red tagged…the same tanks that are used for heating, hot water, and cooking for our housing and the school….and that they would not be refilled until the leak was fixed…and that nobody would bother to fix it until November at the earliest…I sighed and thought about how many pairs of long underwear I’ll need to invest in. When we talk about how about 50% of our students don’t have electricity or running water and my friends’ eyes bug-out, I say, “You didn’t know that?”
Life on the rez is fascinating. I’ve started pointing with my lips. I notice myself talking more slowly. Even though most of the TFAers in this region are working predominantly with Navajo students, we get a lot more Navajo-isms out here. It only took me three weeks to realize that “Nay” isn’t just a habitual reaction when something sarcastic is said; it actually means “just kidding.” I’ve started saying “Nay” and am picking up random other Navajo words thanks to my volleyball girls.
P.S. My car will be "all rezzed out" by the time I'm done here.
And then there are the times when my job actually breaks my heart. The education system has failed my student so miserably that he actually believes he earned the “passing” grades that he has been given all of his life. If that was true, he wouldn’t be in 10th grade and reading at a K-1 level and computing math problems on a 2nd grade level. If that was true, he’d have a better understanding of social norms and educational expectations. If that was true, he’d be able to express himself and cope with frustration effectively. He actually thinks that if he continues on the path that he’s been on, he’ll be able to go to college like everyone else. He complains about how lonely it is and how bored he is out here. He’s so bored that he wants to be frozen and preserved until the year 2548 when life will be more exciting. He feels alone because he doesn’t have full access to English and can’t hear while simultaneously not having developed his sign language skills enough to be able to identify with being deaf. He has said that since his language isn’t ASL and it isn’t English, his language is war. Subsequently he’s even more isolated because no one wants to only talk about war and the end of the world with him.
Every day that I’m here on the rez, I experience things that baffle me. The problem is—I’m becoming desensitized to a lot of it. So when I found out that one specific teacher let his kids out of class over ten minutes early so that he could go to lunch, the absurdity of that action almost didn’t register. When I find out that another student 5 students just started coming to school, four and half weeks into the year, I shrug and say, “Welcome to the Rez.” When I found out that the propane tanks that are red tagged…the same tanks that are used for heating, hot water, and cooking for our housing and the school….and that they would not be refilled until the leak was fixed…and that nobody would bother to fix it until November at the earliest…I sighed and thought about how many pairs of long underwear I’ll need to invest in. When we talk about how about 50% of our students don’t have electricity or running water and my friends’ eyes bug-out, I say, “You didn’t know that?”
Life on the rez is fascinating. I’ve started pointing with my lips. I notice myself talking more slowly. Even though most of the TFAers in this region are working predominantly with Navajo students, we get a lot more Navajo-isms out here. It only took me three weeks to realize that “Nay” isn’t just a habitual reaction when something sarcastic is said; it actually means “just kidding.” I’ve started saying “Nay” and am picking up random other Navajo words thanks to my volleyball girls.
P.S. My car will be "all rezzed out" by the time I'm done here.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Some of the little things...
Just to quickly catch you up on my arachnaventures... 1) Douglas, our scorpion, escaped from the glue trap after being stuck in it for eight days. We haven't seen him since. 2) I see a "sun spider" about once every two weeks. They haven't harmed me, so I've stopped smashing them relentlessly. 3) We did have an interesting black widow encounter. Imagine yourself washing desert sand off of your hands and feet underneath your water spigot outside... and then consider the level of terror that would shoot through your body when you realize that your hands are inches beneath the black widow that the water is slowly forcing out from inside of the spigot. Yes friends, its abdomen filled over half of the water spigot. And so...when my roommate noticed the red hourglass lowering towards her, she immediately yelled, "RRROOOOOOOOOOOMMMIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!" I heroicly smashed the spider with some pliers. 4) I smashed the biggest spider that I've seen thus far on Thursday night. I didn't bother to identify it, but i think that venom was bubbling out of its mouthparts when i was analyzing it. The next morning, hundreds of tiny ants were tearing it apart and carrying it away bit by bit.
