Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Drawing conclusions

I was walking through East Harlem this morning with my computer bag over my shoulder, reading a sheet of interview tips the sainted Dr. Masullo handed out to us during our last class, when I passed by two middle-aged Black men leaning against a railing. We all smiled at each other and said "Good morning," and I continued walking. After I'd taken a few more steps, one of them called after me, "You doing the Census?" I told them that I was looking over some school notes, and they both smiled and nodded and told me to have a good day.

While I have almost never felt uncomfortable in Harlem, I'm always keenly aware that I stick out there like... well, like a blonde white girl in Harlem. Personally, I like it there; the kids hanging around on the stoops braiding each other's hair and riding scooters, the men playing dominoes on folding tables, and the general, laid-back sense of camaraderie (even though it is rarely extended to me) give it a friendlier feel than other parts of Manhattan. I've heard of graffiti that promotes "keeping Harlem Black" and "getting the whites out of Harlem," and once, while walking with a group of about 12 friends to a subway station in Harlem, we heard a 12-year-old Black kid whistle and comment, "Damn! That's a LOT of white people!" (Never mind that our party included three Asians and two Indian girls.)

I'm not sure that I would call it tension, even though I'm sure many Harlem residents assume that I'm on my way home when they see me in "their" streets and lament the gentrification that they're powerless to stop. Part of me agrees. Now that parts of Harlem are chic, high end apartments and townhouses are cropping up, as are grocery stores, restaurants, and boutiques that longtime residents can't afford to shop in. Many times they've bought out the family businesses that used to be there. On the other hand, I bristle when I think that anyone would want to keep any part of town Black (or white, or Jewish, or Chinese...), and I resent those who glower at me, make assumptions about my intentions in Harlem, and wish that I wasn't there because I don't look like they do.

It's interesting that the two men I spoke with this morning assumed that because I was walking along that street, the only logical reason must be that I'd been sent by the government.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

It's the Little Things

I had my final meeting with this semester's "client," the label we are taught to apply to the kids we tutor for my practicum, this week, and it was predictably bittersweet. Teaching six-year-olds is not my forte, and when my supervisor made criticisms like, "You're using words that are above his level," I wanted to scream, "Duh! I teach high school! I have no idea how to interact with this kid!!" ("Duh" is a word that is on his level, assuming we deem it a word.) We learned all about instructing kids of all ages in the class accompanying the practicum, but not so much about relating to them personally. I muddled through, though, and while I'm happy that I won't be spending three hours of my week enclosed in a tiny space with him anymore, I was a little sad to see him go.

I was originally going to buy him a book or a notebook or a cool pen or something, but funds are tight at the moment and so I decided to just give him a bunch of the stuff we'd done over the course of the semester. Over the last few weeks, I had made several manipulatives for him with colored construction paper that allowed him to spell words by flipping pages or pulling strips of paper to reveal different letters in windows I'd cut out. I made a deck of alphabet cards and we'd play "War" by each laying down a card and determining which letter came later in the alphabet. We practiced sight words, and the ones he could read and spell automatically went on cards, which I punched holes in and strung on a ring.

I put all of this stuff together, stapled a piece of construction paper into an envelope, and wrote his name in sparkly pen on the front, which I decorated with stars.

You'd have thought it was Christmas. He was so excited to get all of these goodies at the conclusion of our session, and told me that now he could "practice at home." I guess one's mom is not the only one impressed by homemade gifts. I guess that's one advantage of working with younger kids; I can't imagine a high school student being too impressed by colored paper and sparkly ink.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Airport error?

I can only assume that, on my way back to NYC from California, I got on the wrong plane and ended up in the Midwest; I just had an unbelievable experience with a random stranger and New Yorkers aren't supposed to be this nice:

I saw an ad on Craigslist for a free bookshelf and was the first to reply that I wanted it. After carting a load of stuff to my new place from my dorm, which is an 18-block walk that I just can't seem to justify paying the subway or a cab to help me with, Dave and I headed over to pick up the shelf. The girl lived near enough that we figured we could carry the thing the 5 1/2 blocks and up four flights of stairs. The shelf is 7 feet tall, and although it isn't heavy, it certainly was awkward to carry. We met a foursome of people about our age leaving the building who offered to help, but we explained that we were going a few blocks and thanked them anyway.

