Running simultaneously aside my second and third years in Southie, a different story of my life was being told in the Savin Hill section of Dorchester. Huge changes were being made to the leadership and layout of the Catholic schools in Boston, and I was pitted deep into the core of it all. Simply put, the old model was failing, and fresh air needed to be breated into the old souls of the parish schools. To do this meant closing the doors on the learning sactuaries that were once the cornerstones of these respected communities. In what was called the "2010 Initiative", Catholic Schools were going to adapt.
I remember sitting through meetings held by Sister Paula at Saint Kevin where teachers would question and wonder while she delivered sobering news. Of the 8 parish schools in Dorchester and Mattapan, only 5 would be selected as the foundation of the new Pope John Paul II Catholic Academy. Each principal would have to plead their case as to why theirs should be kept. Saint Kevins was old, incomplete, and in dire need of a makeover. We were an obvious target for closure. I could see this clearly in my first year, but denial quickly spread through our faculty and staff. Eventually their fears became reality, and we all would receive the news that we would need to move on. I can't say I was surprised or unhappy at first, but the words and faces of those teachers who had sacrificed so much for their school depressed me in a way I had never felt before. In feeling this, I quickly adopted a comraderie with my peers and wanted to make the spring of our last year the most memorable. We did our best to stay focused while updating resumes, filling out applications, and going on interviews. It was terribly difficult, but we stood as cruches for one another in times of need and celebrated with cake when good news was told. I quickly felt part of the community, and learned more from those people than I ever did in any classroom I ever sat down in. Luckily, as a young male teacher I was at a high premium. I was a novelty in the Catholic schools, and possessed ambition and energy that was absent in many of the candidates. Because of this, I was hired at the new PJP Columbia Campus, the biggest and most innovative K-8 Catholic School in the city of Boston.
I spent two years there, contributing more time and energy than I ever put into anything. I rarely missed a day, and when I did it was for good reason. At different points, I taught English/language arts and religion to grades 5,6, and 8. I also spent time working for the afterschool program and creating the Sports Academy. I even volunteered more of my free time to coaching a boys 5-6th grade CYO basektball team that improved from 1 win in our first year to 7 in the second. I proudly watched as my former students graduated, and continued onward into high school. I helped tutor and mentor a few students that I'd eventually help gain entrance into Xaverian and BC High, two of the most well respected college prepatory schools in Massachusetts. I grew fond of helping people, but not with the politics of teaching. I really started to notice that the culture of a school is similar to the corporate world I tried so hard to avoid. The hours of a teacher are advertised as 6 hours a day, 180 days a year, at least that's what we were compensated for. What goes unnnoticed is the amount of energy put forth toward planning lessons, assessing performance, and meeting with colleagues. I will never miss the days of getting into my classroom before the sun rose and leaving during a dark, blustery winter night. I worked 50-60 hours a week, but surely wasn't being paid like it. Not to mention during those days how little free time we were given to prep. This meant that our lessons suffered, and in turn, the quality of education for our students. I try not to speak negatively about my experience, but it became obvious to me during these 3 years that the leaders of Catholic schools take full advantage of the hospitality and generosity of their teachers and staff. I feel that this is going to haunt them as they continue with their mission to rejuvenate Catholic education. However, the positive things I took from this experience far outweigh the negatives, which gives me hope for them in the future.
One thing I will most certainly miss is the diverse community of students. Like Saint Kevins, there was a convergance of cultures that is rarely seen. When we closed, so did Blessed Mother Theresa in Fields Corner and Saint Peters in another neighborhood. It wasn't forced integration, but it was an absolute melting pot of learners. This past year I asked each class which students spoke a language other than English when they went home in the afternoon. Half of the students in each class raised their hands. Out of those 10 students some spoke Creole (which comes in many forms ranging from Cape Verdean Creole to Haitian Creole), Vitnamese, Korean, Polish, and Spanish. Aside from ethnic differences, I really got to observe the differences between male and female learners, especially at the pre-teen level. I now realize why teachers always told us that girls developed cognitively more rapidly than boys. We always bood and hissed, but I can now say it's absolute fact. Lastly, there was a huge disparity between learners in respect to their personalities. Never in my life have I witnessed this many people having a new experience and socializing in a way I saw in my two years at PJP. To see each student find their niche in such a short time was absolutely astounding. Furthermore, to see the way in which each culture rubbed off on one another was equally amazing. I witnessed as a Cape Verdean class clown taught his white and Asian classmates how to loosen up and have fun while learning himself how to take his academics more seriously. I can also proudly say that in those two years I didn't witness one single fight. Of course there was conflicts, but never did they come to physical altercations. This was a far cry from the race riots that resulted from forced bussing 35 years prior.
