The Last Day of School

June 11 was the last day of school. It also marked the end of my AmeriCorps service days this year. in total, I have completed 1,714 hours of service in 10 months, give or take an hour. I am tired.

We celebrated the end of the school year with a massive water fight. School let out at 1:00, with the usual rumbling and uncontrollable outbursts expected from kids about to be released into the wild of summer. The kids who stay after school, however, had 5 more hours before their freedom, and we would spend the next 5 hours preparing, executing, and recovering from a massive water balloon fight.

There were 4 tutors and about 50 kids who participated in this endeavor. We spent the first two hours filling water balloons, telling children to be patient, and trying to prevent the water fight from prematurely breaking out. Anyone who threw a water balloon before we began would have to sit out for the first 5 minutes of the real water balloon fight, and everyone knows those first 5 minutes are crucial. After that, you're really just throwing wetness as wetness.

Then, after two entire trash cans were filled to the brim with water balloons (in addition to multiple hidden stashes the kids filled themselves), we met in the cafeteria for a debriefing. We told the children, most importantly, after the fight we would be responsible for picking up all of the pieces of water balloons outside. That was the only rule.

Next in the cafeteria came the dissemination of additional weaponry. The 4th, 5th, and 6th grade tutor (or as I call her: Lisa, War Profiteer) bought cheap but effective super soakers for those of her kids that gave her a dollar. The only advice for these weapons: don't break them. And as an afterthought: maybe the big kids will share.

Then, at 3pm, we broke into teams and ran to the infield of the track. Each tutor's kids lined up on separate lines. Adi and I had only six kids between us. Robert had about 13. Lisa had 20, all much older, and armed with super soakers as well.

The fight was beautiful. I threw maybe 1 water balloon and spent the rest of the time running around screaming. The children were merciless. One kid ended up with a bloody nose. Another's glasses were broken in two. I've never heard more thrilled squeals and frantic laughter from these kids. I was soaked from head to toe. We all were.

The "weapons" kept getting refilled long after the water balloons ran out. The fight lasted for 40 minutes. In the end, everyone was soaking, and exhilarated.

Most kids went to change after the battle subsided. For those of us who hadn't brought spare clothes (including myself... I didn't think I'd get that wet!), we went to the basketball court, where the blacktop was scorching in the California sun, and we sprawled out in attempt to dry our clothes. It was the first time all year I've seen upwards of 15 children resting peacefully together. That lasted nearly as long as the war had.

As I dried out on the blacktop, basking in the sun with these 8-year-olds, all I could think was this: water balloons make great weapons.

The Fastest Kid in Salinas

I coached the winner of the 100M Dash for 5th Grade Boys. This is Jose Jaradmillo, my hero.

Photo brought to you by Angel Cruz, 5th Grade.

These Girls.

I'm assembling and organizing all of my pictures from the year, and it keeps hitting me: these children are beautiful. Especially the girls.

One of the saddest things for me is to look at the girls, and then look at their mothers, and think that before long, they will look as tired as they do. Most of the mothers are fairly young, but the sun, stress, poor health, and lots of work have not been kind to them. They are wrinkled, their hands are torn and callused, their skin pock-marked, their bodies overweight or their backs bent. Some of the mothers are my age, but they look at least five years older than me. I hope time is kind to my girls.

Then there are the girls who will choose to make themselves up and dress in ways they shouldn't for their age. The ones who will disrespect their bodies. The ones who will get pregnant in high school. The girls who might get pregnant before I do, even though they're 12 years younger than me.

But for now, they are beautiful, and I hope they stay beautiful.

Nightmares

The kids have also penetrate my psyche now.

I've dreamed about work before, which can be expected, considering I spend 10 hours a day in this school. My past 2 dreams, however, have been less than pleasant.

The first one was about Javier. I woke up and felt... not right. Other people in the house said they could hear me making noises in my sleep. I couldn't place it until I saw Javier later that day, and my stomach just churned and fell to the floor. A flash of him in serious physical danger came back to me. In my dream, he had been cold, shriveled, shaking, discolored... basically on the verge of death. In the dream, he was wearing the black sweatshirt he always wore, with the hood up, but he was basically a skeleton. He's skinny as it is, but looking at him in my dream gave me a physical sense of his harm that couldn't be hidden by a giant sweat shirt.

The second one was about Kim. She was wearing a necklace, and a man came up behind her and strangled her with it. I actually lashed out in my sleep when that one happened.

I can only protect them from so much.

"Mommy!"

Two of the girls I tutor afterschool have taken to calling me "Mommy." Talk about disturbing. I am a long way from wanting children of my own, and this year has reaffirmed that ten times over.

