We know more than we think
Today I did something odd. I volunteered to go back to TFA.
As an alum, I don’t have to attend the monthly weekend courses that first and second-year corps members endure. It’s part of the program, so there’s not too much room for complaining. Except when it’s a waste of time, which happens from time to time.
I didn’t go back for self-torture. I went back to see if I could help out. The social studies team leader wanted me to lend my thoughts and feedback to other teachers in the program. It was an impromptu commitment (I don’t make those lightly), but it turned out to be totally cool.
I mean, the session itself wasn’t very meaty. It was a lot of work time and me randomly talking to strangers about their teaching. But I loved it. And in some strange twist, what I said was actually valued. Not that I’m not used to being treated well, but I’m not used to being treated like the professional I obviously am. As a teacher, our work is often casual and collaborative, which (while awesome) can also risk feeling unimportant. Not that it’s really unimportant, but just because we don’t lend this kind of work as much legitimacy or reverence as the corporate board room or even a lunch meeting amongst lawyers.
Despite this, we all know the work of teachers is important. And putting myself out there with other teachers felt good. It reminded me of everything I’ve done and pushed me to think about what else I could do. No doubt the teachers I spoke with had some gems to share with me, as well. I kind of wanted to stay and make a day of it, but that wasn’t on the agenda.
By the end, I had given a handful of young teachers, like myself, a bit of inspiration to start reading books in their history classrooms. I told them about my practice, where I messed up, what I will different next year, and we traded ideas. With the flick of a jumpdrive, I gave them every document I had made.
I’m not sure if they will actually do anything with it. But I’m not sure if that really matters.
Someone said recently, “It’s not what you know. It’s what you share.”
Since I probably know more than I think, I should share every chance I get. Lesson learned.
- Jeff
Breaking the ice
Quite literally.
I went on a jog the other week and noticed that the Schuykill River, just about 1/2 mile from my house, was frozen over. It’s a sizable river, and so I was surprised that it managed to actually freeze. The depth of the ice, unknown at the time, captured my imagination. From that point forward, all I could think about was breaking that ice.
I’ve got a little OCD stuff going on and sometimes I’m consumed by the need for a sense of satisfaction. As a kid, it came in many forms. There was a time when I couldn’t pass a drain without unclogging the leaves and branches that plugged it from flowing. After a storm, I’d run outside and look for the drains I could unblock. Totally weird, right? Or the period of time when I couldn’t stand people’s forearms from touching. I mean the little crease on the other side of your elbow – you know that super sensitive spot people sometimes tickle. Well, I couldn’t stand it when that little space was touching. Still confused? Do a bicep curl with your right arm – that’s what I’m talking about – when that little crease goes away and touches your forearm. It drove me crazy.
Now that I’ve shared all that with you, I can share my newest craze: breaking/cracking/standing on ice. I love it and it’s one of the best parts of living in Philadelphia. Ok, that sounds kinda sad, but whatever.
You can imagine, then, my excitement when I discovered that a whole river had frozen over. I got on my bike and went on a mission. Looking for some giant rocks to throw, I was determined the break the ice. I documented the exercise below, to which I hope you can find some satisfaction, too.
Attempt #1
Attempt #2
Attempt #3
- Jeff
All I need
When I feel like a lesson I plan and teach goes particularly well, all I want is a little validation. Some might call it praise or identify it as a selfish impulse. Really, I’m just looking for someone to say good job.
I hear it from adults now and then, but it’s the kids’ opinions that really matter. That’s why I freaked out when my student Melvin came up to me after class and said “I enjoyed your lesson today.” It was so rare, and so exciting, that I had him recite it for the camera. Something this good has got to be archived.
Sometimes, I’ll even stand at the door as they leave and I’ll say, “that was good, huh?” or “you had fun, didn’t you?” Watching me pry for a little recognition must look kind desperate. If anything, it’s instilled in me an appreciation for recognizing people when something cool happens. If I’m searching so hard for it myself, I figure it must be something we all yearn for in our work.
Most days, that’s all I need.
- Jeff
Coming soon…
I’ve been revamping the website since the summer, and am having trouble with a few last minute technical issues. Just a little longer and Jeff For America will be up and running again.
Give me a week.
- Jeff
Went to Tony’s Pizza Napoletana in North Beach last week and shared a pie with Gina and beau Thomas. Supposed to be some of the best pizza around. Confirmed.
