(1) The Beginning

I decided to start this blog to give educators, parents and other cool people a real life account of my work with public, urban schools and one suburban school over the past thirteen years. I also wanted to remember the many people and experiences that have brought me to my current thinking about issues of equity in K-12 education. I'm going to keep it real except for some names and places which have been changed to protect the identity of the innocent and the villains. In order to tell the whole story, I use a pen name.

Posts are best read in chronological order. The Beginning is the first of the mini-chapters that will be added consecutively like in a novel.

Please feel free to participate and share your own experience. You'll get extra credit for posting comments, adding yourself as a public follower or subscribing through the RSS feed! See the links on the right.

(2) Deadly Years

New Orleans, Louisiana, was named the murder capital of America in 1994 and the majority of murders were happening in the Third Ward's B.W. Cooper Apartments, affectionately called the Calliope Projects by locals (and pronounced KAL-ee-ope or KAL-e-o). At that time, I was in my second year at my private, Catholic college, majoring in Elementary Education and beginning to take my core courses.

By 1995, I began student teaching at a suburban elementary school in Metairie, Louisiana. The children were mostly white and I got a lot of questions about why I was so tan. The few African American students would come right up to me, tell me I had good hair, and ask me if I was mixed. I would say to them, "Aren't we all?" They'd walk away puzzled, but wondering if it was true.

I graduated in May of 1996 and was sent out into the world in the Catholic tradition to serve and teach.

After blowing off most of that summer in an attempt to recover from school, I realized that it was time to get a job and applied to New Orleans Public Schools (NOPS). In mid-August, I got a frantic, but nice call from a lady in the NOPS Human Resources Department who gave me the name and phone number of a principal who had just been appointed to an elementary school on Martin Luther King Blvd.. She said they had an immediate teaching opening and that I should call, but I first drove to the neighborhood to check out the location. MLK Blvd., was the main thoroughfare into the Calliope and I saw that the school was located a block from the projects. To me, this was a no brainer, I wasn't going to follow up.

A few days later, the nice-but-frantic lady from HR called back and asked if I had connected with the principal. I lied and said that I had called him, but that no one answered. She then proceeded to get off the phone with me and hunted down said principal at a birthday party at his mother's house. He called a few minutes later and set up an interview time to meet with him the following day.

Photo credit: time.com

For more info on the Calliope Projects:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calliope_Projects

(3) A Lesson on the Sidewalk

New Orleans is subtropical in climate and it was the end of an especially balmy summer where wearing flip flops or open toed shoes was a must. I came by for my interview at the school on time and knocked on the large, metal, orange doors. No one answered. I knocked some more, and a gray haired lady finally opened up and irritatedly asked what I was doing there. She was followed by another woman. I later learned that they were custodians who were doing summer cleaning. I told them about the interview and they informed me that 1) the principal was not there, 2) that their shift was over and 3) they were about to lock up the building so I needed to go.

Without giving me a chance to process this information, they shoved me further outside as they themselves made their way out, locked the door and waited on the sidewalk for their ride. I regrouped and insisted that I had an appointment with the principal. They didn't care. Without a better option, I decided to wait for the principal for a couple more minutes. While we stood on the sidewalk, the ladies talked to each other and completely ignored me until one of them (the one who had originally answered the door) caught a glimpse of my blue toenail polish. For the first time, she showed some interest in me and asked,

"Blue polish, huh? You know who wear blue toenail polish, don't you?"

I didn't know and had to ask.

She laughed (the kind of laugh where you know it's at your expense) and said, "Hookers." Now the other lady laughed too and I was mortified.

Soon afterward, the principal drove up and apologized for being late. He walked me back into the building and I said good-bye to the ladies.

(4) Color

My interview with David Charbonnet, the new principal of the school, was more like a sales pitch. He was young (mid-thirties), tall, Creole, charismatic, handsome and did all of the talking. He was newly appointed and had fresh plans for the school. Mr. Charbonnet hired me right on the spot and told me to report to school in two days which would be the first day of school for staff.

I wasn't given a chance to think about it or to say no, but his pitch worked and I identified with him on some level. We lived in a city that only acknowledged two races - black and white. We, on the other hand, were both brown. Mr. Charbonnet was African American and came from a mixed, well-established, Creole family. He had light brown skin and straight black hair, and used to brag about the fact that he did not have any body hair and didn't have to shave his face. He said it was a genetic trait that he got from the Native American side of his family. I was mixed too, but not African American. But by our looks, Mr. Charbonnet and I could have been related.

As I worked at the school, I was surprised by how quickly the Calliope community claimed us both as their own.

Image credit: Sopoforic

(5) First Days

We had two days of staff meetings before my first day with students. The "Professional Development Days" as they were called, went by quickly. I spent the time getting to know the staff and learning about numerous school procedures. Mr. Charbonnet continued to be charismatic and the staff responded well to their new leader who dressed in snappy suits accented by colorful Save the Children ties which depicted children's artwork.

I got about two hours to set up my classroom which consisted of a pile of old desks and broken chairs. Later I learned that all of the good furniture had already been claimed by the veteran teachers and that new teachers got the old stuff and the problem children.

My assignment was fifth grade and the first day with my 33 students was a blur. There was a lot going on that day and frankly, my students ate me alive. I don't remember much and I am grateful for the small mercy of forgetting. Thinking back, I've realized that it's not just what you remember that's important, but also what you don't remember.

On the first day of school, one of my students got up from his seat and stood by the window. We were on the second floor and I asked him what he was doing. He shouted back that he was opening the window so that he could jump out of it and sue me. I wouldn't have taken him seriously except that he started to dangle one of his legs out of the window. This led to me pulling him back in, pandemonium breaking out in the classroom, and Mrs. Prentiss coming into the room.

When Mrs. Prentiss came in, the class went silent and the student who had tried to jump out the window began to cry.

If you are a teacher, what was your first day like?