After three blocks, my hands were aching from gripping the underside of the shelf and being already tired from that initial load I'd moved earlier, I requested a break. Dave and I leaned the shelf on a park bench and took a quick rest. We were just starting to pick it up to head out again when a guy I recognized from the foursome appeared behind us. "Are you sure you don't need help?" he asked. "We've been watching you from the corner, and really, it's no trouble." Dave and I declined again, but the guy insisted. He explained that he and his friends had just finished a church meeting, and he was wearing a BYU sweatshirt, so I figured he was either really a friendly Mormon, or else a clever serial killer disguised as one. I decided to trust him and relinquished my end of the shelf, trotting a little guiltily behind while he and Dave made short work of the remaining blocks.

Not only did he carry his half right to our front door, he pushed it up all four flights of stairs and into the living room of our new place. He chatted with Dave and me the whole time and laughed at all of our jokes. As soon as the shelf was in place, he grinned, repeated that he was happy to do it, and disappeared before we could offer to buy him dinner or at least a cup of coffee.

So even though I'm clearly not in New York, I like it here in the Midwest. I think I'll stay a while.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Close call

I was over a mile into my run the other day when I felt something in my shoe. I wasn't planning on being out for terribly long, but even just a few miles with a bit of grit rubbing against your foot can drive you crazy, so I pulled over, yanked my sock around a bit, then took off again. Within two steps it was clear that I hadn't fixed the problem, and within ten steps I was annoyed again. So I hopped on one foot while untying my shoe and brushed off the bottom of my sock with my fingers. Off I went again, and discovered, to my dismay, that something was still not right. At this point my heartrate was slowing down and I was supremely irritated, so I sat down on the curb, yanked off my shoe, and took my sock off completely. I shook it out thoroughly and put it back on. As I reached for my shoe, I caught a glimpse of the bottom of it and saw that this was stuck in the sole:

(The thumbtack is there for scale.)

YIKES. I could see only the round base of this thing (I still have no idea what it is), but when I tugged on it I couldn't believe how long it was as the spiky part emerged. It went all the way through my shoe and was poking at the arch of my foot, and had it been slightly longer or just a bit less bent, I'd have found myself with a nasty puncture wound. As it was, the point didn't even break the skin.

Just another fun adventure in the big, bad city.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

New Residence Hall

Have an extra $5 million or so collecting dust somewhere? Donate it to TC and they'll name my dorm after you. It won't be "my dorm" for too much longer, however; Dave and I found a great apartment and I've got about three weeks left here. I've already started packing a bit, so it seemed like a good idea to take pictures while my room still looks like my room. As inconvenient as it is not to have a kitchen, it's been great to live here and I'll miss it.








Answers to common questions (i.e. what my mom asked me when I showed her these over the weekend):
-Is that dresser yours?
No.
-Is that table yours?
No.
-Is that bookshelf yours?
No.
-Is that chair yours?
Yes. Anthony drove it over from Ikea for me at the beginning of the year and assembled it. It's great for reading.
-What are those plants?
On my windowsill I have marigolds (no flowers yet), two bell pepper plants donated to me by Ferran, and another plant, also from Ferran, so I only know the name of it in Spanish. There's a cactus on my dresser, the lone survivor of a trio that Dave bought me a few months ago. I thought I'd be good at this stuff after the success of my garden in Visalia, but it turns out my green thumb stops working indoors.
-Is that lamp yours?
No. I'll miss it when I leave. The lower extension swivels so I can shine it on my desk or over my reading chair.
-What's that out your window?
The other tower of my building. I can see right into people's rooms at night, and so have to be careful to shut my blinds at appropriate times, as I assume the visibility issue is a two-way street.
-Why do you have two computer screens?
Because my brilliant friend Nic recommended it. The second one plugs into my laptop and I can drag documents, Internet windows, etc. onto it. It's great for writing papers when I have a lot of things open at once.
-I like your map.
Thanks.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Cultural Geography

Ah, Heritage High School. While the students here inhabit the same world I do on many levels, in other respects our species are alien to each other.

The discussion in a Global History class I observed recently centered around the Cold War. The teacher was explaining the Iron Curtain, so naturally the topic of geography was at the forefront of conversation. A brief dispute about the cardinal directions flared.