Aside from hands on practical teaching, I spent time in a classroom as a student myself. For 10 straight semesters I attended Emmanuel College graduate school of education. In two and a half years I had earned my master's degree in the arts of teaching. There were a few points I thought I'd rather commit myself, but the dream of travelling upon graduation kept me motivated. It was a great experience because I was able to put to use what I was learning in my own classroom. I could easily see the transition in myself between novice teacher and classroom veteran, because I was constantly putting theory into practice.
When alll was said in done, I really felt as if I had grown as a student, a teacher, and a human. People have recently asked me if I miss teaching. I simply tell them, "I miss the kids".
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
A Southie Story
I would be lying if I said I was not at all influenced to move into South Boston by watching "Good Will Hunting". The same goes for "American Pie 2" and my topless Ford Bronco. But what really brought me to Southie was that it was the neighborhood of my origin. My mother spent the first 2 years of her life in a project on D Street, and before that, my grandmother in Old Colony. I grew up visiting Castle Island for a burger from Sullivan´s or a baseball game at BC High, but never to see where my family called home. Up until a couple of years ago, the truth of my roots was kept secret from me. Maybe it was the fact that the west side of South Boston was the poorest white neighborhood in the U.S. until the late 90´s, or it was possible that the stories from that setting were tucked away and suppressed deeply in my mother´s memory. All I know is that my mother had a difficult time understanding the irony of me looking for a place to live in the neighborhood her family had fought so hard to get out of.
It took me awhile to find a place with three bedrooms in the right part of town, but we settled in a weathered, green triple-decker on M Street overlooking a park where dogs and their owners socialized and cleaned up feces. What sold me was the all-wooden kitchen, decorated in pub green and stained plywood , leading out to the back deck with a beautiful view of Boston´s skyline. We lived here for over a year, only a short walk to The Boston Beer Garden and Murphy´s Law, a sanctuary for recent university graduates to get away from home and relive college life. Our days were short and our nights long, there always seemed to be something going on. Whether it was a Sunday afternoon Pat´s game, a Red Sox playoff, Harpoon Fest, or a night singing karaoke at The Farragut House, people seemed drawn to our new place. At the time, it was frustrating because of my new lifestyle and career, but looking back I wouldn´t have wanted it any other way.
About 3 miles west was Upham´s Corner, Dorchester. This was the commute I made every weekday from September to July barring a holiday or the occasional snow day. I had become a teacher, and with it, accepted the responsibility of aiding the development of children ages 10-15. That year I taught reading, language arts, science and religion. I taught these subjects as one of only 15 white people in a community of about 150. The other 13 were other teachers and administrators, and the last 2 were the only white students at SKS. It was quite the experience being the minority in an overwhelmingly black community. My homeroom was comprised of about 15 6th graders; Rindal, Ibrahima, Miguel, Benhur, Fast Freddy, Tijah, Elizabeth, Aysha, Diana, Jelani, Jasae, Brittany, and Trisha amongst others. At other points of the day I would also teach grades 5, 7, and 8. To them, I had a few names to my knowledge; Mr. L, Mr. Lovetear, and Mr. Loveman, which was adopted by a group of my friends. I taught them the best I could with the materials I was provided, but my lessons were focused more on character development. I was not yet equipped academically, but I felt I had collected enough wisdom in my first couple of decades that I could impart some on them. I threw footballs to the boys at recess, set up a basketball hoop on the playground, and listened as they taught me their worldview. I was fascinated by the different cultures that comprised this ecclectic crew; Cape Verdean, Hatian, Jamaican, Honduran, Puerto Rican and many more. I watched as a group of these kids were ultimately raised by the white, Catholic women that put so much love and attention into their teaching. They didn't know anything different. I was their youngest teacher by 15 years, and only the second male teacher these kids ever had. I really like to think that I learned as much from them as they did from me, but isn´t that what education should be about?