The plan
Since it’s summer and I won’t be telling crazy stories from school as often (but don’t fret – there’s still room for some good ol’ flashbacks), I need to come up with a fun way to share my summer adventures. And I have.
I’ll be posting a photo a day from something I did or saw or experienced using my trusty iPhone camera. Sometimes it’ll be funny or weird or sad or probably confusing. But it will be a good way to chronicle my summer days and maybe entertain you. Then, about once a week, I’ll post a narrative about something cool, an update on my projects, or a reflection on the year passed. Should be fun, and certainly won’t get boring.
Enjoy!
- Jeff
Dina for America
Calling all TFA 08 corps members:
If you love Dina Portnoy, go here to donate, leave a testimonial or learn more about an amazing woman.
She deserves a little pat on the back.
- Jeff
Be like me
I’ve been failing at male relationships my whole life. And what I mean by that is…I’ve never really been able to connect with other men in the same way I connect with women. Ever since I was a kid, I preferred my female friends. I was doing flips on the playground bars and made breakfast in bed for my sister’s friends when they had sleep overs. On the weekends, I made sure I got to go shopping at Ross with my mom when my dad was doing yard work. Women became my go-to, and somewhere in the mix, my ability to bond with men was weakened. The few male friends I had in school either turned out to be gay or are out of touch. And still today, I find my relationships with women far outnumber and outflank those with men.
And so it was a challenge when I decided to take up the task of leading my school’s boys mentoring group, Boys II Men. I’ve documented this before when we made our first visit to the local jail. Since then, we’ve collected toys for families during the holiday and volunteered at a church. This month, I wanted something tangible for them to walk away about a topic I know many of them have encountered (or will) in their own lives: domestic violence. I found a local organization that does outreach in the public schools and set up a workshop for the boys after school. A month in the making, the workshop took place this afternoon.
Within the first 10 minutes, I was back in my place – awkwardly trying to feel them out as they were creating ruckus in my room. The guest had arrived, and none of the boys were listening to my pleas to sit down and get settled. Not being quiet, I knew they had heard me. I knew they were ignoring me. In that moment, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me – I needed to catch my breathe. At the surface, I was just plain frustrated with the situation at hand. But deep down, I was being reminded (in a very explicit way) of my own insecurities. I feel trapped between doing what feels right, and altering my approach to fit their idea of masculinity and authority. If there was a class about how to be a male role model, I’d consider paying a hefty fee. While I acknowledge the fact that you can’t learn this stuff, I still feel like I need some help understanding where I fit into all this. Because, right now, I feel like that last puzzle piece that fell under the couch – obviously important but just not in the right place.
Most of these boys just don’t respect me as a male role model. Their actions show a complete disregard for my intentions and are an assault on my alternative approach to discipline and relationships. They view me as weak, emotional and – ultimately – irrelevant. I’m not like their fathers or their cousins or their neighbors. And I’m certainly not like some of the other men I work with – who have my student’s instant respect upon entering the room. Unlike them, I have a quieter voice, a less aggressive demeanor, am far more patient and understanding, and have lighter skin. I am a foreigner. When it comes down to it, I don’t think too many of these young boys want to be like me. And that’s kind of a hard pill to swallow.
- Jeff
P.S. I really don’t need a slew of reassuring comments to follow – just had to get this off my mind.
Home, again
I’m back in Philadelphia – and without a doubt I feel like I’m back home. It’s strange living in such a different city, so far away from where I’ve spent most of my life. In some ways, Philadelphia will never feel familiar enough to be home. But because of its newness, it’s become all my own. The streets, the parks, the people – no one back in California knows about any of it. So when I come back here, it feels special. My own little world. And in that way, it kind of feels like home.
My recent Philadelphia homecoming got me to thinking about the labels we attach to the places we live.
I often refer to Sacramento as my home-home – double hyphened to emphasize the fact that this is my native home. The singular home then becomes practically anywhere else. I’ve caught myself many times on vacation calling my hotel room my home. “I’m getting tired of walking around, let’s go home.” It’s funny, since I usually think of home as having an elevated meaning to me. I suppose we are creatures of basic necessity. All we really need to survive is a shelter and food. Everything else – the streets, the parks, the people – it’s all just extra. And I suppose that’s the difference right there. You can find a home anywhere you go (which is kind of reassuring), but you’ve got to find those special touches to make it home.
Philadelphia is home. Sacramento is home. I should just drop the hyphen and thank my lucky stars I’ve got two.
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