Every time they say it, I remind them that I'm their teacher, not their mother. They see how strangely I react to the idea of being a mom, and they find it funny. That makes them say it more, I'm sure.

One afternoon, we went to the computer lab. One of these girls started typing a letter to me. It went something like this:

Hi Miss Dawn!

Do you want to know why I call you mommy? It's because you are so nice and so pretty and I love you so so so so so much much much much much!

Love,
Kim

There were a few more "so's" and "much's" but that was the gist, and the gist was heartwarming.

Dia del Niño/Children's Day

Dia del Niño-or Children’s Day/Day of the Child-is the Mexican holiday to celebrate children. Think of Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, only for kids. What a brilliant idea! Why don’t they have this in the States!? With how commercialized every other holiday is in America, Dia del Niño would be an absolute success. Think of the toy companies and Chuck E Cheese!

The extremely supportive parents at our school used their budget to throw the kids a party of carnival proportion. Classes were cancelled for one entire morning to celebrate children being children. There were tents for nachos, free toys, and games. Kids ran around from bowling stations to spoon races. Jump houses (brincolinas I think?) were inflated and rowdy boys bounced until the walls of the jump houses became the floors. My personal favorite was the musical chairs event, where every time the Mariachi music shut off, the kids scrambled to the empty chairs, accompanied by apocalyptic screams.

The core group of parents at the school passionately endorsed the day, as they do all other school activities. At the very least, reluctant adults gave in to the morning. The more serious children were bored by the carnival and didn't see the point, while others giddily ran about collecting free pencils and wistfully remembered all the Dias del Niños they had ever celebrated.

In a place with so little, the celebrations are so big. It makes you wonder: are they overcompensating for childhoods harder than I could imagine living even as an adult, or are they simply living and valuing what’s most important in life?

April was a busy month

I saw two (good) events at Alisal Community School in the month of April that I've never experienced anywhere else. One was a pep rally for the California State Tests (CST) held at the beginning of May. The other was Children's Day.

First up: The Pep Rally. Every classroom made posters with motivational messages, like "I will rock the CST" or "Do your Best on the Test." At 1pm, all the students lined up with no semblance or order on the blacktop outside the school. Teachers and staff gave every kid a helium balloon, either yellow or black in honor of the school's colors. They were marched towards the infield of the track, where a DJ was blasting Black-Eyed Peas and Shakira hits. The 5th and 6th grade cheerleaders led the school in cuteness and pep. The principal, Ms. Armenta, led the school in dancing with awkward school-appropriate hip movements (which is hard for Latina girls, even if they're only 5 years old) and frightening love. Some of the more intense young men decided to try out their breakdance moves on the grass, with varying degrees of injury and success. One little first grade boy was so overwhelmed by the festivities that he prostrated himself into a defense curl, on top of a manhole, and hid his head from the enthusiastic noise and Californian sunshine.

Possibly the most touching was the chanting, started by the 4th graders at the request of Ms. Armenta. She encouraged each grade to come up with a cheer, and the 4th graders chose the famous "Sí se puede" (or "Yes we can," the motto of the United Farm Workers coined by César Chávez). Yelled from a grassy field in the Salad Capital of America- Chávez's own soapbox and stomping grounds-the passion of that cheer carried beyond the test in the coming weeks. The kids yelled the chant in words understood more clearly than most of the ones that they would see on the fast-approaching CST. I've never felt as connected to the strength and passion of the Mexican people than I did at that moment. Their parents might be working hard in the fields, and now their children work just as hard, if not harder, in the classroom.

Some Good

After Azahel Cruz's death, the community has been in an uproar... to put an end (or at least calm) gang violence.

In the past few days:

-The attendance at Azahel's funeral was overwhelming. There were so many people that we couldn't all fit inside the church. So many young men came to mourn, none in gang colors.

-Police have searched 40 homes for gang-related activity.

-More people than usual have come forward with tips regarding gang activity. Police say these people wouldn't have come forward before Azahel Cruz's death.

-There was a peace march in East Salinas, estimated that 2,500 people would participate. 5,000 attended.

Absolutely Tragic

A 6-year-old was shot and killed two days ago. I'm not sure what else to say about that right now so you can find the articles for yourself through the link.

His aunt is in AmeriCorps, so some of us are going to the funeral tomorrow.

The District Trouble

Today I read a letter from the Alisal Teachers' Association, addressing all teachers in the Alisal School District. It included: "Our school district has been ranked by the state school board as the lowest performing district in the state." Congrats.

With this ranking come School Improvement Grant (SIG) funds, which can be a very significant amount of money, but also can have many "strings attached," as the ATA puts it. Some of those include:

"Reliance on student test scores as a means of teacher evaluation, establishing teacher pay, and determining which teachers keep their jobs."