I realize that I haven't mentioned that I took on the role of head volleyball coach at the beginning of the year. In fact, I'm currently in a hotel in Albuquerque trying to convince the girls to get some rest before the tournament championship game tomorrow. I'll probably threaten them with running if I have to ask them to quiet down again. Even though coaching after school every day and spending extra evenings and weekends at games takes a toll on the amount of time that I can plan lessons and organize my thoughts for teaching, these girls offer me a huge amount of sanity to counterbalance all of the chaos.
It's really the little things out here that make it manageable and even enjoyable. Arachnids. The word arachnid. Volleyball. "Family" dinners with the other Teach for America teachers at my school (we each cook one night a week). The luck of having a wonderful roommate (who serenades me with her piano occasionally). Peanut M&Ms. Momentary breakthroughs with my student (even if it collapses upon me five minutes later). Getting my second paycheck. A great dane named Lola. Having health insurance that covered a decent chunk of the care I needed to get over the infection in my tonsils. Dakota Kid Sunflower Seeds (Thanks mom). Teachers of the Deaf and Interpreters who are always willing to help. And the little thing that is most alluring right now...sleep.
Good night.
I realize that I haven't mentioned that I took on the role of head volleyball coach at the beginning of the year. In fact, I'm currently in a hotel in Albuquerque trying to convince the girls to get some rest before the tournament championship game tomorrow. I'll probably threaten them with running if I have to ask them to quiet down again. Even though coaching after school every day and spending extra evenings and weekends at games takes a toll on the amount of time that I can plan lessons and organize my thoughts for teaching, these girls offer me a huge amount of sanity to counterbalance all of the chaos.
It's really the little things out here that make it manageable and even enjoyable. Arachnids. The word arachnid. Volleyball. "Family" dinners with the other Teach for America teachers at my school (we each cook one night a week). The luck of having a wonderful roommate (who serenades me with her piano occasionally). Peanut M&Ms. Momentary breakthroughs with my student (even if it collapses upon me five minutes later). Getting my second paycheck. A great dane named Lola. Having health insurance that covered a decent chunk of the care I needed to get over the infection in my tonsils. Dakota Kid Sunflower Seeds (Thanks mom). Teachers of the Deaf and Interpreters who are always willing to help. And the little thing that is most alluring right now...sleep.
Good night.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Ways I Pass the Time
Last week, my parents came to visit, drop of my dog and my belongings, and help me get settled. They graciously put up with endless amounts of driving in order to get to any desirable destination.
We successfully explored Chaco Canyon National Monument and El Malpais. Lola even put up with our unreasonable demand that she carry her own water and dog dish!
Eventually we had the pleasure of enduring an August monsoon, followed by a full double rainbow! (Disclaimer: Nobody was moved to tears by its beauty.)Most recent development on life in the middle of everywhere: arachnid identification seems to be developing into my new pastime. After feeling uncomfortable with the number of bugs in the house, I bought mouse glue traps to serve as bug traps (following the brilliant example of my Grandma Dallman). For the last few weeks I have been mildly entertained by the crickets, beetles, and additional sun spiders that have been trapped in the sticky traps, but today I found a special visitor! When I checked the trap, I found an actual scorpion!
True to form, I took the time to identify the little bugger to see what kind of threat it posed. No need to worry friends, Smeringurus mesaensis, aka the dune scorpion (or Douglas as I now affectionately call it), is only a 2 on the venom scale (similar to a hornet sting) and typically avoids stinging by scurrying away VERY quickly, unless cornered. For those of you who love scorpions, this is apparently the begginer scorpion to have as a pet. I'll even give Douglas to you for free to save you the hassle of trying to find a pet store that carries scorpions!
