Be the Change

As I was driving to work yesterday morning, I immersed myself in my usual a.m. routine: a large fountain drink, a rolled-down window, and the relaxing edification of NPR News.

At some point during the broadcast of “All Things Considered,” co-host Steve Inskeep interviewed Thomas Ricks, author of the popular “Fiasco,” which dealt with the conflict in Iraq.

Ricks’ latest book, “The Gamble,” hits upon the notion that Barack Obama is taking a huge risk in asserting that he can have all U.S. forces out of Iraq in the next couple of years.  In Ricks’ view, which is buoyed by interviews with numerous high-ranking military and diplomatic personnel, the war may very well be only “half over.”  In speaking about the new President and the foreign policy complexities he’s inherited, the author said something that has stuck with me ever since:

[Paraphrasing]: “In the end, I think Iraq will change Barack Obama more than Barack Obama changes Iraq.”

…

In light of Tuesday’s thoughts, this quote has left me thinking about my own life, as well as the world at large.

Not unlike the cohorts upon cohorts of teachers who moved to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, President Obama has set out with idealistic and honest intentions of making a difference.  He takes considerable umbrage with the culture that has characterized Washington over the past decade, and he wants to act as a sweeping agent of change.

I can relate to President Obama’s feelings of optimism.  As an undergraduate Philosophy major who read a steady helping of Locke, Mill, and the like, I fervently believe that people are, at their core, fundamentally good beings.  I also believe in the rights and power of the Individual — I am convinced that conviction and determination are enough to allow very small people to do very large things.

In essence, I’ve always sought to live an engaged life, a life in which I, along with other human beings, can have a dramatic effect on the environments and situations around me.  When I attended college, I developed the grandest of ambitions.  Upon graduating I travelled to Suzhou, People’s Republic of China, where I taught ESL to university students for an entire academic year.

In the fall of 2006, I was offered a full graduate assistantship in Philosophy at the University of Connecticut — essentially an opportunity to get paid for being a student.  I savored the impending opportunity, the chance to flex my mental muscles in the ivory tower, to acquire the tools of knowledge that would enable me to lead the life of the meaningful professor.

… I hated what I saw.  Professors were stand-offish; students were all “Type A.”  Everyone seemed to care solely about his or her research concerns — but not at all about teaching.  The environment reminded me of a large, impersonal machine; there were no agents of change to be found anywhere.

After less than a month, I left the 5-year program and went back to the proverbial drawing board.

…

My then-girlfriend had participated in an alternative certification teaching program for 2 years in Philadelphia, the kind of thing that’s perfect for a would-be world-changer.  I began to explore the possibilities of teaching public school in a brand new city.

I’d visited New Orleans once before, to run a half-marathon, in 2003.  I knew it to be a laid-back kind of city, but the post-Katrina landscape I’d only experienced via national news outlets, presented numerous worries.  Philadelphia (where I was living at the time) was my first choice; I also thought Denver would be a sexy pick.

In the end, I was selected to teach middle-school mathematics in Greater New Orleans.  While I could have easily declined the option and chosen simply to work an office job or pursue other interests, I decided that the education rebuilding process taking place in the Big Easy was as vivid a change-the-world opportunity as I was ever likely to find.

…

Again, I moved here with the widest of eyes.  I conjured Obama-like visions of closing the achievement gap, of giving dozens of low-income children a shot at an exceptional education.

… Again, I found disappointment

…

 Teaching is far and away the most difficult endeavor I’ve undertaken in all my 26 years.  It’s also the most humbling.

Imagine: A room full of 10-12 children, all between the ages of 13 and 17, who are attending the school at which you teach because they desperately want to reach their “right grade.”  And you, a young idealist with a high IQ and little responsibility other than this job, ready, willing, and able to work towards those very ends.

It should be easy, right?  Wrong.

Rather than change the world through education, I’ve allowed education to change me.  I’m presently more pessimistic, cynical, and emotionally lazy than I’ve ever been; my students, on the other hand, are still behind.

…

President Obama certainly has a full plate in front of him.  I, as a supporter, fervently hope that he can substantiate the unparalleled promise of his ascendence and tangibly bring positive change to our world.

Personally speaking, though, I recognize the considerable force with which idealism can often be flattened.

…

We like to believe that we, as absolute and uniquely wired agents, make history what it is. 

This may be so… but the events in which we play a part possess an equal power: They remake us, day in and day out.

 

 

Illusions of Grandeur

I used to believe in compartmentalization.  I’ve always thought that each facet of life can be discussed, judged, and altered independently of all others.  To wit, work is work; school is school; and love is love.  What’s capital-R right at school may not be so on the job; and the rules of a relationship are far different than the rules of friendship.

Yessir, I’ve always assumed that we live in various mini-worlds, these multifaceted little addends that constitute the sum known as “existence.”  Recently, however, experiences from two seemingly disparate fractions of my life have produced startlingly parallel feelings.  This leads me to believe that there are universal features of existence — eternal nuggets of wisdom that transcend all settings and scenarios.  [Scary thought: What if all experiences are nothing more than slight variations on the same tired themes?  What if details really don't matter?]

…

I play poker.  A lot.  And, as such, I’m accustomed to both jubilation and disappointment.  There’s nothing quite like bluffing at a monster pot on the river — and winning — or cracking some tourist’s pocket Aces with 3-6 off-suit.  There’s also (for better or worse) nothing quite like blowing $550 on a busted flush draw, or having to call a friend to pick you up from the casino at 3 a.m. because you’ve lost — everything — again.

