Student Stories: A New Orleans Classroom Chronicle

A key feature of SAC work is what students learn as they are in our classes and as they are training to work as staff members. Today’s entries by Naila Campbell, McMain 2008 graduate and emerging staff member, and Alexandra Lear, 2007 McMain graduate and current SAC staff member, illustrate this process. Both essays were written in the three-week workshop for New Orleans Public School teachers, SAC staff, and rising SAC interns that we just completed.

This Summer I Learned To Read
Naila Campbell

I was always a good reader. Once my teachers taught me the art of sounding out a word, I was set. In my reading class, I was always a level or two above the majority of my class. My mama called me “speedy Gonzales” when I would read in front of her. I could read just about anything anybody put in front of me.

This past school year I found out that I could barely read at all. My English IV teacher, Mr. Randels, would give us an average of five or six readings a week. On average, I was able to read maybe one every two weeks. Now, I was able to say the words that were on the paper fairly easily. But this year, I learned that reading was not just about being able to say the words. It was also about being able to understand those words also.

Last summer, I learned what Reciprocal teaching was but this summer I learned the process. I learned to question what I didn’t know. I’ve been given tools to figure out the unknown for myself. I don’t necessarily have to run to someone or something else when I can’t understand. For the past few weeks, I have been learning to read.

In SAC I Learned to Think
Alexandra Lear

As I stare at this blank page, I wonder what else I could be doing today. Thinking, thinking, thinking. . . I could be paying a parking ticket issued by the city of “we want your money” or scheduling classes for the fall semester at the college of “we want you money,” but instead I think I will just sit here and write about how it is a pleasure to be in a room with people who are learning how to better themselves and others through grouping exercises at the high school I graduated from for free.

As I look around the room for a topic to write about I see teachers and students mixed together gathered in sort of a circular seating arrangement writing. Everyone is equally taking part in the process, and I think it is actually putting a smile on my face. Yep, I feel my facial muscles moving in a positive direction. My face has been doing this since I started SAC (Students at the Center) and the summer internship, because before I never knew this type of environment existed.

I was 17 when I first found my voice. I was in a SAC classroom, the melting pot for students who lost their voice under a rock called authority and power of other teachers. Little did I know that these teachers, Kalamu and Jim, were going to be different.

You see I am lazy, so I started off the year as usual: I did the first assignment to see what my new teachers Jim and Kalamu would do to my peers who did not do the assignment. But I quickly found out that it is about what you do and not about what you do not do. If you do not do the work you get an F, but if you fall behind with the papers good luck plus an extra good luck because of the revisions. It was simple. As a lazy person I caught on quick, a little too quick. Since I had written my paper and read the story, I raised my hand, thinking I was going to be discussing the reading materials. But instead I was asked to read my work. My mouth dropped, and my eyes got big. What did I get myself into? This lazy person just got bamboozled; I told them my story was personal and Kalamu asked, “So, what’s personal about it?” I was speechless, so I just looked away from him and at my paper and started reading my personal essay. Then another unexpected wrong turn occurred when I finished reading. “Pick two people to comment,” was all I heard, and I looked up and everybody looked away like we were all negative sides of a magnet. Then I started talking to myself “why I gotta pick two people, not gonna do it, nope I refuse” but all that came out as Audie and Kandyce. It was funny to me but not to them. For some reason I do not think they listened to my story. They both gave a little shrug and said, “I liked it.” Then that oh so popular question came out of Kalamu’s mouth “what did you like about it”? Pause

Those words challenged us to think. Some people accepted this new form of teaching and wanted to learn about what else they could do and some did not. But I was one, like many others, who wanted to experience more that SAC had to offer. We get to travel, attend and speak at conferences, and I learned most of my New Orleans history from being a part of SAC. I love this program. Everybody is treated equally. It is not forced, and everybody interacts with good vibes. SAC is the future, if you ask me.