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Southwest is full of adventures
Yesterday I drove to Chaco Canyon with two friends, Patty and Becka, on the way to visiting my humble abode. Even though we lacked sunscreen, I did not have the self-control to not hike for four hours. And even though we thoroughly enjoyed the Chacoan ruins and petroglyphs, and a desert lunch, and were turned away from the pictograph trail due to unusually high waters, I am currently down one bottle of aloe vera and in a fair amount of discomfort. The sun and I haven't been on speaking terms since.
In appropriate soon-to-be-teacher mentality, the three of us watched The Freedom Writers at my house. Upon turning the lights on and preparing for bed, I noticed a bizzare creature in the middle of my floor. For a moment, I thought it was a scorpion. Thankfully, Becka duly noticed that it did not have a tail. Before killing it, I made Patty take a photo. In it's less threatening state, I became even more intrigued by the spider-scorpion-ant hybrid and decided to keep it in order to identify it. Patty and I could only refer to it's moutparts as rosebud, or lobster claws. CAUTION: If you don't like spiders and bugs, do not continue reading. Here's what I found online about the invader of my new home (as copied from http://www.ruralmysteries.com/blog/):
Sun Spiders and Wind Scorpions in Your Backyard
We recently caught and released three more strange looking arachnids that have been invading our home-office and garage-laboratory. We used a modified catch and release technique derived from our rattlesnake relocation plan to determine that they appear to be a hybrid between a scorpion and a spider.
We finally identified the bug as a member of the order Solifugae, usually referred to as solifugids, wind scorpions, or sun spiders.
Are we the last to learn that these things thrive in the North Fork Polygon??
These critters are really fast, difficult to catch, and almost impossible to photograph. Here are some interesting mysterious facts about solifugids:
It's not a spider! ...but it's not a scorpion either.
They can "run like the wind" and are considered the world's fastest arachnid capable of speeds when running near 10 mph!
They look like they have 10 legs but they actually have 8 legs and they only use 6 of them for running.
It does not have venom glands or web-spinning organs so you can probably keep one as a pet.
They have the strongest jaws - relative to size - of any animal on earth and have a voracious appetite, feeding on mites, ticks, and other pest bugs.
The desert variety, known as the Camel Scorpion, grows to 6 inches in length and was featured in the July 2004 issue of National Geographic Magazine.
They're also known as solifuges, solpugids, camel spiders, false spiders, haarskeerders, jagspinnekoppe, jerrymanders, roman spiders, and walzenspinnen.
If you kill one, two more will take its' place! ... So please don't kill them!
So, it looks like I was right! It is a scorpion-spider hybrid! And it is creepy looking. Thank God I didn't see it run, otherwise I would have been more terrified. I'm also thankful that this one was only about an inch long instead of six! Unfortunately, as mentioned before, I did kill it. Therefore, I get too look forward to introducing myself to its friends when I return home later this week.
I hope this doesn't deter you all from wanting to visit me out here in the desert...
In appropriate soon-to-be-teacher mentality, the three of us watched The Freedom Writers at my house. Upon turning the lights on and preparing for bed, I noticed a bizzare creature in the middle of my floor. For a moment, I thought it was a scorpion. Thankfully, Becka duly noticed that it did not have a tail. Before killing it, I made Patty take a photo. In it's less threatening state, I became even more intrigued by the spider-scorpion-ant hybrid and decided to keep it in order to identify it. Patty and I could only refer to it's moutparts as rosebud, or lobster claws. CAUTION: If you don't like spiders and bugs, do not continue reading. Here's what I found online about the invader of my new home (as copied from http://www.ruralmysteries.com/blog/):
Sun Spiders and Wind Scorpions in Your BackyardWe recently caught and released three more strange looking arachnids that have been invading our home-office and garage-laboratory. We used a modified catch and release technique derived from our rattlesnake relocation plan to determine that they appear to be a hybrid between a scorpion and a spider.
We finally identified the bug as a member of the order Solifugae, usually referred to as solifugids, wind scorpions, or sun spiders.
