Country boy (sort of) in the big city

Let's all take a little break from academic mumbo-jumbo and have a little discussion of cultural differences between where I was and where I am.

Living in Texas was great for me. I think back and I really didn't notice the long, hot, humid weather and eternal summers.

And now here I am, in Chicago, the great midwest. As many of you may or may not know, I have a fascination with middle America and all things Americana. Plop me down in Branson, Missouri and I'll have conversation fodder for the rest of my life. Chicago is Americana's cousin that went to college and tries to put his family behind him, but despite best efforts, craves a deep-fried apple pie from McDonalds every now and then.

I'd like to discuss a few things that I did not expect or just didn't even think of when moving to Chicago.

1) Shit closes really early. Just take a walk down Michigan Avenue where Tiffany, Neiman and American Girl have set up shop and you'll know where all the tourists and hoity-toity upper class likes to shop. Stroll down close to dusk and you'll quickly find that the only things still open for business are the Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin Robbins and the 7-11 both run by people who can barely speak English and have blood-shot eyes from their graveyard shifts.

2) Transportation is expensive. I'm not talking about filling up my gas-guzzling car every week, but the public transportation is surprisingly expensive. Living in Texas, where everyone drives, I had these romantic notions of public trains and buses that were a dime a trip and it takes you a few blocks to the malt shop where me and Peggy would rock out to the latest Chubby Checker hit. I come to find that it's two dollars each way on a train and, though you can get pretty much anywhere, it takes a good chunk of time to get from one place to another.

3) The eternal soda vs. pop vs. Coke debate. Nothing about me screams "NOT FROM CHICAGO" louder than my use of "Coke" as a carbonated, sweet beverage usually served in cans or bottles. Here, everything is pop. Pop like popcorn. Or to pop someone in the face. Or pop in and say hello. Not only is it just a spoken colloquialism, but it's found on menus, signs and generally accepted as the term for aforementioned beverage. Some people call it soda, but I will always say Coke.

4) Sales tax is 10%. So that WiiFit I just bought for 90 bucks? Ended up costing me 100 clams. 10%. Highest in the nation. Go figure.

5) It's all about the neighborhood you live in.
Lincoln Park = recent college grad with a 9 to 5 cubicle job where everyone chortles about how The Office is just like real life.
Lakeview = YuppieGay. Well adjusted gay man who also has a 9 to 5 job and laments how J.Crew doesn't make a cotton-cashmere full-zip sweater in that new deep purple.
Logan Square = A fan of gentrification, cheap rent and a desire to live somewhere where you may have just seen a drug deal on the corner. It's okay, though, because Wicker Park is just a few streets south.

6) It's cold, like 50 degrees, which is what I define as cold. I'm laughed at and told "Just wait". I don't care, I'm still cold.

I hear McCain likes us....

Things have been up and down lately. Tuesday was disgustingly positive. I wasn't sure if it actually happened. Kids -- learning. Wednesday, not so much. Chaos reigned.

I've come to learn that it is the nature of the job. Some days are good, most are bad, but that's just how it goes.

We're half way through with October and it's hard to believe to much time has flown by. Already the leaves are changing (!) and the weather is getting cooler (cold for me, but if I say that too loudly all the Chicagoans will scoff). Soon it'll be snowing -- and then thawing and the process will repeat.

I guess I don't have anything terribly interesting today. Nothing really note-worthy has been going on. Just another day minding the gap.

Has it really been a month? (but really a year)

It's hard to believe that the entire Teach for America ball began rolling about a year ago. I remember waking up at 6 am for my 18th century British law and literature class and wondering what I was going to do at year's end. I felt TFA would be a pretty good way of spending my future - at least at the time it was a convenient answer to those who were asking, including myself.

I never imagined what it would be actually like to be a teacher. It's gotten me to thinking about my own education, my childhood, the teachers I've had. My education has been nothing but sound. My parents were always supportive. I realize now that the experience I had is not the experience had by all.

In my position I've had the opportunity to work with every age from Kindergarten to 8th grade. That's 5 year olds to teenagers. I've seen what poor discipline and bad behavior looks like and more alarmingly I see those seeds being planted in the younger ones. I know that if something isn't done or changed, these little kids will be led down a path of defiance, ignorance and just an overall sense of uncaring.

Again, I bring the story back to the journey I've been on. Starting out as a college kid, sheltered and protected where the biggest obstacle I faced was where to go for happy hour. Now, I have human beings lives in my hands. Their futures are at stake. For once, the story has been about more than just myself.

pay -- check!

Dear sweet baby Jesus. Today was payday. I've worked my share of shit jobs that have paid measly amounts, but this is my first impossibly difficult job that pays a substantial amount.

Let's start out with the week. It was truly a week of ups and downs. A dear confidante and partner in this struggle was lost and I felt quite alone. I was determined, however, to chug along. Things alternated from suspiciously high to familiarly low. Some days it's hard to believe that I see the same group of kids. I realize that half-assing plans really doesn't pay off, but with no standards to align to, it's pretty much up to me to figure out what to do for the day. It's difficult to put myself in these kids' shoes and I find that I'm planning on what would keep me content rather than this group of rebellious ne'er-do-wells.