This was also the period in which I met my current girlfriend Christina. We met through the business and romantic venture of my friend Greg. Without revealing the details of a separate story in and of itself, we didn't start hanging out right away. Instead it took an independent backpacking trip to Europe to expand my mind. I returned, saw her walkingthe one afternoon, and a few weeks later, on my 24th birthday, we started dating. She stuck with me that night when most of my other friends were busy doing their own things. We swayed together at Trinity late into the night, 2 weeks later jumped out of an airplane, and soon after shot our first machine guns. We were partners in crime in training and Southie was our playground.
I cannot even begin to express the amount of new friendships I made during this time. It was easy because South Boston began to resemble college 2.0; a city filled with recent graduates looking to launch careers in their respected professions. Many of my friends who had previously hesitated at the idea of moving away from home now started to matriculate into the city. We lost Colin to marriage but we gained access to a new group of characters who had graduated from BC High the year after Colin and Greg. Our new roommate, Ryno, stepped into Colin's role perfectly and we continued exactly where we left off barring one minute detail; we had to find a new place to live.
Again, without providing any revealing details, a visiting friend caused a bit of a scene one night, which acted as the final straw in an ongoing series of unfortunate conflicts with our aging landlord. We were provided an eviction notice the next morning, which caused a brief heart attack and a pressing need to find a place to live. As fate would have it, we found that place after we had just about given up hope at a local barbershop. It was the first time I had been there, and after some chit-chat with the Italian barber, we had a new elderly landlord, this one of Mediterranean flare. We moved our things to 19 Ticknor St. and made a new home between the L. Street Tavern and Bath House of the same letter. From there, more and more characters entered our lives as the city of South Boston recycled its tennants every September. I continued to work in the Catholic Schools of Dorchester and life got easier as I settled into a routine. Another year passed and I began, once again, to crave the sultry taste of change. I moved home this past February to pay off credit cards and save for my next adventure. This change would prove to be far different...
It took me awhile to find a place with three bedrooms in the right part of town, but we settled in a weathered, green triple-decker on M Street overlooking a park where dogs and their owners socialized and cleaned up feces. What sold me was the all-wooden kitchen, decorated in pub green and stained plywood , leading out to the back deck with a beautiful view of Boston´s skyline. We lived here for over a year, only a short walk to The Boston Beer Garden and Murphy´s Law, a sanctuary for recent university graduates to get away from home and relive college life. Our days were short and our nights long, there always seemed to be something going on. Whether it was a Sunday afternoon Pat´s game, a Red Sox playoff, Harpoon Fest, or a night singing karaoke at The Farragut House, people seemed drawn to our new place. At the time, it was frustrating because of my new lifestyle and career, but looking back I wouldn´t have wanted it any other way.
About 3 miles west was Upham´s Corner, Dorchester. This was the commute I made every weekday from September to July barring a holiday or the occasional snow day. I had become a teacher, and with it, accepted the responsibility of aiding the development of children ages 10-15. That year I taught reading, language arts, science and religion. I taught these subjects as one of only 15 white people in a community of about 150. The other 13 were other teachers and administrators, and the last 2 were the only white students at SKS. It was quite the experience being the minority in an overwhelmingly black community. My homeroom was comprised of about 15 6th graders; Rindal, Ibrahima, Miguel, Benhur, Fast Freddy, Tijah, Elizabeth, Aysha, Diana, Jelani, Jasae, Brittany, and Trisha amongst others. At other points of the day I would also teach grades 5, 7, and 8. To them, I had a few names to my knowledge; Mr. L, Mr. Lovetear, and Mr. Loveman, which was adopted by a group of my friends. I taught them the best I could with the materials I was provided, but my lessons were focused more on character development. I was not yet equipped academically, but I felt I had collected enough wisdom in my first couple of decades that I could impart some on them. I threw footballs to the boys at recess, set up a basketball hoop on the playground, and listened as they taught me their worldview. I was fascinated by the different cultures that comprised this ecclectic crew; Cape Verdean, Hatian, Jamaican, Honduran, Puerto Rican and many more. I watched as a group of these kids were ultimately raised by the white, Catholic women that put so much love and attention into their teaching. They didn't know anything different. I was their youngest teacher by 15 years, and only the second male teacher these kids ever had. I really like to think that I learned as much from them as they did from me, but isn´t that what education should be about?