Are we the last to learn that these things thrive in the North Fork Polygon??
These critters are really fast, difficult to catch, and almost impossible to photograph. Here are some interesting mysterious facts about solifugids:
It's not a spider! ...but it's not a scorpion either.
They can "run like the wind" and are considered the world's fastest arachnid capable of speeds when running near 10 mph!
They look like they have 10 legs but they actually have 8 legs and they only use 6 of them for running.
It does not have venom glands or web-spinning organs so you can probably keep one as a pet.They have the strongest jaws - relative to size - of any animal on earth and have a voracious appetite, feeding on mites, ticks, and other pest bugs.
The desert variety, known as the Camel Scorpion, grows to 6 inches in length and was featured in the July 2004 issue of National Geographic Magazine.
They're also known as solifuges, solpugids, camel spiders, false spiders, haarskeerders, jagspinnekoppe, jerrymanders, roman spiders, and walzenspinnen.
If you kill one, two more will take its' place! ... So please don't kill them!
So, it looks like I was right! It is a scorpion-spider hybrid! And it is creepy looking. Thank God I didn't see it run, otherwise I would have been more terrified. I'm also thankful that this one was only about an inch long instead of six! Unfortunately, as mentioned before, I did kill it. Therefore, I get too look forward to introducing myself to its friends when I return home later this week.
I hope this doesn't deter you all from wanting to visit me out here in the desert...
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A Journal on becoming a Teacher of the Deaf
This is going to be a long post, but bear with me. During the summer, I journaled a bit about the process I went through before accepting my current position as Teacher of the Deaf through Teach for America. I hope it will give you a glimpse into my placement and my heart for my job.
On 6/15/2010 I wrote the following email to Ann Brendal, the supervisor for deaf and hard of hearing students in Gallup-McKinley County Schools. We had recently had a phone conversation about the possibility of me working as Teacher of the Deaf for a 10th grade student in Tse’Yi’Gai, a very rural, isolated part of the Navajo nation. The role, as it turned out, seems to be less intervention and more interpretation—which terrified me. The email was written after a long afternoon of pondering the contradictions of my qualifications and my passions, the juxtaposition of my lack of experience and my sense of purpose.
I spent a lot of time pondering the position this afternoon and wanted to express some thoughts/concerns. I originally inquired about the position simply out of curiosity for pursuing future education in deaf/hard of hearing education, understanding that I am not qualified or trained as an interpreter. I realized this afternoon, shortly after our phone conversation, that I am experiencing a conflict of interests. While I jumped at the opportunity to potentially dive into work as a deaf educator, it was piqued by my passion for the language, the culture, and the incredible opportunity for personal and professional growth. Simultaneously, however, I am very passionate about Deaf rights and am concerned as to whether my presence would actually be of benefit to the student, or actually perpetuate a disservice of limited access to information. As you are probably already gathering, I have a lot of questions about the student's other options, especially pertaining to the School for the Deaf and your partnership with them (and the possibility of those professionals working with him). While I would do everything in my power to provide as much access as possible, work diligently to assemble resources, and seek out assistance from other professionals, I want what is best for this student and do not want to set us both up for failure.
I hope you find these thoughts and questions to be helpful as you try to develop the best opportunities for this student.
On 6/16/2010 I received this reply from Ann. This email was read immediately after the Teach for America “Welcoming Ceremonies,” which caused even more turmoil in my heart over the dilemma of this student and the role that I could somehow play. More thoughts about the Welcoming Ceremonies follow this email.
I appreciate your ultimate concern for the Student.
Placement at NMSD in Santa Fe for high school students is my personal preference.
This student has tried that, twice- it has not worked out for him. Reasons include-- his missing his family, of course. His father even moved with the student, to a location that allowed bussing to Santa Fe daily. Cost of living is so high in Santa Fe, and jobs difficult to obtain, and do not pay well for the average person. The student had severe separation anxiety. There are still ramifications from forced boarding school placements that affected previous generations.
