"Everything I have I owe to this job...this stupid, wonderful, amazing job."
Cut to the teacher sitting on her front desk on March 10, 2017, the day before spring break.
Her first period is small. The 6 kids are all sitting or standing at the front.
Tylan: (yelling) On God, I am moving next year! I swear!
Nya: You a lie! You always say "on god" when you lying. How would God feel about that, huh?
Satoriya: (laughing) Y'all know he isn't moving. He does this every week.
The teacher: You can't move, Tylan. You have to stay here til you graduate.
OJ: You must be moving up with us again?
The teacher: I wish, kiddos. I have to stay at English II.
Tylan: (yelling more) Then, on GOD, I will fail on purpose.
The teacher: No, you will NOT.
Nya: Why can't you move up with us?
The teacher: Mr. Garth says. Plus, I think it's time for something new.
Satoriya: Wait, but you're not leaving, right? You gotta stay at LEAST til we graduate. Do like that Free Writers lady.
The teacher: Oh, I'm staying a little while longer. How could I leave y'all?
Tylan: She means, how could she leave ME?
Laughter begins and the scene fades out as the teacher looks around and smiles.
Her first period is small. The 6 kids are all sitting or standing at the front.
Tylan: (yelling) On God, I am moving next year! I swear!
Nya: You a lie! You always say "on god" when you lying. How would God feel about that, huh?
Satoriya: (laughing) Y'all know he isn't moving. He does this every week.
The teacher: You can't move, Tylan. You have to stay here til you graduate.
OJ: You must be moving up with us again?
The teacher: I wish, kiddos. I have to stay at English II.
Tylan: (yelling more) Then, on GOD, I will fail on purpose.
The teacher: No, you will NOT.
Nya: Why can't you move up with us?
The teacher: Mr. Garth says. Plus, I think it's time for something new.
Satoriya: Wait, but you're not leaving, right? You gotta stay at LEAST til we graduate. Do like that Free Writers lady.
The teacher: Oh, I'm staying a little while longer. How could I leave y'all?
Tylan: She means, how could she leave ME?
Laughter begins and the scene fades out as the teacher looks around and smiles.
This episode is sad and happy and exciting and all the adjectives that are synonymous with those words. It leaves on a cliffhanger, but one that promises an exciting new season. The teacher is crying now, but not hiding in the staff bathroom. Instead, she's tearing up in front of the kids as she hugs them and tells them how much she loves them even when they make her crazy. This is the finale, the end... until next August when it begins all over again.
I have tears in my eyes. I am not leaving Aberdeen, but my kids (almost all of them) are leaving me to become juniors in high school. JUNIORS. I still can't believe it. They will come by my door next year and tell me all about the drama of their lives, but it won't be the same. There are some things I won't miss: Jarvis calling out every second I take a breath, Ariel and Makaila yelling across the room, Daniel's moodiness, Ennis' animal noises. But what far outshadows that are the things I will miss: Jasmine calling me mom, Nya asking me if I missed her after her dentist appointment, 7th period's laughter about calling Dorian thumb, Jaquan's dancing, Tylan's notes home, all of their laughter and smiles and most of all, their brilliance. For a while, I thought the reason year two was better was because they'd changed so much. Obviously that summer had made them more mature. Surely, that was it. Recently, I've realized, the change came because I'd learned how to be a teacher and I'd changed the way I looked at them.
I've spoken a lot about how I've transformed throughout this entire season. Each episode showed some bit of transformation. The one I haven't touched on is the one that's hardest to put into words. This was transforming my mind. Before coming to Aberdeen, I was that alt-route teacher who thought she could change things. I thought these places were hopeless, but I could come and help make things better. I kept telling people I didn't see my joining as that, saving the kids, but I did. That was my dream. I wanted to waltz in and Hillary Swank the joint and leave after two years of commitment. I held biases against these kids that was completely unaware of and I held privilege that I was unwilling to recognize.
"But they won't stop saying
how lovely the ruins
how ruined the lovely
children must be in the birdless city."
Since I began teaching two years ago, I've been trying to put my emotions about it into words. There are moment of deep sadness, unexpected laughter, and vast joy. I could not have possibly imagined how difficult and wonderful this experience turned career would be. I struggled with how to tell people about this after I began to feel myself changing internally. I felt myself wince when people would talk to me about teaching and I couldn't figure out why. Then, I read this poem and realized what was under my skin any time someone talked to me about the kids.
