Obama and unions and dripping wet kids

The last two days have been pretty low-key—yesterday we heard the president of the NYC teachers’ union speak, which was interesting, but other than that and a few small meetings (yesterday was the last day of “induction”), it’s been pretty free. I’ve mainly been reading—most folks have gone out and partied yesterday and today (with probably more to come tomorrow), but since most of that has been pretty alcohol-related, I don’t feel like I’ve missed much that I wouldn’t skip out on anyway.

Today was a day off, basically—there were a lot of activities organized in the city that corps members could go to in order to get a taste of the city and get to know each other (including an Ozomatli concert that sounded pretty spiffy), but as boring as it sounds, I just felt like sitting around and reading. Well, I was also feeling a bit stressed to finish my TFA prep readings and responses (as I’ve heard we’ll be expected to turn them in Sunday or Monday) and finish my final report to Care For Life on everything I did there (which I’ve been owing them for a bit), so it was business as well as pleasure that was pushing me to stay home, but for whatever reasons, I stayed home, and really enjoyed it.

I started reading Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father a few days ago (in the spare time that you always manage to find when you’re stressed and need it), and read a good fifty pages of it today (to the chagrin of my Teach For America readings). I literally had trouble putting it down tonight—I’m still in the section dealing with his early childhood, and alongside his discussions of race and racial origins, Obama captures in such sensitive detail all the moral dilemmas and questions faced by American children who are partly raised abroad and find their instilled American values ringing hollow or seeming surreally unrealistic in third world settings where power alone is the deciding factor in everything. In his discussions of race, too, despite the fact that his experience is such a radical departure from mine, he writes in a way that shows a desire and ability to understand where all of the people in his life are coming from, and that makes you feel like he could understand your past, too. I think that is what I love most about this man, and what I think most sets him apart as a man who could bring honor and understanding to the presidency—his empathy, his sympathy, his ability to place himself in others’ shoes. In Christian terms, his charity. Who could not be excited about the possibility of true understanding and charity entering into politics, especially at a presidential level?

One completely unrelated moment today was too hilarious to leave out—I heard a story that made me so, so excited to be working with elementary school children who still are young enough to have such potential for delicious ridiculousness. My suitemate was telling me about a friend of his who was teaching as a corps member in the Bronx, and who took her elementary school class on a field trip to the Bronx Zoo. In the stress of keeping all the kids together, she had lost track of one kid for several hours, who only showed up at the bus right when it was time to leave, inexplicably soaking wet. The bus was late and she had no time for questions, so she just herded him on to the bus with the rest of them and forgot about the whole thing until later that night. She then got a call from an aggravated principal, who had apparently gotten a call from an aggravated mother, who was wondering why, upon opening her son’s backpack after school that day, a dripping wet penguin had jumped out.

I love kids. I hope this fella’s in my class.

Lame orientation stuff and interesting speakers

So a lot of this week has been kinda lame and filled with meta-discourse, instead of anything really substantive—our real training starts on Monday, and this week is organized more like an orientation week, or a week-long pep talk of “You guys can do this, guys, you really can, you’re gonna be GREAT!” Which is nice every now and then for say, twenty minutes, but a week seems like a bit much—especially when we’re only just starting, and we’re all full of greenie fire. This might be nice a couple weeks from now when we’re all hating life—but such is life.

I’ve met some really interesting and cool people—the other day I met an anthropology major from Stanford named Katy with whom I had a really long and interesting discussion about Mormonism, as she had had a friend who was a church member. I’ve had a few other cool religious discussions with folks here—they seem to come up when I tell people I studied at BYU. I dig philosophical and interesting discussions with interesting thinkers.

We’ve had a few interesting speakers, too—the other day Wendy Kopp, the founder of Teach For America, came to speak with us. I was curious how realistic or idealistic she’d be, and in my opinion she was a combination of both—glossing over some realities with idealism (in my opinion), but addressing others quite realistically. A personal question that took shape in my mind while she was answering questions, but which did so late enough in the question-and-answer session that I didn’t think there would be time for it to be answered if I asked it, which mainly was related to the debate of how much one should grow and expand a program vs. how much one should perfect one’s product or service before growing. It’s the same issue I had with João’s approach to the Family Preservation Program, on a certain level—he wanted to grow and spread the program pretty far and wide before we had even seen it finished in our first community, or in other words, before really being sure it’s successful or not. That really scared me, and after reading some stats the other day, I began to have the same concern about Teach For America—that it had focused on growing before really figuring out what it was doing. That is, up until very recently, only 5% (in New York City) to 13% (in the U.S. as a whole) of corps members were making “significant gains” with their kids (that is, reaching TFA’s goal, which is 1.5 years of progress in literacy and 80% comprehension of math skills), which is very, very frighteningly low. Those numbers are growing, have already grown significantly and look to be growing more each year as TFA gets their act together and learns better what they should do and how they should do it, but the question that was really bothering me was, What about the kids who are being taught by those teachers that aren’t making significant gains, in those “learning years” when the curriculum was being (and is still being) perfected? Are they being underserved? Is that just considered a necessary sacrifice for the learning curve, or what is Teach For America’s (or Wendy Kopp’s) thoughts on that?