Posted by Jim Randels at 7:58 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Today’s blog features two writings from the three-week workshop in writing, critical pedagogy, and digital media SAC just completed for the New Orleans public school system. A regular feature of SAC work is to work in settings where teachers and students are learning from each other. The pair of writings we share today illustrates that practice.

Ricardo’s essay is a commentary on the SAC workshop and a reading of Janay’s essay. We read and discussed Ricardo’s letter on the last day of the workshop, continuing the recursive dialogue that is central to the SAC approach.

Cold Trane
Janay Barconey

I was placed on the Trane to go to a place that I didn’t want to go to. Full speed ahead to my destination. I was forced to watch my world quickly pass me by. I was alone in this cold car. So I began searching outside through my window for warmth. Then I saw the Sun Ra blazing its warmness not on me but on my window. I then placed my cheek with its deep dimple onto the window, trying desperately to feel some of the heat. I felt some, and it felt good.

I had so many miles ahead of me, that instead of being filled with warmth the whole ride I instead would be gazing upon a full, half, quarter, eighth, or even sixteenth moon. And I’d be once again cold in my cart.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Would you like to have something to eat?” asked a strange lady.
I had seen her patrol the halls like security in a high school. But she rolled around with a cart with food and drinks instead of detention and suspension papers.

“Yes ma’am, I would. So what do you have today?” I asked her trembling and shivering.

“We have turkey and mashed potatoes today. Excuse me ma’am. You can also turn the air on and off in your cart.”

I didn’t know that there was a way to control the air. I had adapted to this situation by falling asleep in the morning with my face pressed against the window. I felt so ignorant, because the information was there. Now that I did know how to control the air, would I keep it on or would I take control and just turn it off.

“Yes ma’am. I would like to have some of the mashed potatoes and turkey.” As my words came out of my mouth, she began to uncover this plate of hot and steamy food. Then she set it on the small wooden table in front of me.

Well, I was hungry and this hot food was just what I needed to fill my appetite. I wasn’t only hungry for food but for the information and the warmth that came from it. I could now be comfortable. I could now ride on this cold Trane, because I could control my environment instead of letting my environment have control over me.

Workshop Reflections
Ricardo Dobles, Andover Bread Loaf Writing Workshop and education professor at Holy Cross College, Worcestor, Massachusetts

Hi Jim,

I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner to share some thoughts with you and the rest of the workshop participants. As I mentioned to the SAC staff members who were kind enough to speak with me for a few minutes, it is an odd feeling to sit back and take notes during a workshop that clearly calls out for hands-on participation…problem posing not banking method! I am not comfortable commenting beyond some simply reflecting on my time in the workshop (I will certainly be happy to share anything I write up more formally at a later date, but right now I am only beginning the process of looking over my notes and the materials you shared with me).

Needless to say, I left the workshop with my head spinning over the many issues that were raised in only the three days that I was there. Of course the discussion on Freire and narration was a very important event in the course of the three days, and for me the issue of narration was set aside but certainly not put to rest. In fact, I was made to think about narration in the piece written by one of the SAC staff members (although I know her name I will not attempt to spell it for fear of being way off). This young woman wrote a largely metaphorical piece that even she admitted not really knowing the motivation behind it. And yet, the piece spoke directly to the conversation that had taken place the day before. In the piece she is on a train and she is cold. She makes due by pressing her face against the window for warmth. Finally a kind employee of the train asks if she is hungry and informs her that she can control the temperature in the cabin. I think anyone in the workshop would recall the piece to which I am referring.

When I first heard the piece, I was impressed with the use of metaphor, but I did not know what the metaphor was meant to represent (a problem that others, including the writer, recognized). But when I heard the piece the next day, it struck me how very connected this story was to our discussion on Freire. If we look at the passenger on the train as a student, the education she is receiving is not providing any comfort whatsoever, and it is leaving her feeling cold and unfulfilled. Through her own initiative she tries to make the best of a bad situation and she adapts. She takes what she can get from her environment to achieve some level of warmth (knowledge?). Along comes the train employee, (teacher?), who not only addresses her hunger (to learn?) but also tells her how to control the temperature in her car. But what the teacher does not do, and this is the issue Freire would raise, as do I, is ask this young woman whether she even wants to be on this train, and whether she has a say in the direction the train is headed. The train employee provides the young woman the information she needs in order to control her immediate environment while at the same time ensuring that her sphere of influence is limited to that train car. She has no say, nor will she ever have a say, in the direction of the train. This is the essence of narration sickness. The teacher is also on the train with no control over the direction. The oppressor directs the train and the teacher merely attempts to ameliorate the effects.