I have a clear memory of standing in my third grade classroom, pointing to the walls labeled North, East, South and West as we rotated in a clockwise circle and chanting the mnemonic "Nobody Eats Soggy Waffles." As it turns out, the kids at Heritage and I have this in common; they too use a mnemonic to remember the cardinal directions. One of the brightest girls in the class thought for a moment, then pointing in all four directions recited:

"Never Ever Smoke Weed."

Every day I spend at Heritage is an education.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Words Change Worlds

After an abysmal beginning to my Monday (is there any other way to start a Monday?), I crept into a conference room on campus ten minutes late for a lecture called "Words Change Worlds" which I'd been looking forward to for a weeks. I couldn't have picked a better remedy for my dark mood. Over the course of the hour and twenty minutes I spent in that room, I found myself growing more and more excited until all traces of my former gloom were washed away.

Pam Allyn, the speaker, is the founder of an organization called LitWorld. She's a graduate of Teachers College, too, and her mission, to put it simply, is to make every child on the planet literate. Talk about fearless - I can't think of too many people who would dare to take on that kind of challenge. Pam is thin with very short hair. Her style was at once funky and sophisticated, and she came across as confident, competent, and easily approachable. She had a way of telling anecdotes and posing questions that should have come across as touchy-feely treacle, but which somehow felt hugely significant instead. She accompanied her lecture with a PowerPoint presentation featuring photos of teachers all over the world sitting in conference rooms or standing at blackboards and gorgeous children from places like Liberia clutching colorful picture books.

Pam talked about the work she'd done and its challenges. Her tales reminded me of just how much one must shift one's perspective when working with people in countries so very different from the developed ones we inhabit. Nothing can be taken for granted. One teacher she met in Africa spent his evenings in a library copying chapters from a textbook, which he would copy again onto the blackboard in his classroom the next day. This was his way of coping with the lack of textbooks at his school. The students would cope with the fact that virtually none of them have access to writing paper by memorizing the information on the board. Pam wisely pointed out that, when looking for ways to help improve literacy in this situation, she has to look at things from a very specific perspective if she is to make an impact. In another instance, Pam led teenage girls, also African, in designing their ideal classroom. Number One on nearly all of their lists? Sanitation. They fantasized about having a wastebasket in each room, and a designated place to empty that wastebasket (preferably not right outside the classroom door) so that students' environment would be conducive to learning and not feel dirty. Their second unanimous priority was single-sex classrooms; the number of girls in Liberia who drop out of school because of harassment from their male peers is pretty scary. While LitWorld's goal is not school reform so much as it is spreading literacy, the two factors are connected in many ways. Students who leave school because they fear for their personal safety are not going to learn to read.

Another hurdle is getting appropriate books to children. Never mind collecting the actual books; a bigger problem is that appropriate books may not even exist in print. Many children's storybooks are not available in the languages LitWorld needs them to be, in part because so many of them don't translate well. Many books would be confusing to children from developing countries because the authors take certain kinds of knowledge for granted, the kinds of things that would be second nature to a child from the US but which would baffle a child in Laos. A character scrapes his knee badly on the road after falling off his bike. A child in a village with dusty roads may interpret that very differently from a child growing up in a world of paved thoroughfares. (Never mind the concept of owning a bike. Never mind the concept of having ridden a bike even once and the sensation of speed and precarious balance.) What's a refrigerator? How do you explain a swimming pool to someone who's never seen one? Pam's solution to this problem is (surprise!) ambitious, but very appealing: teach kids to write their own stories so they will grow up to be authors who will provide appropriate books for the next generation. One of her biggest priorities is balancing reading with both creative and autobiographical writing for the children with whom she works.

One of her biggest triumphs is conceiving and arranging World Read Aloud Day, which began this year and is to take place annually from here on out on March 3rd. She showed us pictures sent to her from Pakistan, Sri Lanka, different parts of Africa. Children sat cross-legged on the floor openmouthed as teachers in colorful costumes, sometimes assisted by similarly dressed older students, read and acted out stories. She said that over 40,000 people participated this year, and she hopes for more next year. I will certainly keep that date in mind and spread the word.

LitWorld has some sort of project going in Harlem. I didn't get specifics, but I have emailed the organization to volunteer my time in helping get it off the ground. I know there is a library involved.

Pam made copies of her latest book, What to Read When, available for us for free! I haven't had a chance to look at my copy in depth, but it's essentially a collection of books matched with different ages and developmental levels. It'll be a great resource to have, I think.

For interested parties, here is the website for her organization: http://www.litworld.org/

Read on!