My instinct has always been to do as much prep as possible to avoid that kind of dilemma, and I was curious to hear what Wendy Kopp thought about it—when I realized I probably wasn’t going to get a chance to hear an answer, I started thinking more about what I thought about it, because I still wasn’t quite sure. As I thought about it, I figured that the way I would do things, according to what I think and feel and know now, would be to try to perfect a program with a small population over time, staying with that population until the program had learned to serve them well. Then, when it is proven effective there, export it to a few more, and test its effectiveness in those communities, and then, when it is proven universally effective, export it everywhere. That may seem overly cautious, but in doing anything different, I would really be worried about denying the participants the full benefits of the program.

Within Teach For America’s model, I could understand their logic in their growth and such, and how within a few years nearly all teachers will be making significant gains if current trends continue, but my concern still remains, in the process of learning how to do things right, are we messing up any kids? I feel personally committed to make sure I don’t do that, but it doesn’t seem morally responsible for that to just be acceptable damage within the movement.

Even cooler than Wendy Kopp, today we had one amazing guest speaker—his name was Geoffrey Canada, and he’s the founder of the Harlem Children’s Zone, a controversial and fascinating project that combines urban reform and small-scale universal health care with charter school-type teaching in a particular geographic area in Harlem (there's a really interesting article on him available here). And he was amazing—so much of what he said resonated so strongly with me. When he was getting ready to finish his remarks, I wanted to leap to my feet as soon as he was done, and was hoping others would rise, too—I smiled so wide when, right after he finished, the entire auditorium jumped to its feet. This man personified the type of social change agent that I want to be.

Above all, what really resonated with me was what he said about boys, and about the particular challenges facing boys. Without apologies or exceptions, he condemned the evil effect of media, especially on boys, which until age 10 does little more than encourage violence and materialism, and which from age 10 on pushes little more than sex. He condemned the system and the cultural environment that teach boys that getting laid is more important than going to college. He condemned the infantalization of men, especially men of color, in modern American society, and I felt like shouting amen after nearly everything he said. To see someone come and speak out about the truth of that, in a way that most these days would seem to brush off as Religious Right rhetoric, to an auditorium of kids straight out of college who playfully enjoy a lot of what he’s condemning, and to see him get a standing ovation because of how powerfully and irrefutably he spoke, was amazing to me. It gave me a little more gumption to stand up for what I believe, morally speaking, even when in a social situation like this where saying I don’t believe in premarital sex or drinking or drug use might not seem too kosher. I don’t plan on wearing my religion on my sleeve—I don’t think I’ve ever really done that. But I have at times caught myself letting moments pass by where I could thoughtfully express my opinion because I didn’t want to be preachy or didactic—even though I know that I could express myself without being either of those, that thought becomes an easy excuse to let things go unsaid. To see a man do that so powerfully and beautifully helped me get a little more backbone, I think. This is something I’ve been thinking about a fair amount these last few days, as it’s been a while since I’ve been someplace where I’ve not had numerous members of my own faith around, and I think I’ve gotten a bit rusty in terms of how to act when I’ve become again the odd one out. It was powerful to see someone who has worked that out so beautifully.

I think a large part of what impressed me about Geoffrey Canada is that he framed the achievement gap in schools and the lack of economic and social opportunities in poor communities as a moral issue, one that can be preached against with a religious fervor (which he did, amazingly well—I wondered if he’s a member of an evangelical church, because the man can preach). That is how issues of economic and educational inequality have always been framed in my mind—religious conviction, the moral obligation I have towards my brothers and sisters, is a very, very large part of what drives me to be here doing what I’m doing. It’s a thrill to hear someone passionately profess what you feel so strongly in your heart.

At the end of his remarks he read a poem he had written, which I love, and which I found on the all-knowing internet—here it is:

Maybe before we didn’t know,

That Corey is afraid to go

To school, the store, to roller skate.

He cries a lot for a boy of eight.

But now we know each day its true

That other girls and boys cry too.

They cry for us to lend a hand.

Time for us to take a stand.

And little Maria’s window screens

Keeps out flies and other things.

But she knows to duck her head,

When she prays each night ‘fore bed.

Because in the window comes some things

That shatter little children-dreams.

For some, the hourglass is out of sand.

Time for us to take a stand.

And Charlie’s deepest, secret wishes,

Is someone to smother him with kisses

And squeeze and hug him tight, so tight,

While he pretends to put up a fight.