Yikes. This, among other things, is causing teachers, administrators, parents, staff--and as a result, students--to freak out. How can test scores determine the quality of a teacher? It is outrageous to think that your salary, no, your livelihood itself, should be placed in the hands of a bunch of kids with their own serious issues.

A few things will happen:

1. Teachers will will fight over good test-takers and dread having difficult students in their classes.

2. Teachers will teach to the test.

3. Teachers will cheat for students and pad their grades before turning them over to the state.

Reinforcement

I was reading The Book Thief on my lunch break the other day and came across this:

"A DEFINITION NOT FOUND
IN THE DICTIONARY
Not leaving: an act of trust and love,
often deciphered by children"
— Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)

Damn right.

Uno Mas

I recently decided to extend my contract with AmeriCorps for another year, so I'll be working in Salinas through June of 2011.

Some of my reasons:

When a kid looks at me and asks if I'll be here next year, I am incapable of saying "No."

There is a desperate need in the district for good teachers. I'm not saying I'm great, but I'm reliable, creative, and I put my heart into it. Sadly there are a lot of people here who aren't that way.

When I started AmeriCorps this year, I would have appreciated an experienced member at my school site to smooth some school politics over and show me the ropes. I want to help shape AmeriCorps at this school for the next group, and the next, and the next...

I'm happy--really happy-- doing this. Since I have the option of staying longer, why rush off? This is a very new way of thinking for me, but I've been working on patience. Feels good.

Those are the big 4. I'd gotten used to having the future completely undecided, and once I committed to a plan for the next year and a half, that felt really strange. The more I think and plan through the year 2011 though, the better I feel about it.

Not to mention how good it feels to tell the kids "Yes, I'll be back." I am no deserter.

What just happened?

During the afterschool program today, 3 of my favorite kids were playing football with me. One was a girl I went Christmas shopping with, who had been given money from a local charity to buy clothes for herself. Two were boys I tutor during the day, one of whom I'm taking on a hike in a few weeks and then writing about it together (Javier). It was the first day in about two weeks where it wasn't raining outside, and we were all so happy to be running around.

Javier started eating sunflower seeds so we took a break. I turned around and the three of them were gathered around a patch of sand writing in the dirt. I looked at it and there were gang symbols, numbers associated with gangs, etc. They knew so much, and they were doing it with me right there. What the hell. Then they started showing each other hand signs and talking about which side they (and their tias/uncles) are for. What do I do? Training did not cover this. And these were my favorite kids...

I asked them if they knew how much money a "gangster" makes. (Thanks to my housemate) I know that studies have shown only the top few gangmembers actually profit from gang activity. I told them "only the top 3" so they would get a sense of exactly how few made money. Then Javier, whose brother is in jail, told us all how gangs make their money: They shoot someone. If he doesn't die right away, they shoot him some more until he's dead. Then they empty his wallet. They take his cards. They take his ID, and either throw it away, or use it as a fake. Then, if the person has more than $5000, whoever killed him gets the extra cash. This is what happens, according to an 8-year-old.

I told him that whatever "extra cash" there is, it isn't much. I told them that I make more money than a gangster (I make about $2.50/hour). The last thing I told them was, "I'm teaching you so you can get a real job and a career someday. If you were to join a gang, it would make everything I do pointless. What I do would mean nothing and I would be so hurt." I looked right at Javier and his eyes went wide. Then they all ran off to play.

They're young enough that something could sink in. I just hope that what I say helps them now, and also resonates years down the road.

What do you think of AmeriCorps?

A friend asked me a simple question the other day: What do you think of AmeriCorps? and I was really surprised by it. What did he mean? Which part of AmeriCorps? The program as a whole, or my specific experience? Just my job, or my whole life? Maybe it was so tough to answer because my feelings about it are so complicated.

I think what I'm supposed to do and what I actually do are pretty different. The program is ideally an in-school literacy tutoring service, where I meet with students one-on-one in my own classroom for 30 minutes every day, improving reading skills, phonics, comprehension, spelling, fluency, etc.

What really happens is kind of different. I work in other teachers' classrooms for 2/3 of the school day. I often tutor 2 or 3 kids at a time, and usually for about 20 minutes a session. Some students I only see 3 days a week, if I'm lucky. Then, my real job, the one not in the contract, comes in. AmeriCorps is involved in (or should I say, AmeriCorps IS) the after school program. I help coordinate homework tutoring, physical education, arts & crafts, and computer time. My after school group is about 9 kids. None of that part is in the grant...

I do question how the funds for this program are being used. With taxpayer dollars, this program is designed to improve students' literacy: bottom line.