This was also the period in which I met my current girlfriend Christina. We met through the business and romantic venture of my friend Greg. Without revealing the details of a separate story in and of itself, we didn't start hanging out right away. Instead it took an independent backpacking trip to Europe to expand my mind. I returned, saw her walkingthe one afternoon, and a few weeks later, on my 24th birthday, we started dating. She stuck with me that night when most of my other friends were busy doing their own things. We swayed together at Trinity late into the night, 2 weeks later jumped out of an airplane, and soon after shot our first machine guns. We were partners in crime in training and Southie was our playground.
I cannot even begin to express the amount of new friendships I made during this time. It was easy because South Boston began to resemble college 2.0; a city filled with recent graduates looking to launch careers in their respected professions. Many of my friends who had previously hesitated at the idea of moving away from home now started to matriculate into the city. We lost Colin to marriage but we gained access to a new group of characters who had graduated from BC High the year after Colin and Greg. Our new roommate, Ryno, stepped into Colin's role perfectly and we continued exactly where we left off barring one minute detail; we had to find a new place to live.
Again, without providing any revealing details, a visiting friend caused a bit of a scene one night, which acted as the final straw in an ongoing series of unfortunate conflicts with our aging landlord. We were provided an eviction notice the next morning, which caused a brief heart attack and a pressing need to find a place to live. As fate would have it, we found that place after we had just about given up hope at a local barbershop. It was the first time I had been there, and after some chit-chat with the Italian barber, we had a new elderly landlord, this one of Mediterranean flare. We moved our things to 19 Ticknor St. and made a new home between the L. Street Tavern and Bath House of the same letter. From there, more and more characters entered our lives as the city of South Boston recycled its tennants every September. I continued to work in the Catholic Schools of Dorchester and life got easier as I settled into a routine. Another year passed and I began, once again, to crave the sultry taste of change. I moved home this past February to pay off credit cards and save for my next adventure. This change would prove to be far different...
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Back Home...
As my time at Fordham was coming to the end, I started going through a common but unfamiliar transition. I simply had no idea what would come next, and for the first time in my life, I felt lost. I figured I had two options; I could stay in New York City and attempt to find a job contributing to some facet of the media. or I could move home to Boston and take a chance at trying something new. I chose the latter due primarily to the materialistic nature of the former. In my mind, the overwhelming attitude projected in NY was greed. I was tired of hearing about the nice things people owned and the people that could get them into clubs. I craved the familiarity of home and the comfort that Boston offered. Also, I really wanted to learn and explore the neighborhood of my origin. I moved home in May, and I would not settle until I had a plan.
During the short breaks for Christmas and the summer, I worked part time as a substitute teacher in Canton. My mother worked in a special ed classroom so I was lucky to have an in. I enjoyed the work, and even more, the lifestyle that teaching provided. I did some research as to what it would take to be a certified teacher, and what I found was promising. I didn't need to have any experience nor a degree in education. I needed a bachelor's degree and the ability to pass a couple of exams. I took them both in attempt to gauge the necessary aptitude, but was fortunate enough to pass. I applied for licensure, and a few weeks later I was granted a preliminary license in teaching English for grades 5-12. Now I had a direction.
