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[illneverstartablog]

[illneverstartablog]

Comparisons

I’ve been in Mississippi now for over a month. If there is anyone actually reading this, I apologize for how long it has taken to write a new post; things have been busy and summer school keeps me very occupied. It took me three days after the start of school to actually receive students due to an administration hiccup, but my students were well worth the wait. They each surprise me daily with just how brilliant they are and I have been so, so blessed to teach them and to know them over the past three weeks.

In the minimal free time I have, though, usually on the bus, I have been unable to help myself from comparing last summer to this. Last summer, I spent seven weeks living in Rome, Italy, which is almost the same amount of time I am spending here for summer training. The deep, clear, turquoise waters surrounding Capri and the breathtaking boat ride we took around the island are a far cry from my ungracious slide off the hot concrete into the green, murky, warm waters of Lake Chicot. The leisurely walks along bustling cobblestone streets at 10 AM have little in common with my 6 AM bus ride down poorly paved roads, half asleep. Instead of fine Italian wine, I am now drinking watered down American beer.

Yet there have been unexpected similarities, things here in the Delta that remind me of the ancient city. There is an almost constant stickiness in the air because of the humidity. It seems I am always making quick trips between air-conditioned buildings. There is a certain expectation that you will wear modest and gender-appropriate attire when entering a church. All these things are basically a mirror image of my life last summer. The most surprising, however, in my opinion, is the history. When I arrived in Rome, I knew I was there to learn centuries of history, to see it alive in the architecture and traditions. I was not disappointed. When I arrived in Mississippi, I was not prepared to be bombarded with another long (though not nearly as long) and rich history. Having been forced to sit through years of history classes, I thought there was nothing left to learn about the history of our country. I was wrong; since arriving here five weeks ago, I have been confronted with a history that I was unfamiliar with. It is a history that sometimes makes me proud to be American, but other times, breaks my heart.

Last week, I went, as part of my training, to a few key sites in the Delta. The point of this “field trip” was for us to understand the history, to see it alive, and to see how it has shaped the climate of the region today. The first stop was Dockery Farms, one of several stops along the Delta Blues trail. While it is well-known for being one of the first and most visited hubs for the development of blues music, it was only able to become so because it was the home base for many sharecroppers, a place designed to keep the poor in a never-ending cycle of poverty. Our next stop was Mound Bayou, the first self-sustaining and self-governing African-American city in the country. Reading the history of the city brought me to tears at times, but listening to the mayor, only the second female mayor in the town’s history, I was filled with a pride that I cannot even claim as my own for a city that has continued to live on through trial and despite the lack of support from the surrounding predominately white communities. After Mound Bayou, we visited the Gong Company, a grocery store run by Chinese immigrants, who have a rich history in the Delta, often overlooked and untold. At this point, our bus driver got out of the bus with us and told us stories from his childhood. Inside the now abandoned grocery store, he pointed out where the ice cream and deli meat were stored and informed us that the good cookies used to be at the store next door. He was just as excited to then take us on a short detour to Poor Monkey’s Juke Joint, just outside of town. While now closed, the juke joint, the last in the area (I believe), was a major part of the community. Next weekend, the town is holding a festival to honor the juke joint and, for lack of a better way to describe it, to mourn the end of an era.

Our final two stops were slightly more heavy for me, and also, I imagine, for many of my fellow travelers. We visited the Fannie Lou Hamer memorial garden for a just a little while. Despite her importance in the Civil Rights movement in Mississippi, I am not entirely sure she was mentioned even once in my California education. She was a strong woman with a passion to be envied, a woman who stood up for what she believed in and was willing to do so in the face of death. My admiration for her courage has grown almost to that which I have for some of the early Christian martyrs. Our final stop was the Emmett Till Interpretive Center, where we sat in the courthouse where Emmett Till’s murderers were tried, a courthouse that has been restored to look like it did during the trials. I spoke very little at this stop, overwhelmed by the horrific injustice carried out not that long ago. I was shocked at my own detachment; Jim Crow, racism, and lynchings seem like horrible things that happened long ago, when we were a less enlightened country. And yet, the story is too close to the present day for my comfort; the present-day stories I hear seem unbelievable.