Also, just an aside, there is a culture amongst students at NMSD that separates those very fluent signers from those who are not fluent. This student went to a BIA elementary school that had his aunt work as his interpreter- but this turned out to be a real detriment to the student's independence and language development.
He has had a very capable interpreter this past year. This of course has not only improved his academics, but his social and behavioral development as well.
I totally respect - and am impressed by- your stand on making sure this student has his best options. That is why I would really encourage you to continue to think of this district as a possible work place. We are committed to making sure our students with IEPs have the best education they can receive. It is difficult. We work closely with
NMSD's outreach programs, working toward best practices.
I hope you continue to keep us in mind, if you would like a phone interview, to be followed by an ASL assessment, please let us know. Check the NMSD website- there are training opportunities that may be useful for you.
I appreciate your honesty and putting students first.
Two things really struck the chords in my heart during the Welcoming Ceremonies. The first story was given by the Curriculum Specialist that I’ve been working with at Institute, April Boozer. Her story was about how she specifically requested to have a “problem” student transferred into her class, despite his reading being two years behind grade level. In the end, they overcame the odds together and made huge gains towards his future academic potential. People asked her, “Why did you do it?” Her response? “If not me, then whom? If not now, then when?”
The second story is about a current Teach for America teacher, Megan Russo, who taught 9th grade science in the Bronx last year. At the beginning of the year, she was struggling with what kind of “Big Goal” she could set for her students since the majority of them were reading on a 7th grade level, many were only at a 5th grade reading level, and all of them had minimal prior exposure to science. She found out that NY has a Regent’s exam that students can take to prove science proficiency—an exam that most Bronx students never take. She learned that if 9th graders pass this exam, it will put them on an honors track—a track pushing them towards college. So she set the goal that 100% of her students would pass the exam (a minimum of 65% score). At the end of the year, 95% of her students passed the exam with an average score of 81% mastery. The rest passed the exam after continuing tutoring over the summer. She was a beginning teacher—not a specialist. And she made it happen.
It is arrogant, it is idealistic, and it is terrifying to envision myself fighting against all odds. To be fighting against all my insufficiencies and all of the history of systemic failures in the worlds of deaf and native education. It is also too exciting to let myself be afraid of failure. Failure will inevitably be part of the process, but doesn’t have to be the end result. It is crazy. And I have to ask myself, “What if people that I respect, people who are experienced and qualified tell me that I can’t? What if people say it’s not possible? What if I am not only fighting against all of the history of disadvantage but also am drowning in a sea of other people’s doubts? How will I let that affect me? Will I let that change my resolve or my belief in this student’s capacity?” If I pursue this opportunity, ultimate failure cannot and will not be an option.
I am at a crossroads. I dream of being someone to deaf/hard of hearing education like Wendy Kopp is to Teach for America. I dream of ignoring the statistics, diving in over my head, “unqualified,” and proving everybody wrong. If the woman who taught Helen Keller was inexperienced and ultimately successful, why shouldn’t I be? I have a decision to make, and it could potentially alter my life course. Do I dare to challenge adversity so boldly and test every molecule of my being to pursue developing this deaf student’s academic opportunities, or do I submit to norms of qualifications and resign myself to other opportunities?
July 18, 2010
I accepted the position of Teacher of the Deaf for Vaughn a couple weeks ago. It was such an excruciatingly analytical process…in a circumstance that couldn’t be effectively broken down. Mary Morrison, my American Sign Language professor, advisor, and friend ended up telling me that I needed to drop my analytical mind and stop trying to justify either side of the position because I could make a justification in either way. People would be supportive and unsupportive regardless of which I choose, so I just needed to GO WITH MY GUT and stick by my decision no matter what. And even though my gut was telling me “Vomit” during that conversation, I knew that my original reaction was sheer excitement. And so I accepted it. Granted, I have had my moments of panic and confusion, and I very well may have gotten myself in over my head... I am in over my head. I really have no specifics of the breadth and depth of what is going to happen over the next two years…
On 6/15/2010 I wrote the following email to Ann Brendal, the supervisor for deaf and hard of hearing students in Gallup-McKinley County Schools. We had recently had a phone conversation about the possibility of me working as Teacher of the Deaf for a 10th grade student in Tse’Yi’Gai, a very rural, isolated part of the Navajo nation. The role, as it turned out, seems to be less intervention and more interpretation—which terrified me. The email was written after a long afternoon of pondering the contradictions of my qualifications and my passions, the juxtaposition of my lack of experience and my sense of purpose.