Jamaal May wrote the above excerpt in a poem titled, "There Are Birds Here" about the blight and emptiness in Detroit. These words hit me in a painful way because they are close to words I word have used before teaching, probably even in my first few months teaching. Frequently, when I talk to people about my students, I hear the hopelessness in their voice. I understand this. The students I work with come from places much more trying than we could possibly imagine. People see my kids as "ruined" due to no fault of their own. They don't see hope in Aberdeen and to be honest, neither did I when I began. Then, my mind began to change.
Yes, where I teach is difficult, but it is not without hope. In fact, every day, I see hope in my students. I see more hope in them than I have ever encountered in my life. I see the "lovely children" and not the "ruin." I look at the beautiful possibility and future in each one.
There is such sadness, yet such beauty in the abandonment of an old house, building, lot. We picture what was there before and what could be. Earlier in the poem, May writes, "There are birds here," establishing hope. He doesn't look at the buildings as ruins but sees the hope inside of them.
There are birds here in Aberdeen. There is hope. We all have our brokenness, but if we look for the hope and not the ruin, we will see the emptiness begin to fill and become much more beautiful than it was in its sadness and abandon.
Aberdeen has changed me and although I am sad to see my kids move on to the next thing, I feel so much hope for the future there.
AND FINAL CUT. End scene.
I have tears in my eyes. I am not leaving Aberdeen, but my kids (almost all of them) are leaving me to become juniors in high school. JUNIORS. I still can't believe it. They will come by my door next year and tell me all about the drama of their lives, but it won't be the same. There are some things I won't miss: Jarvis calling out every second I take a breath, Ariel and Makaila yelling across the room, Daniel's moodiness, Ennis' animal noises. But what far outshadows that are the things I will miss: Jasmine calling me mom, Nya asking me if I missed her after her dentist appointment, 7th period's laughter about calling Dorian thumb, Jaquan's dancing, Tylan's notes home, all of their laughter and smiles and most of all, their brilliance. For a while, I thought the reason year two was better was because they'd changed so much. Obviously that summer had made them more mature. Surely, that was it. Recently, I've realized, the change came because I'd learned how to be a teacher and I'd changed the way I looked at them.
I've spoken a lot about how I've transformed throughout this entire season. Each episode showed some bit of transformation. The one I haven't touched on is the one that's hardest to put into words. This was transforming my mind. Before coming to Aberdeen, I was that alt-route teacher who thought she could change things. I thought these places were hopeless, but I could come and help make things better. I kept telling people I didn't see my joining as that, saving the kids, but I did. That was my dream. I wanted to waltz in and Hillary Swank the joint and leave after two years of commitment. I held biases against these kids that was completely unaware of and I held privilege that I was unwilling to recognize.
"But they won't stop saying
how lovely the ruins
how ruined the lovely
children must be in the birdless city."
Since I began teaching two years ago, I've been trying to put my emotions about it into words. There are moment of deep sadness, unexpected laughter, and vast joy. I could not have possibly imagined how difficult and wonderful this experience turned career would be. I struggled with how to tell people about this after I began to feel myself changing internally. I felt myself wince when people would talk to me about teaching and I couldn't figure out why. Then, I read this poem and realized what was under my skin any time someone talked to me about the kids.
Jamaal May wrote the above excerpt in a poem titled, "There Are Birds Here" about the blight and emptiness in Detroit. These words hit me in a painful way because they are close to words I word have used before teaching, probably even in my first few months teaching. Frequently, when I talk to people about my students, I hear the hopelessness in their voice. I understand this. The students I work with come from places much more trying than we could possibly imagine. People see my kids as "ruined" due to no fault of their own. They don't see hope in Aberdeen and to be honest, neither did I when I began. Then, my mind began to change.
Yes, where I teach is difficult, but it is not without hope. In fact, every day, I see hope in my students. I see more hope in them than I have ever encountered in my life. I see the "lovely children" and not the "ruin." I look at the beautiful possibility and future in each one.
There is such sadness, yet such beauty in the abandonment of an old house, building, lot. We picture what was there before and what could be. Earlier in the poem, May writes, "There are birds here," establishing hope. He doesn't look at the buildings as ruins but sees the hope inside of them.
There are birds here in Aberdeen. There is hope. We all have our brokenness, but if we look for the hope and not the ruin, we will see the emptiness begin to fill and become much more beautiful than it was in its sadness and abandon.
Aberdeen has changed me and although I am sad to see my kids move on to the next thing, I feel so much hope for the future there.
AND FINAL CUT. End scene.