Life and Times at P.S. 42

Wow—it’s been a really, really long time since I’ve posted on here, and it’s crazy to sit down and realize that the reason for that is that this is the first time I’ve had a relatively free evening in the last three weeks. It’s been amazing, but very intensely amazing.

The schedule here is pretty insane, bringing back memories of the missionary training center—though this version is a lot less spiritual (not to say that there aren’t religious underpinnings to this work) and a lot less well-rested (most of us, myself included, are averaging about 4-5 hours of sleep a night, on a good night). Two weeks ago our training really started, when we were split up into schools where we would be teaching summer school—I’m at P.S. 42 in the Bronx. In order to break us into teaching slowly, we’re split into groups of 2, 3, or 4 teaching summer school classes collaboratively, switching subjects week by week (the first week I taught writing and math, this week I’m teaching word study and vocabulary, next week I’m teaching reading comprehension). I’m teaching a class of six third grade boys, along with two girls named Kelsey and Chrissie. We’ve gotten really close as we’ve been working together, as it’s been easy for all of us to get attached and invested to these kids, our first kids, the first ones that we are primarily responsible for in terms of their learning and their progression towards 4^th grade. And though six kids may not seem like a lot, we’ve gotten a pretty rowdy group of boys (I would kill to have a girl in the that room, just to offset the overpowering wanna-be-macho vibe in the room of 9-year-olds trying to be cool), who have sent me home more than a little stressed and wondering how I’m going to handle this several times, but who I feel more and more that I’m coming to really learn how to work with and who I’m getting more and more attached to. There’s Matthew, the peppiest and most smiley nine-year-old that Puerto Rico ever produced; there’s Danny, who has some serious trouble concentrating and likes to act tough but secretly loves being good and gets the biggest kick out of really getting what he’s being taught; there’s Bijon, who’s an amazingly advanced reader and talks the best smack I’ve ever seen; there’s John, an adorable big guy who I wish I could loan some deserved self-confidence to; there’s Shamar, who’s the biggest handful I’ve ever seen but is amazingly smart when you can get him focused; and there’s Christian, who is your secret confidence booster because he’s the kid that always gets it (and thus doesn’t leave you feeling completely inept at the end of the day, even when it’s a hard day). There have been some serious problems between them—with numerous fights and almost-fights and some really horrible racial epithets having been thrown around—but with time it really feels like it is getting better, as we address those issues as they come up and try to really build a sense of community in the classroom. The other day a lovely thing happened—Matthew and Shamar had had issues one day (which had gotten really bad, to the point of one calling the other the n-word), and the next day both of them really wanted to read something I had read on the board. I was afraid it was going to break out into some harsh words as they fought over who could read it, but before I could step in to diffuse anything, Matthew looked up with the sincerest look on his face and simply said, “It’s okay, Shamar can read it.” That effortless ability to forgive and forget and give up something you want for someone else that you know wants it, too—it’s no wonder Jesus said that children are examples of life in heaven.