I spent a lot of time pondering the position this afternoon and wanted to express some thoughts/concerns. I originally inquired about the position simply out of curiosity for pursuing future education in deaf/hard of hearing education, understanding that I am not qualified or trained as an interpreter. I realized this afternoon, shortly after our phone conversation, that I am experiencing a conflict of interests. While I jumped at the opportunity to potentially dive into work as a deaf educator, it was piqued by my passion for the language, the culture, and the incredible opportunity for personal and professional growth. Simultaneously, however, I am very passionate about Deaf rights and am concerned as to whether my presence would actually be of benefit to the student, or actually perpetuate a disservice of limited access to information. As you are probably already gathering, I have a lot of questions about the student's other options, especially pertaining to the School for the Deaf and your partnership with them (and the possibility of those professionals working with him). While I would do everything in my power to provide as much access as possible, work diligently to assemble resources, and seek out assistance from other professionals, I want what is best for this student and do not want to set us both up for failure.
I hope you find these thoughts and questions to be helpful as you try to develop the best opportunities for this student.
On 6/16/2010 I received this reply from Ann. This email was read immediately after the Teach for America “Welcoming Ceremonies,” which caused even more turmoil in my heart over the dilemma of this student and the role that I could somehow play. More thoughts about the Welcoming Ceremonies follow this email.
I appreciate your ultimate concern for the Student.
Placement at NMSD in Santa Fe for high school students is my personal preference.
This student has tried that, twice- it has not worked out for him. Reasons include-- his missing his family, of course. His father even moved with the student, to a location that allowed bussing to Santa Fe daily. Cost of living is so high in Santa Fe, and jobs difficult to obtain, and do not pay well for the average person. The student had severe separation anxiety. There are still ramifications from forced boarding school placements that affected previous generations.
Also, just an aside, there is a culture amongst students at NMSD that separates those very fluent signers from those who are not fluent. This student went to a BIA elementary school that had his aunt work as his interpreter- but this turned out to be a real detriment to the student's independence and language development.
He has had a very capable interpreter this past year. This of course has not only improved his academics, but his social and behavioral development as well.
I totally respect - and am impressed by- your stand on making sure this student has his best options. That is why I would really encourage you to continue to think of this district as a possible work place. We are committed to making sure our students with IEPs have the best education they can receive. It is difficult. We work closely with
NMSD's outreach programs, working toward best practices.
I hope you continue to keep us in mind, if you would like a phone interview, to be followed by an ASL assessment, please let us know. Check the NMSD website- there are training opportunities that may be useful for you.
I appreciate your honesty and putting students first.
Two things really struck the chords in my heart during the Welcoming Ceremonies. The first story was given by the Curriculum Specialist that I’ve been working with at Institute, April Boozer. Her story was about how she specifically requested to have a “problem” student transferred into her class, despite his reading being two years behind grade level. In the end, they overcame the odds together and made huge gains towards his future academic potential. People asked her, “Why did you do it?” Her response? “If not me, then whom? If not now, then when?”