I frantically began applying for jobs. The hiring season had began, and with no experience I was at a major disadvantage. I didn't want to work in the suburbs, as I had seen how stifled those teachers became between standardized testing and overbearing parents. I wanted to teach in the inner city as both a challenge and a reason to relocate. After sending out at least 15 application packets, I received one answer; Saint Kevin School in Upham's Corner, Dorchester. I recall parking my car in a neighborhood less secure than the Bronx and approaching a building in dire need of restoration. I walked through a concrete parking lot, eroded to the point of vehicular immobility, through a crowd of curious eyes, and into the office of Sister Paula Kelly. The interview went well, and my walk portrayed my confidence. I felt oddly at home in this alien place, and saw SKS as a great place to start my career. The next day I received a call from Sister Paula along with an offer for a one-year contract. The money was not great, but was a hell of a lot more than I ever had before. I promptly took the offer. A few weeks ago someone asked me if I considered myself an adult, and I quickly replied "yes". He then asked if I could recall the first time I felt this way. I replied, "When I received my first salary".
Up to this point, I had gone through a rough couple of months. I couldn't feel comfortable without a direction, and this new adventure provided me one. I now had the ammo to cover my first and last month's rent. It was time to begin looking at new apartments in the city of Boston. Nobody else was ready, but I was about as restless as a Naval officer coming to port. The rest of my life was ahead of me, and I was ready to go. I contacted everyone I knew, but they were all happy with where they were. Finally, I got in touch with a friend and teammate of mine from Fordham, Greg Smith. He was a year ahead of me in school and finishing up a valiant attempt at playing professional baseball. He was also dealing with a lot of uncertainty, but ready to make a move. As soon as he agreed to go along for the ride so was I. We needed a third, and luckily for us, a great man named Colin Maxey was finishing up a year as a Jesuit Volunteer. He too was looking for a change, and the three of us found it in South Boston, in the second floor apartment on 57 M. Street.
During the short breaks for Christmas and the summer, I worked part time as a substitute teacher in Canton. My mother worked in a special ed classroom so I was lucky to have an in. I enjoyed the work, and even more, the lifestyle that teaching provided. I did some research as to what it would take to be a certified teacher, and what I found was promising. I didn't need to have any experience nor a degree in education. I needed a bachelor's degree and the ability to pass a couple of exams. I took them both in attempt to gauge the necessary aptitude, but was fortunate enough to pass. I applied for licensure, and a few weeks later I was granted a preliminary license in teaching English for grades 5-12. Now I had a direction.
I frantically began applying for jobs. The hiring season had began, and with no experience I was at a major disadvantage. I didn't want to work in the suburbs, as I had seen how stifled those teachers became between standardized testing and overbearing parents. I wanted to teach in the inner city as both a challenge and a reason to relocate. After sending out at least 15 application packets, I received one answer; Saint Kevin School in Upham's Corner, Dorchester. I recall parking my car in a neighborhood less secure than the Bronx and approaching a building in dire need of restoration. I walked through a concrete parking lot, eroded to the point of vehicular immobility, through a crowd of curious eyes, and into the office of Sister Paula Kelly. The interview went well, and my walk portrayed my confidence. I felt oddly at home in this alien place, and saw SKS as a great place to start my career. The next day I received a call from Sister Paula along with an offer for a one-year contract. The money was not great, but was a hell of a lot more than I ever had before. I promptly took the offer. A few weeks ago someone asked me if I considered myself an adult, and I quickly replied "yes". He then asked if I could recall the first time I felt this way. I replied, "When I received my first salary".
Up to this point, I had gone through a rough couple of months. I couldn't feel comfortable without a direction, and this new adventure provided me one. I now had the ammo to cover my first and last month's rent. It was time to begin looking at new apartments in the city of Boston. Nobody else was ready, but I was about as restless as a Naval officer coming to port. The rest of my life was ahead of me, and I was ready to go. I contacted everyone I knew, but they were all happy with where they were. Finally, I got in touch with a friend and teammate of mine from Fordham, Greg Smith. He was a year ahead of me in school and finishing up a valiant attempt at playing professional baseball. He was also dealing with a lot of uncertainty, but ready to make a move. As soon as he agreed to go along for the ride so was I. We needed a third, and luckily for us, a great man named Colin Maxey was finishing up a year as a Jesuit Volunteer. He too was looking for a change, and the three of us found it in South Boston, in the second floor apartment on 57 M. Street.
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