At this point, I am in danger of rambling. But I think it is important to note where I’m at. I have been in awe of the amount of history here and how much I simply don’t know. Despite missing the glamor that was my summer in Italy last year, I have found myself content with a much simpler summer in the Delta, a summer of too much beer, terrible cafeteria food, and students who have exceeded my expectations. I will only teach my students for another two days and see them for another four and I know how desperately I will miss them when it is over. It reminds me of the first group of students I taught in Inglewood. Hopefully these ones won’t forget me because I know I won’t forget them or the hopes and dreams I have for them or the potential I see. If this is what the next two years is going to be like, I say bring it on.

[illneverstartablog]

“it’s all going to be okay”

This has been my mantra for probably about an hour. I checked into summer training today. Even though I’ve been here almost a week, last week was completely different than the upcoming five weeks. Last week was fun and welcoming and “let’s get to know Mississippi!” The next five weeks are summer school. As in me teaching summer school. Me learning how to teach summer school. So... That’s cool. Ish. And terrifying.

I got online, looked at almost everything I could that gives information about the next five weeks. I get on the bus before 6:30 every morning. I have to have eaten breakfast, packed a lunch, and I need to look like a teacher. Am I stressed? I teach for like half the day, travel back, and then take classes until like 6:00 every night. But I also have to submit two lesson plans every morning (a draft two days ahead and a final for that day). And do any homework for my sessions. And reflect. And eat. And hopefully, work out. Take some time for myself, as they keep telling us is so important. All before like 9:30, if I want to get a decent night’s sleep. So no, I’m not stressed at all.

In case you were wondering, dear reader, my computer crashed and I lost my super long post about affinity spaces. So stay tuned for a repeat of that. We have at least one every week; I’m sure I’ll have additional thoughts after the next one. Also, I may or may not ever get around to writing about my trip to Little Rock Central High School.

For now, it’s all going to be okay. It’s going to be a hard five weeks. I may be a zombie at times. But hopefully I’ll be a badass teacher at the end of it, ready and actually able to give everything I have to my students for the next two years.

[illneverstartablog]

“i’m starting a blog”

Here’s the deal, folks. I am not a blogger. I never wanted to be a blogger. However, in the past three days, I have realized that I simply have too many thoughts swirling around in my head to not write them down. I may never share this honestly. Or maybe I will. But I have to write it all down somewhere so I can process it and not forget.

A little over a year ago, I was notified that I was being offered a position in the 2018 Teach For America Corps. And shortly after, I was notified that I was specifically being offered a position in Mississippi. I don’t feel the need to detail my whole thought process over the past year or so. Maybe in another post. But on June 5, 2018, I arrived at Delta State University for summer Institute, which has formally begun my time with Teach For America. And I have some thoughts because the last three days have been pretty busy.

Before you read any further, I am going to warn you: I am not perfect. In fact, I have no clue what I’m doing more than half of the time. So be prepared to be offended as I work through pertinent issues and continue to learn.

So, on June 4, I boarded a plane to Memphis, Tennessee. I honestly don’t think I had any clue what I was getting myself into still. You see, I’m a California girl through and through. I may not be a beach bum, and I may have grown up in an agricultural community, but moving to another part of the country, with its own customs and quirks and personality, was bound to be a bit of a shock no matter what. The first thing I noticed was the heat, which I was somewhat expecting, but did not enjoy nonetheless. I spent the remainder of the afternoon in my hotel room, trying to keep my spirits up and revel in the excitement that comes with travelling anywhere.

As per my original plan and despite my rising anxiety, I went to have dinner with some other incoming corps members. I won’t go into too much detail about the dinner because it wasn’t particularly noteworthy in my opinion other than completely draining me of energy and hope. It wasn’t that anyone was unfriendly or mean. I simply had to face the fact that, out here, I know no one. I am starting over. As soon as I walked back into my hotel room, full of my second helping of fried chicken for the day, I burst into tears and it took over an hour to get me to calm down. I was terrified I wouldn’t make friends easily and that this time, so far away from everyone I know and love, was going to be incredibly lonely.

I slept poorly, but woke up on time the next morning. I made a last minute run to Target for some essentials of dorm living and headed to the airport to meet my shuttle driver. Many other corps members drove to Mississippi, but as of yet, I have no car, so flying had to do for now.

The two hour car ride to Cleveland, Mississippi put me in better spirits. The girl in the seat next to me was friendly and honestly, her use of Snapchat made me feel so much more at home. This strange place we call the South still feels like a foreign country to me; Snapchat, though, definitely feels like home.

I got to Delta State, checked in, yada yada. Met my roommate; she’s cool. Unpacked and moved in. It’s like starting college all over, dorm room and all. And with that, I am exhausted for the evening. The story will continue... next time I feel like jotting it down.