The second story is about a current Teach for America teacher, Megan Russo, who taught 9th grade science in the Bronx last year. At the beginning of the year, she was struggling with what kind of “Big Goal” she could set for her students since the majority of them were reading on a 7th grade level, many were only at a 5th grade reading level, and all of them had minimal prior exposure to science. She found out that NY has a Regent’s exam that students can take to prove science proficiency—an exam that most Bronx students never take. She learned that if 9th graders pass this exam, it will put them on an honors track—a track pushing them towards college. So she set the goal that 100% of her students would pass the exam (a minimum of 65% score). At the end of the year, 95% of her students passed the exam with an average score of 81% mastery. The rest passed the exam after continuing tutoring over the summer. She was a beginning teacher—not a specialist. And she made it happen.
It is arrogant, it is idealistic, and it is terrifying to envision myself fighting against all odds. To be fighting against all my insufficiencies and all of the history of systemic failures in the worlds of deaf and native education. It is also too exciting to let myself be afraid of failure. Failure will inevitably be part of the process, but doesn’t have to be the end result. It is crazy. And I have to ask myself, “What if people that I respect, people who are experienced and qualified tell me that I can’t? What if people say it’s not possible? What if I am not only fighting against all of the history of disadvantage but also am drowning in a sea of other people’s doubts? How will I let that affect me? Will I let that change my resolve or my belief in this student’s capacity?” If I pursue this opportunity, ultimate failure cannot and will not be an option.
I am at a crossroads. I dream of being someone to deaf/hard of hearing education like Wendy Kopp is to Teach for America. I dream of ignoring the statistics, diving in over my head, “unqualified,” and proving everybody wrong. If the woman who taught Helen Keller was inexperienced and ultimately successful, why shouldn’t I be? I have a decision to make, and it could potentially alter my life course. Do I dare to challenge adversity so boldly and test every molecule of my being to pursue developing this deaf student’s academic opportunities, or do I submit to norms of qualifications and resign myself to other opportunities?
July 18, 2010
I accepted the position of Teacher of the Deaf for Vaughn a couple weeks ago. It was such an excruciatingly analytical process…in a circumstance that couldn’t be effectively broken down. Mary Morrison, my American Sign Language professor, advisor, and friend ended up telling me that I needed to drop my analytical mind and stop trying to justify either side of the position because I could make a justification in either way. People would be supportive and unsupportive regardless of which I choose, so I just needed to GO WITH MY GUT and stick by my decision no matter what. And even though my gut was telling me “Vomit” during that conversation, I knew that my original reaction was sheer excitement. And so I accepted it. Granted, I have had my moments of panic and confusion, and I very well may have gotten myself in over my head... I am in over my head. I really have no specifics of the breadth and depth of what is going to happen over the next two years…
Monday, July 26, 2010
Welcome to the desert...It's monsoon season
July 24, 2010
7 weeks of Teach for America training under my belt,
5 friends at the best breakfast joint in Gallup,
A second carload of belongings from storage,
One trip to WalMart,
One suitcase to dodge after it fell off the roofrack of the car in front of me,
One deep, muddy wash-out that covered the road from that afternoon’s rain,
7 weeks of Teach for America training under my belt,
5 friends at the best breakfast joint in Gallup,
A second carload of belongings from storage,
One trip to WalMart,
One suitcase to dodge after it fell off the roofrack of the car in front of me,
One deep, muddy wash-out that covered the road from that afternoon’s rain,
13 cows in the road,
4 dropped calls home,
The 7th straight day of afternoon thunderstorms,
A left turn at the two Pueblo Pintado water towers,
Zero bars of cell phone service,
One handwritten sign pointing me down the gravel road to Tse’Yi’Gai High School (pronounced Say-Guy),And 93.7 miles later (43 miles from the nearest grocery store and 58 miles from the Post Office)...
I’m at home.
House 7A.
Let the adventure begin!
July 25, 2010
I guess I didn’t know what I was asking for last night when I typed, “Let the adventure begin!” The day progressed much differently than anticipated. I spent most of the day cleaning and organizing my belongings. I did take a break to paint my toenails, though. The rest of the day I sporadically watched a herd of sheep roam in my front yard, viewed the thunderstorm from my room… and enjoyed sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag. Cleaning wore me out so I took a nice long nap after eating an early dinner. Two hours later I was woken by the doorbell. Some of my neighbors graciously brought me some desert flowers as a welcome to the community.