Or at least someone to be at home,

Who misses him, he’s so alone.

Who allowed this child-forsaken land?

Look in the mirror and take a stand.

And on the Sabbath, when we pray,

To our God we often say,

“Oh Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham,

I come to better understand,

How to learn to love and give,

And live the life you taught to live.”

In faith we must join hand in hand.

Suffer the children? Take the stand!

And tonight, some child will go to bed,

No food, no place to lay their head.

No hand to hold, no lap to sit,

To give slobbery kisses, from slobbery lips.

So you and I we must succeed

In this crusade, this holy deed,

To say to the children in this land:

Have hope. We’re here. We take a stand!

I dig ye olde NYC

Well, it’s been a wee while since I’ve been blogging—mainly for lack of time and reliable internet access. Since Thursday I’ve been in NYC, and I’ve been loving life—spending days in Central Park (they have adult kickball leagues with tournament games! How awesome is that???), spending time at the Met, wandering around the other parks and the cool central Public Library, going out to fun little corner diners all over town, alternating between friends’ homes to squat in for a night or two. I ran into a random Brazilian with a Boi Bumbá t-shirt on the subway late at night the other day, and got talking to him. From São Paulo, now lives in Rio, and is in town visiting for a few days while in the States. Really nice guy—I love Brazilians, and I love the friendly feeling you get talking to a Brazilian, no matter where you are or how you met them.

Most of all, I’ve been enjoying the company I’ve been keeping—I’ve started dating an amazing girl named Kristy Money, and most of the aforementioned awesomeness has been with her. If you want details, call me or somethin’, ‘cause I’m not to the blogging point o’ exhibitionism to post that kind o’ delightful mushy stuff quite yet.

Today’s been an interesting day—Eric and I went to the Inwood singles ward for sacrament meeting before heading home and getting everything ready for our Teach For America induction in Queens, at St. John’s University, where I’m living now and will be living until the first bit of August. Ever since we arrived here at St. John’s, it’s been kinda surreal—I totally feel like a freshman in college again, arriving at orientation week. We got assigned roommates, suitemates, meal plans, ID cards, and all the rest—and they had a big welcoming barbeque for us outside our dorm. All the conversations tended to focus around “So where are you from? Where’d you go to school? Who are your roommates?”—it felt like I had somehow been transported back six years, which was both kinda exciting (‘cause hey, the beginning of college was kinda exciting) and really surreal. There’s also a bit of an age gap, ‘cause pretty much everyone here just graduated from college, and between the two years I was on my mission and the year I deferred after graduation, I’m about three years older than most folks, but such is life. It’s like being around a whole bunch of Chris’s, minus the zaniness.

It is a bit of a culture shock being surrounded by folks who aren’t Mormon and are active college-age drinkers and partiers again—this crowd tends to be a bit more discrete than the average college-age crowd, but there was still a false alarm fire alarm earlier tonight, and a bunch of folks went out to the bar. So college is still a little in the air.

I’m way pumped for all the activities this week, though, getting us more familiar with Teach For America, with the sites where we’ll be teaching, with alumni and other folks who can give us a better idea of what people have done after their TFA experience. On another level, to be honest I’m really excited to be back on a somewhat-isolated college campus—I have many treasured memories from both Rice and BYU (though Rice a bit more prominently, as it was a bit more isolated and quiet) of walking around campus late at night, finding one or two favorite spots where I can sit and think and read scriptures and sing hymns and talk with my Father. I did a bit of that tonight, and I loved it—I can already picture many treasured evenings like that to come. I tend to like most places, but I think I’m gonna like it here.

Leaving Tomorrow on the Proverbial Jet Plane

I finally packed up my stuff for NYC today—packing for moves usually seems to be a combination of melancholy about leaving where you’re at and excitement about going where you’re going. Today it was a lot heavier on the excitement about going where I’m going, as home here in Austin, as much as I miss it sometimes, is something I know for sure I’m coming back to, unlike Mozambique, or my mission, or something like that. So most of my packing just got me steadily more excited for NYC, for Teach For America, and for a cool new chapter o’ life in general. Pumped? Yes, indeed. I am pumped.

Musings on Family and Fathers and Love

This morning was my second school observation as part of my preparation for Teach For America—I observed Mr. Cruz, a 20-something English teacher whose style I really liked. He gave a lot of trust to his students, but gradually, as they earned it, and as a result he had a pretty mature group that was able to do independent work without too much policing and that also was growing in its ability to think critically about literature and life. It was cool to see that in action.

After observing, I dropped by Zilker Park, as I’d done last Friday after my first observation, to do my scripture reading in a scenic place, and also to take a nice nap under the trees (beats a bed any day). I love Zilker Park, it’s been nice to spend some more time there during this visit.

