Kevin Engberson

Obstacles on the Path Between Vision and Reality

In the weeks leading up to my internship at Rose Park Academy, I was

anxious. Never having worked with elementary school students before, I was
unsure how to plan. Will my lessons be too easy or too difficult? How should I
balance teaching and hands on activities? How can I make the content
engaging for my students?
When I arrived for my first day of RPA, things were chaotic. My
students were nowhere to be found, and nobody seemed to care or give me
any guidance on what to do. After identifying and rounding up my students
(a handful of 6th grade boys), I asked them each to write down on a card their
favorite activities and foods so that I could begin to learn their interests and
bring snacks they would like. Most cards came back with smoking weed
the most popular activity, and a favorite food I wont repeat here.
I tell this story not to criticize my students or to complain about my
situation, but to illustrate the gap that existed between my expectations and
the reality I found myself in. It was clear that the initial questions and
concerns I had about teaching were no longer relevant. In order to be
successful, I would have to reexamine my assumptions about what it means
to be a teacher; the nature of my relationship with my students; my
preconceptions about urban reality; and ultimately, how we define success in
the modern education system.
I left RPA that day feeling defeated. I remember telling my dad on the
phone, in a way, Im actually relieved. I was worried that I might not
succeed. But now its obvious that Ill fail, so I dont have to worry about it.
Success is impossible.
That week, I read Nolan and Stitzleins piece (Meaningful Hope for
Teachers in Times of High Anxiety and Low Morale). I had always seen hope
as a useless idea. To me, to hope meant simply to desire something which is
outside of your control. Therefore, whether or not one has hope is irrelevant
because it does not influence the outcome. It did not help that the idea of
hope is often decontextualized, most literally during the 2008 presidential
election when HOPE became a political slogan.
However, in the Nolan piece, hope was defined as a way of living tied
to specific contexts that brings together reflection and intelligent action
alongside imagination. Hope, firmly grounded in reality, bridges the gap
between the present and the imagined future. That same week I read an
article by Ta-Nehisi Coates (Bernie Sanders and the Liberal Imagination, The
Atlantic Magazine) in which he stated, what is imminently doable and what
is morally correct are not always the same things, and while actualizing the
former we cant lose sight of the latter.
 I realized that, counter to my previous understanding, hope is not a
useless notion. Hopelessness, in fact, is a useless notion. Hopelessness
embraces the false narrative that the present state of affairs is somehow
inevitable, and therefore change is impossible. It ignores the reality that as
individuals and groups we have the power to challenge the inevitable and
shape our own realities.
With a new sense of hope, I committed to move forward in finding a
path to success in my internship, understanding that would mean
challenging many of my own perceptions and beliefs about what education
should look like. In the remaining space of this paper, I will attempt to
synthesize my experiences, coupled with the readings, in traveling along that
path.
Reading the Simons/Curtis piece, (Connecting with Communities: Four
Successful Schools) gave me some insights into what successful community-
school partnerships looked like. While we often see schools as symbols of
government institutions coming into our communities from above in order to
bring a uniform system of education, these schools seemed challenged that
paradox. Schools grow up from and out of the community, and their goals
and methods are intertwined with its values and culture. They are based on
the understanding that when children become leaders, they must know who
they are.
The other major theme from this reading is that community
partnerships begin when one group takes a step toward another. I realized
that coming from a position of privilege and power (as a teacher) it is my
responsibility to engage with families and communities and to create
partnerships. I cannot sit back and blame parents for not being involved or
students for not being engaged.
Continuing on that point, the Velsor/Orozco article (Involving Low-
Income Parents in the Schools) challenged many of my assumptions about
parent involvement in education. Something I found very telling was the
finding that when they (African-American parents) did become involved,
they had less positive involvement experiences, due to the fact that their
involvement was not seen as valuable by schools and teachers.
One day at RPA, two of my students, Daniel and Giovanni, left school
grounds without permission. Unsure of what to do, I followed them, partly out
of a sense of responsibility for their safety, and partly out of a desire to see a
glimpse of their lives outside of the school. I chased after them for several
blocks, and saw them go into an auto repair shop. I went into the shop and
met Daniels dad, who owns and operates the shop. We had a pleasant, if
short, interaction, and I got the boys and began to walk back toward the
school. As we left, Daniel said to me, youre crazy, man. A teachers never
chased me like that. Unsure how to respond, I shrugged, but I felt proud for
having defied Daniels expectations of what a teacher does. I also began to
picture what a family-school partnership looks like, and wondered if by
wandering into the shop I had created a possible opening for partnership to
occur. Maybe I would bring my car there the next time it needed repairs, and
I could talk to Daniels dad about his son - his obvious brightness and
potential, as well as his challenges.
On the way back to the school, however, Daniel said something that
troubled me. Man, I hope you didnt tell my dad I was in trouble, or hell
beat my ass. I would later learn (from talking to an administrator) that there
was little reason to doubt the sincerity of Daniels concern. I began to realize
the complexity of the situation, and the challenges that confront educators
when dealing with the realities of urban life.
Reflecting on moments like that, I realize what love as critical labor
actually means (Toyosaki, Pedagogical Love as Critical Labor). No part of my
education or training to become a teacher had or could prepare me for that
moment. Only my personal life experience, my own traumas, and my love for
Daniel could inform my response. But because I was wearing my teacher
face, so to speak, I cowardly offered nothing in return. And in my silence, I
reaffirmed to Daniel, I am a teacher. I do not care about you. I do not love
you. I do not understand you.
Looking back, I wish I could go back to that moment, and have the
courage and honesty to remove the mask of the teacher, to reveal my true
self. To express to Daniel, somehow, my true concern for him, the depth to
which his experience pained me.
This experience, and others like it in RPA, have shown me the
importance of humanizing education when dealing with trauma and urban
realities. I hope that in the future, when presented with moments like these, I
can respond in a way that both my students and I can say, as Toyosaki does,
we were altered because of it.