Even though it had been raining all afternoon, I decided to go for a drive to find some cell service…But the little dirt road bridge was covered by two feet of water. And I had no way out.
On the plus side, I got to use my 4-wheel drive masterfully for the first time. (Go Gertrude!) So I went back to the house, put on my hiking boots, grabbed my rain coat, a headlamp, my camera, water, and snacks (just in case), and started hiking on the smaller dirt roads just in case there was another easy way out. There wasn’t. But I did get some sweet pictures of the rain clouds! Naturally, I decided to walk back down to the bridge to see if the water had gone down. Apparently, several carloads of people were thinking the same thing. I arrived just as the Pueblo Pintado Fire Rescue was leaving (they had just confirmed that the bridge was passable again). BONUS! I watched a spectacular sunset from next to the bridge, saw a cow dare to cross the still raging current, and I chatted with the locals. Occasionally they’d break into Navajo…perhaps just to let me know that I was in their country now, perhaps they naturally alternate between the two languages. One man was especially helpful. He stood next to me and talked in what I assume to be traditional Navajo form (slow, deliberate, and repetitive). He informed me that it usually only floods like this once a year, but that ‘they’ said another monsoon was coming in tomorrow. He also told me that the bridge north of this one and the crossing south of us had apparently washed out completely. Then he offered to give me a ride back, which I gratefully accepted. I hope I didn’t leave a muddy mess in his truck.
Finally my roommate, Emilie, and our friends, Pete and Kimber, came back from Durango. Suddenly, I realized that I had been going mildly crazy from isolation.
Survive weekend one in the Middle of Everywhere? Mission accomplished.
I guess I didn’t know what I was asking for last night when I typed, “Let the adventure begin!” The day progressed much differently than anticipated. I spent most of the day cleaning and organizing my belongings. I did take a break to paint my toenails, though. The rest of the day I sporadically watched a herd of sheep roam in my front yard, viewed the thunderstorm from my room… and enjoyed sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag. Cleaning wore me out so I took a nice long nap after eating an early dinner. Two hours later I was woken by the doorbell. Some of my neighbors graciously brought me some desert flowers as a welcome to the community.
Even though it had been raining all afternoon, I decided to go for a drive to find some cell service…But the little dirt road bridge was covered by two feet of water. And I had no way out.
On the plus side, I got to use my 4-wheel drive masterfully for the first time. (Go Gertrude!) So I went back to the house, put on my hiking boots, grabbed my rain coat, a headlamp, my camera, water, and snacks (just in case), and started hiking on the smaller dirt roads just in case there was another easy way out. There wasn’t. But I did get some sweet pictures of the rain clouds! Naturally, I decided to walk back down to the bridge to see if the water had gone down. Apparently, several carloads of people were thinking the same thing. I arrived just as the Pueblo Pintado Fire Rescue was leaving (they had just confirmed that the bridge was passable again). BONUS! I watched a spectacular sunset from next to the bridge, saw a cow dare to cross the still raging current, and I chatted with the locals. Occasionally they’d break into Navajo…perhaps just to let me know that I was in their country now, perhaps they naturally alternate between the two languages. One man was especially helpful. He stood next to me and talked in what I assume to be traditional Navajo form (slow, deliberate, and repetitive). He informed me that it usually only floods like this once a year, but that ‘they’ said another monsoon was coming in tomorrow. He also told me that the bridge north of this one and the crossing south of us had apparently washed out completely. Then he offered to give me a ride back, which I gratefully accepted. I hope I didn’t leave a muddy mess in his truck.Finally my roommate, Emilie, and our friends, Pete and Kimber, came back from Durango. Suddenly, I realized that I had been going mildly crazy from isolation.
Survive weekend one in the Middle of Everywhere? Mission accomplished.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)