The days are long and the nights are short. The commute has become a routine inconvenience.

Here I am. Complaining Connie. Whining about how much things suck. It's interesting, because the lows are so incredibly low and seem to last forever and the highs are like blips on the radar. There are a few students who genuinely make me smile and show me that despite the fact that this school approaches education with a firm palm, education can exist. It's so painful because I know these kids can show me intelligence and self-control but they choose not to. Attempting to make someone change their choice is quite possibly the most difficult thing in the world. Now, take that challenge and multiply it by 200. Literally.

Everyday is a war. And in every class there are battles to be won and lost. For me, there is more defeat than victory.

Ultimately, this week fell in my favor if only because I got paid.

Two Weeks in the Trenches

Teaching is hard.

It's interesting that when people say "Teaching is going to be the hardest thing you ever do" - it's difficult to really understand. Certainly I've done difficult things -- bang out a bullshit paper about a topic I've read once. Study for finals, work 35 hours and deal with friends and family crisis.

Teaching, however, is the hardest thing I've ever done.

The best way to describe how I feel every day is defeated. This kids do not listen. They do not want to pay attention. They do not respect you. The slowly and effortlessly chip away at your soul and desire to live.

Okay -- that might sound a little overdramatic.

My days consist of waiting for a group of students. Then, they come in. I yell at them to sit down, be quiet, and stop giggling. Rarely do I even talk about anything academic related. I spend most of my time telling them that their behavior should be better or threatening them with a barrage of semi-hollow threats.

This week, I started crying. I cry because I know the want to learn, yet there are barriers obstructing the learning process. I cry because I feel thoroughly ineffective at a job I was selected to do. I cry because I don't know what to do. I've been thrown into this puddle and I have to tread water just to keep from drowning.

Teaching is hard. I cannot even convey to you the difficulty. The days get better and the days get worse. I think about giving up every single day. I will make it, though, because I know I can.

I will make it.

The Cusp

It's the day before the first day. Throughout Chicago I know thousands and thousands of kids are asleep right now, eagerly awaiting what will come of tomorrow.

Here I sit warmed by the glow of a Jon and Kate plus 8 marathon and my own thoughts of mingling incompetence. Well, maybe not incompetence, but whole unprepared-ness. I have absolutely no clue, 100% what I'm supposed to be doing tomorrow. My official job title is "Librarian" but I will, in fact, be instructing students. To what capacity, I'm not sure, but I do know that I will be providing supplemental reading instruction to all grades at the school. I'm going in tomorrow with little more than a smile and a can-do attitude.

I should offer a little more background about my school, or rather the location of my school. In order to get to my school I take the blue line downtown, transfer to the red line and then ride that train two stops from the end of the line. From there I walk 20 minutes through city and a construction zone to my school. The entire process takes between an hour and fifteen to an hour and a half.

I have a million questions buzzing in my head. I'm so unsure of myself it's bordering on psychosis. No matter what, though, time is plowing on. I remember today at noon thinking midnight will never come, but here we are, one hour before the clock strikes 12.

Tomorrow I'll official be an educator. Me. It's hard to believe. One year ago I was starting my last year in college unsure of what I would do with my life once I graduated. I flippantly toyed with the notion of Teach for America not fully aware of what it would entail or that I would actually make it this far.

I really do know that I have an opportunity to affect lives. The process of getting there -bureaucratic red tape of the Chicago Public School district as well as the hoops of alternate certification - somewhat tarnishes the idealism of many of us, but ultimately it really is about possibility.

I know that despite my fears and immaturity, the time will come when I'm on that train riding toward my school and whether I like it or not it gets one second closer.

Hermes would be happy

For the past two weeks I've been dealing with the bureaucratic bullshit of the Chicago Public School district compounded on the less-than-efficient goings on at Teach for America.

Unfortunately I'm still not placed. Though I still believe the staff is working very hard to find placement, the days tick by as school draws nearer and nearer.

I've been on one interview, which actually was just me dropping off my resume an hour and a half away, and went the two different CPS buildings three different times. All fruitless. It's a lot of running around, being told I'm missing form X or document why-the-hell-am-I-doing-this. Today I was at the breaking point. I was physically shaken and almost broke down in tears. Most of my frustration stems from the fact that I'm supposed to be putting all of my energy into my kids, but instead I'm trying to navigate a system that just doesn't work.

As the minutes count down closer to my birthday, I've never felt so out of control. Yes, I'm 23, but I still feel like I'm a 12-year old with no direction or power. I feel like you should be required to take a test at each subsequent birthday checking to see if you are emotionally and mentally prepared to be the next age.

Surely I wouldn't have passed the 15-year old test.

I feel like the Edward of today is a lot like the Edward of ten years ago. Except this one can drink. And swear. And buy porn.

But I still can't rent a car -- some things never change.