But when it comes down to it, AmeriCorps itself is about doing more than what's expected of you. This school needs major help. More help than I could ever give it, and not as a literacy tutor, but as a human being. Their funding was absolutely cut for after school programs. Their teachers have an average class size of 33. The Vice Principal position was removed for budget this year. The entire district is being condemned by the state as a failing school district. I could tell you first hand that the district failing... and the people it's failing most are the children who are supposed to learn there.

So at the end of the day, What do I think of AmeriCorps? What do I think of my job? What do I think of my life? Things have been very hard. Work is definitely not what I expected, and it can be overwhelming. And I love it. At the end of the day, I think that if I've helped someone at all, in any way, then I've done my job to the best of my ability. Forget about what the grant says: I'm America's bitch for a year, and there's always more I could do...

I am very white.

I grew up in rural Upstate New York. Everyone I went to school from K-12 was white, with the exception of two African American families and a Cambodian family. I went to college in Upstate New York, where University of Rochester had a mathematical proportion that equated to diversity, but still, most of my friends were white, and with that, also from Upstate New York. I lived and studied in England for a while, and although I was technically a foreigner, my English/Irish heritage made me fit right in. With the exception of white Nikes and an accent that butchered the Queen's language, no one looked at me any differently. I have always been in the majority.

But not in Salinas, CA. At school, there are about 600 kids. Two out of these 600 are white. Also, I can count the number of white staff members on one hand, including myself.

Even though white is in the minority here, Salinas is far from diverse. The other 598 kids at the school are Mexican/Hispanic. There are no African American kids. There is one Asian staff member. Nationally, Hispanic people are a minority group, but here they are the reigning majority. The kids know as little about diversity as I did growing up. I'm getting a sense of what the minority groups felt like in Upstate New York.

For one, you get a lot of stares.

Besides for that, I've been called Miss Barbie before--probably for my blond hair and blue eyes. I've had to explain what freckles are and how they come to be. Little girls look at my blue eyes and tell me they want them. Students often ask me if myself and the other AmeriCorps member with blond hair and blue eyes are "brothers" (they don't know the word "siblings" or "related" yet).

Do I feel discriminated against? No. I think the language barrier is a much bigger segregating factor than skin color for me. The comments about my race come from a place of honest childhood curiosity.

On the flip side, if I were Asian, I doubt the kids would be so kind. I've heard countless taunts from the kids about "the Chinese," as they call them. They pull their eyes into slits and fake speaking in Chinese.

What's funny is, I remember watching little white kids stereotype Asian people the same way when I was growing up.

I guess the kids do stereotype me, too, but stereotypes of being white--as these kids know them to be--are advantageous. They ask me if I have a lot of money, or if I have a big house: things they associate with white people. They say they wish they were born in New York too, as opposed to Mexico or even Salinas.

Probably the hardest one for me of all: they ask me to take them back to New York with me when I go.

On a lighter note

One of the classes I help made Christmas cards for me. Here are a few of my favorite notes:

"Dear Ms. Down, I want you to be my teacher forever. I like you like my teacher forever the end."

"Thank you Miss Down for helping the kids that they don't know nothing and you help the students already know how to read and say things in English."

"Thank you for helping me to read and thank you for giving me rubber band."

"Dear Dawn, Thank you for helping us read, speak, and learn. Thank you for playing 4 square. Have a wonderful vacation."

"Dear Miss Dawn, Thank you for everything you have done to us and had played with us. Have a great trip."

"Dear Ms. Dawn, Thank you for helping my friend Prudencia. You are the kind person I ever met. And funny person."

Sweet kids:)

Homicides in 2009

The year 2009 was a record-breaking year for homicides in Salinas. As of December 16, there were 29 homicides, which surpasses the previous year's record of 25. It has been declared that all homicides this year have been gang-related.

Above is a link to a map of the homicides and victims' names up through Dec 2.

The elementary school where I work, Alisal Community School, is on the corner of Del Monte Ave and Williams Rd. Check the proximity to the red x's.

The Basics

Monterey Bay United for Literacy works in 6 schools in the Alisal School District. There are roughly 30 volunteers in this program. In theory, we meet with students for one-on-one reading sessions and literacy lessons.

The students we work with are in grades K-4, and they are by and large English Language Learner students. Alisal School District is comprised of mostly Hispanic, Mexian, and Mexican-American families. Migrant farm work is the most common occupation for parents of these students. Many families do not have any English spoken in their homes.

Alisal is a school district on the east side of Salinas, CA, where gang violence and poverty are very real, everyday threats.

Things are intense.

I knew this job was going to be hard, but it's harder than I thought it would be. Hence, me not writing for roughly 4 1/2 months. Too much to process. Now I'll start trying. Again.