This afternoon and evening I went to Julia and Sam’s house, as I’d gotten word that Julia was really sick with the flu, and Sam and Dad were busy at work and not able to watch over her (and Mom was home sick herself), so I headed up north to be with until Sam got home from work. Though we both did some serious napping, it was just nice to be with Hoolia. When time with siblings and family gets as short as it does these days, any moment or time together is more than appreciated. And then Sam came home and we watched Bride and Prejudice, which I’ve been wanting to watch for a long time. It seemed kinda backward, seeing this movie after having seen a number of real Bollywood movies, when it seems like most folks see this one as a kinda gateway drug to real Bollywood, but it was really well made and funny and fun, so who cares? I loved all the cross-cultural bits, like the gospel choir and the lifeguards and surfers singing in one musical number in LA. The Darcy could’ve been better, but oh well. Still some pretty serious awesomeness.

In thinking about family, and especially with Father’s Day on Sunday, I’ve thought a couple of times about a wonderful moment in church that happened a week ago Sunday, my first Sunday back here at our home ward after arriving in Austin. It was a few minutes before sacrament meeting was supposed to start, and I saw a Down syndrome girl slip away from her family to sit with the Lopez family. As she slid up next to them, Brother Lopez just grinned this wonderful huge grin, put his arm around her and hugged her close, listening to her as she whispered in his ear and then whispering something back, something that made her smile a mile wide. Still smiling, she looked back at the folks I think are her parents. As I just sat enjoying being a passive observer of all this, it seemed like this might be a regular thing, her sitting with Brother Lopez, and Brother Lopez showing her a level of love that makes her smile so wide. It felt like being on holy ground just to watch all that—as I sat there watching, I could only think, that is charity. There is a real man—an example of the level of love that Christ, the perfect man, has for that same girl, and for each of us. Watching Brother Lopez for those three or so minutes was one of the most powerful lessons I learned in church that day.

Monday Rememberings

Today I spent most of the day reading for Teach For America. I also said hi and hung out with some of the ladies from church who came over to visit Mom (the Relief Society is being wonderful about supporting Mom after her surgery), took time out tonight for a nice FHE, talked to a dear friend on the phone who had to put up with my post-readings brain-fried-ness, and drummed a bit when the stress got kinda crazy. I had forgotten how amazingly cathardic it is to drum when stress is getting to you. It’s amazing how quickly it all just disappears—more people need to beat on things now and again, and we’ll all feel better.

I was responsible for the lesson tonight for FHE, and I gave it on Elder Jensen’s talk on remembering from this last conference. While preparing it, I thought of an experience of Elder Eyring’s that I read about in one of his books, that then reminded me of a recent experience of my own. The Elder Eyring experience is cited in his book To Draw Closer to God, in which he talks about a day when he was on a spiritual high after having a meeting with the First Presidency as a member of the Presiding Bishopric, and really feeling inspired in some of the solutions he presented to various problems—but then, when he got home, because of that spiritual high he was rather arrogant and dismissive in how he spoke to his wife regarding a problem they were dealing with. He had let his positive spiritual experiences lead him to arrogance, because he hadn’t fully remembered where the inspiration for those experiences had come from in the first place. I did the exact same thing a week ago Sunday—I had an amazing and almost overpowering spiritual experience during church, in which I felt answers to something I had been praying about for weeks flood over me, and I felt more strongly than I have in months if not years that I was okay before God. But that same day, I found myself putting off my scripture study during the day until I found myself doing my daily study late at night, just before bed, when I was already a bit sleepy and not nearly as in tune with the Spirit as I would have been had I studied earlier in the day. The problem was that I, like Elder Eyring, had experienced a high enough spiritual high to mistakenly start thinking a fair bit of myself, and I had let myself coast. I hadn’t remembered and dwelt upon the true source of those feelings and answers that I had treasured. Studying Elder Jensen’s talk tonight was a welcome reminder of the same principle: “Remember, o man, and perish not.”

Father's Day

Today was father’s day, and though it was kept pretty low-key, it was a very nice day spent with my folks, chatting and napping and just hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Dad made us waffles for lunch after church, in keeping with the long-standing Straubhaar family tradition of having waffles or pancakes for Sunday lunch/dinner/whatever—he then made us the free-range steak we’d bought yesterday at the Farmer’s Market for dinner. We had a couple really good conversations, especially right after the waffles, as we sat around and talked about a few conference talks that had mutually touched us several years ago (April 2004), and especially about the vision they gave of eternal progression as a winding staircase which can be taken a step at a time, each step building upon the last. It’s a hopeful image that’s really helped both of us put things into perspective—and it was really cool to realize that the same ideas and concepts had touched both of us independently but powerfully, in a way that had kept with both of us. Goes to show you that parents and children often have a lot more than just rugged good looks in common, neh?

Truly, though, I really am grateful for my father—he has always been a very good and sincere man, and I’m proud to have him as my father. I love you, dad!