So what is the responsibility of the teacher? Does she go from car to car (student to student) trying to alleviate the suffering…give them some food if they are starving and give them some clue of how to manage the pain…never calling into question nor helping the student to question why it is that they find themselves in the car in the first place. Some students will be helped (and some may even ride comfortably), but the train of oppression keeps on rolling. Freire invites us to DERAIL the train. To invite the solitary passenger in the car to join with the other passengers, to probe, to question (why am I cold? Who is making me cold? Why am I alone?) and to collectively take charge of the final destination. Of course the problem posing option is a dangerous one for those of us who have had such success under a banking method. As teachers, we are by nature conservative creatures who have functioned well within a particular system (otherwise we never would have made it into our profession). We may feel like hypocrites, I often do, to tell students to question and problem pose when we owe everything we have to the banking method. But, as I have stated before, if we do not join with our students in challenging the existing system and pedagogies of inequality, if we do not put the brakes on that train, neither we nor our students will ever be free from oppression…free to think outside of the box(car) and inside the circle!

Now, it is entirely possible that I am way off the mark on my interpretation of the poem, but that is the invitation of the circle: to take an idea as far as you can take it, to engage in dialogue with your colleagues, to imagine all of the possibilities in our words and in our world.

Thank you again for the opportunity to spend an uplifting three days with you.

Ricardo

Posted by Jim Randels at 1:33 PM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

During the last week of May and the first three weeks of June, Students at the Center staff, graduates, and students have been leading two separate workshops for teachers in the New Orleans Public Schools.

Today’s essay comes from Anthony Pham, a 2008 graduate of McMain Secondary School and a participant in the workshop on the identity and culture of Vietnamese students. Nguyen Hoang, author of the previous essay in this blog, also is participating in this workshop. Nguyen’s translation into Vietnamese of Anthony’s essay follows Anthony’s English version. These writings are part of a longer series that will be shared with elders in the Vietnamese community in New Orleans.

Learning My Lesson
Anthony Pham

Stories that I have never told anyone should never be told. But I will tell it now, because I am older, and I understand the circumstances that might occur at the end of my story. Every day, I have a gut feeling inside of me, wanting to tell the story, but quickly, I jerk back and hit myself to calm down. However, I now have the courage to talk about it, and I won’t let this coward boy inside of me tell me that I should not tell you the story. He will have to just sit down and listen.

It started in the early 1990’s. I was a mere child. I didn’t know much, but I knew enough to act a certain way. Every year, my family and our friends celebrate the new lunar year, typically known as Chinese New Years. And on that day, people would either come to your house to greet your family and bring them luck, or we would go to their house and vice versa. Along with this tradition, the elders would give children little red envelopes with money inside of them. Unknowingly as a child receiving his first envelope, I looked around and saw the older children saying all of this mumbo-jumbo stuff to them. I looked at them with complete awe, when I saw the elders giving them more money inside of their red envelopes. Everything changed that day.

I spent the following year trying to learn the little bit of Vietnamese necessary to sweet talk to these adults for their money. Being an eager little boy, I was able to grasp the language quickly by asking my parents about what to say. Every day I would learn something new to say. On certain days, I would ask my parents how to say cute things. My parents began to look at me with confusion. “Why are you asking us these things? What are you trying to get?” I quickly told them, “Nothing! I just want to learn it. Geez.” In reality, I knew exactly what I wanted to get. And that was the money.

As time grew closer and closer to the new lunar year, I had honed my skills of being cute and adorable. I was already prepared for the day. Next thing you know, it was the day. I dressed up in my little tuxedo, hair fixed by my mother, and I was ready to bank! Each house our family went to, I would run to the elders and say, “Chuc mung nam moi phat tai!” Translated, it says “Happy new years. I wish you lots of money this year.” They would look at me with glee and talk to me in Vietnamese. I didn’t know what they were saying. I just had a huge grin on my face and laughed at anything they said. They handed me the red envelope. I bowed to them and ran off. When I was alone, I opened the envelope which had twenty dollars inside. Shocked at this profound method of money-making, I began to act cute every year.

It was now in the late 1990’s. I was a rich kid. All the toys I wanted, I got them. New clothes, I got them. Okay, so I lied. I didn’t have every toy I wanted. My parents took my money, and spent it on SOME things I wanted. They were rich with my money. I was looking forward to the next lunar year. I knew what toy I wanted, and that was all I was aiming to get. It was a Power Ranger Megazord. You had to connect each piece to build this large machine. I was ready to have it.

Chinese New Years never came so slowly. It felt like ages before it came, but nonetheless, it came. Dressed up and prepared to make money, I left with my parents to our first house. “Chuc mung nam moi phat tai!” The elders laughed at me. Shocked at their remark, I said it again. They laughed even harder. I was stumped. I didn’t know why they were laughing. They gave me a red envelope and talked to my parents in Vietnamese. The only words I understood were “older, greedy, back then, and no more.” I told myself, “Darn. They realized my plan. Alright, the next house should do it.” The pattern continued throughout the day. Could this be it? Could this be the end of money-making? I couldn’t believe it, but it was true. Everywhere I went, they all knew my plan.

Since I was a young child, the word “embarrassed” was a very shameful word. I never told anyone this story because of the shame that I feared would unravel if I did. Now when I look back at it, why was I afraid? Everybody, including myself, has an egocentric moment in their life. People shouldn’t hide who they are because they are ashamed of themselves, though I did. However, I learned my lesson. I am only human. I can only learn from my mistakes and the mistakes of my peers.

Learning My Lesson
Anthony Pham
(Vietnamese translation by Nguyen Hoang)

Tôi không bao giờ muốn tiết lộ những câu chuyện thầm kín của mình. Nhưng, càng lớn tôi càng thấu hiểu hoàn cảnh xảy ra khi mọi chuyện đã kết thúc. Mỗi ngày tôi lại muốn bộc lộ chính những chuyện này. Nhưng tôi cố gắng đè nén nó lại. Tuy nhiên, bây giờ có thể nói ra, và chinh phục người bạn nhỏ nhút nhát trong tâm hồn tôi. Cậu ấy phải ngồi xuống và lắng nghe thôi!

Câu chuyện bắt đầu vào những năm đầu thập niên 1990. Tôi chỉ là một đứa trẻ. Tôi chẳng hiểu chuyện, nhưng tôi biết cách sử sự khôn khéo. Mỗi năm, gia đình tôi cùng với bạn bè và họ hàng xung quanh ăn mừng Tết Việt Nam. Trong ngày đó, mọi người đến nhà những người thân quen để chúc mừng và gia đình tôi cũng thế. Cùng với lời chúc là bao lì xì người lớn cho trẻ con như tôi. Lần đầu tiên được nhận lì xì, tôi nhìn chung quanh và thấy những đứa trẻ lớn tuổi hơn tôi lầm bầm nhiều chữ với người lớn. Tôi nhìn họ với sự ngạc nhiên cực độ, vì họ được cho nhiều tiền hơn tôi. Mọi sự bắt đầu thay đổi từ lúc đó.

Tôi bỏ ̀ra một năm để học một ít tiếng Việt để có thể nói khéo với người lớn để tôi được thêm tiền lì xì. Là một cậu bé nhanh nhảu, tôi đã học được rất nhanh bằng cách là hỏi ba mẹ tôi nên nói gì. Mỗi ngày, tôi đều học một câu nói mới. Có ngày, tôi hỏi ba mẹ tôi những câu nói đường mật. Ba mẹ tôi ngạc nhiên nhìn tôi. “Tại sao con hỏi những điều này? Con muốn có gì nào?” Tôi nhanh trí đáp lại. “ Không có gì đâu. Con chỉ muốn biết thôi mà. Thật là.”

Khi Tết gần đến, tôi đã luyện được cách để làm cho mình dễ mến và đáng yêu hơn. Tôi chuẩn bị thật kĩ cho ngày đó. Khi Tết đến, tôi diện cho mình bộ quần áo tây, chải mái, và xẳng xàng đê tây, chải mái, và xẳng xàng để xuất phát! Đi đến nhà nào, tôi chạy lại những người lớn tuổi và nói, “Chúc mừng năm mới phát tài!” Họ nhìn tôi hoan hỉ và nói chuyện với tôi bằng tiếng Việt. Tôi không hiểu họ muốn nói gì. Tôi chỉ toét miệng cười trước những gì mà họ nói. Họ đưa cho tôi bao lì xì đỏ. Tôi ghật đầu cảm ơn rồi bỏ chạy. Khi đứng một mình, tôi mở ra xem và thấy có tờ hai mươi đô ở bên trong. Chấn động về cái cách kiếm tiền thâm hậu, tôi lập lại cái cách đáng yêu đó mỗi năm.

Bây giờ là cuối thập niên 1990. tôi trở thành một cậu nhỏ giàu có. Tôi có được tất cả những món đồ chơi mà tôi muốn; quần áo đẹp cũng thế. Vâng, tôi nói phóng một chút. Ba mẹ tôi lấy đi tiền của tôi, và mua một vài món đồ mà tôi muốn. Họ có thêm tiền từ tay tôi. Tôi trông đợi dịp Tết xắp tới. Tôi đã nhắm vào một món đồ chơi, và tôi rất muốn nó. Nó là Power Ranger Megazord. Món này đòi hỏi phải ráp từng miếng một để hoàn chỉnh một cỗ máy lớn. Tôi đợi sẵn sàng để có nó.

Tết chưa bao giờ đến chậm như vậy. Nó giống như vượt quá tuổi, nḥưng, nó vẫn đến. Mang áo đẹp và hồ hởi vì xắp được thêm tiền, tôi đi cùng với ba mẹ đến căn nhà đầu tiên. “ Chúc mừng năm mới phát tài!” Người lớn cười tôi. Hoản hốt trước sự đáp lại của họ, tôi liền lập lại câu chúc. Họ càng cười to hơn, và tôi lúng túng. Tôi không hiểu tại sao họ lại cười. Họ cho tôi một bao lì sì và nói chuyện với ba mẹ tôi bằng tiếng Việt. Tôi chỉ hiểu được chữ “lớn hơn, tham lam, trước đó, và không được nửa.” Tôi thì thầm, “Thôi rồi. Họ đã biết kế hoạch của mình. Thôi được rồi, nhà tiếp theo sẽ được mà.” Sự việc lại lập lại nguyên một ngày. Phải chăng? Phải chăng đây là sự kết thúc của cách mà tôi kiếm tiền? Tôi không thể tin được, nhưng đó là sự thật. Bất cứ đâu tôi đến, người lớn đều biết.

Từ khi tôi còn nhỏ, bị xấu hổ thật là đáng hộ thẹn. Tôi chưa kể chuyện này cho ai bao giờ bởi vì tôi sợ mình sẽ lộ ra vẻ hộ thẹn của mình. Giờ đây, khi tôi nhìn lại câu chuyện, tại sao tôi phải sợ? Bất kì ai, kể cả tôi, đều có những lúc ích kỹ như vậy. Mọi người không nên giấu mình là ai chỉ vì mình hộ thẹn về bản thân của mình; dù vậy, tôi đã giấu mình. Tuy nhiên, tôi đã học được bài học. Tôi là con người. Tôi chỉ có thể học được từ lỗi lầm của mình và của người khác.

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