Despite its ups and downs, and despite its tenuous moral implications, poker is undeniably a game chock full of lessons.  Take, for instance, this scenario from several weeks ago:

I’m sitting at Harrah’s playing $1-$2 No-Limit Hold-’Em.  I began the session with $300, so that I could afford to mix things up early — you know, see a few flops and try to hit a monster hand against a tight player.  I was playing relatively tight poker, having won a few decent-sized pots here and there.  After a couple of hours, my stack was up to about $420.

Sitting in the small blind, I look down at a pair of black 5′s.  3 or 4 people have called the $2 big blind in front of me, so I limp in, and the big blind checks.  Out comes the flop:

2s – 5d – 8h

Bingo.  I’ve hit my set, and there aren’t any flush draws or likely straight draws to worry about.  This is the type of hand in which every poker player worth his or her salt expects to get paid off — big time.

Naturally, I check my set.  The big blind also checks.  The next player bets $10, which is called by the 2 players behind him.  At this point, I suspect that someone could be drawing to a straight, so I raise the bet to $45 — and this is where things get sticky.

After about 40 seconds of thought, the big blind RE-RAISES my bet to a total of $140.  The 3 players behind him fold, and the action is back to me.  Inside, my heart is racing.  My eyes are aglow at the prospects before me.  Winning this pot could mean another payment on my credit card, groceries for a month, not having to call mom and have her wire me “one last emergency hundred.”  I could even take Sunshine out to a nice dinner, or buy her a surprise I-love-you gift.  I NEED this pot.  And, even more so, I WANT this pot.  The sucker’s sitting directly to my left, re-raising ME when I’m sitting on trip 5′s.  It’s beauuuuuutiful.

I quickly announce “all-in” for my remaining money (about $190 on top of the big blind’s re-raise).  He INSTANTLY calls, at which point I triumphantly reveal my hand.  With an ever-so-slight wince, Skip (as I later found his name to be) coyly turns over his hand: 8s – 8c.

The SOB had flopped top set.

No miracle 5 came on the turn or river.  That meant no more presents for Sunshine.  No more wide-eyed dreams of making a dent in my mountain of debt.

All I could do was choke back the tears of frustration — at least until I reached my car — and hope like hell that I had enough gas to get home.

…

Much like poker, teaching middle school offers me its own array of enlightening life lessons.  I work just outside of New Orleans at a program created specifically for over-aged students — adolescents who have failed at least two grades, and often more.

The environment is a precarious one.  The school’s curriculum is “accelerated,” allowing students to complete more than one grade in one academic year.  At the same time, though, students are acutely aware of their “behind” status; this creates a strand of defeatism that runs counter to the school’s ambitious intentions.  Thus, I am left to navigate the tense terrain, attempting earnestly to emphasize the importance of “catching up” while trying not to create a sense of “difference” or “special-ness.”

Last week, there arose a situation that immediately led me to recall the now-infamous “set of 5′s.”

I have this student — we’ll call her Cathy — who is extremely complex.  She lives with her just-older brother and his girlfriend, a situation that was deemed more stable than the one in her parents’ home.  She’s one of the only Caucasian kids in the school, and she frequently smells of cigarette smoke (a result of being driven to school by her brother).  In light of all these factors, it’s no surprise that Cathy is horrified by mathematics.  She is intimidated by novel concepts — especially those that must be performed without a calculator.  Assignments that I assume to require 15 minutes and 1 sheet of paper often entail an hour and 10 sheets when Cathy is concerned.

To be frank, Cathy epitomizes the reason I moved to New Orleans.  This region’s schools have long been in disarray, and Hurricane Katrina (despite its catastrophic effects) actually offered an opportunity for a complete and utter overhaul.  Over the past few years, talented young people from the business world to the Ivy League have given up their otherwise prosperous endeavors to help rebuild NOLA’s schools.

So, I don’t mention Cathy’s “issues” in a disparaging way; rather, I appreciate and cherish them, for they fuel my idealistic fire.

Back to the incident at hand: Last week, students were given a quiz on fractions — they were asked to simplify them, change their form, and perform all operations with them.  Cathy spent days and days complaining about how much she loathed fractions.  I spent significant time teaching — and re-teaching — her the steps involved in each kind of problem, making sure to provide clear visual aids at all times.  She even stayed after school on several occasions so that other teachers could present the material in a variety of ways.

When quiz day came, I was nervous, to say the least.  I just didn’t know how Cathy and the rest of the kids would perform.  (As a teacher, you’re ultimately judged by test results.  This is simply a cold, hard fact in today’s education system.)

Cathy asked if she could take her test in a 1-on-1 environment with one of our Special Education teachers.  Knowing that a quiet, focused environment would benefit her, I happily met her request.  When the class period ended, I walked out of my door to begin my half-hour of lunch duty.  Cathy came down the hallway alongside Ms. Flo, apologizing for “just having finished the quiz.”  I responded that this was no problem, and asked Cathy to place her completed quiz on my desk.

…

When I entered my room after lunch was over, I sat down to mark the quizzes from 3rd period.  I placed Cathy’s paper on the top of the pile, and grabbed my red pen.  My eyes have never bulged (and my heart has never pounded so exhuberantly) as they did during those glorious 2 minutes.  This was the victory I’d been waiting for.  This was validation — justification for 2 long years of late nights, early mornings, and sometimes unbearable pressure.

As I scanned down the columns — Skill 8, Skill 9 — there were no wrong answers in sight.  Something peculiar soon caught my attention, though: In the final two sections, 4 answers were written in a different color.  The original answers had been scratched out and replaced… correctly.

Suddenly, I froze.

When I’d walked in to begin marking the quizzes, the key was already on my desk.  In fact, it sat right beside the stack into which Cathy slid her own completed packet.

After hours — after days – of instruction, extra practice, careful attention, and reinforcement…

… Cathy cheated.

…

I used to believe in compartmentalization.  Now, though, I realize that feelings are universal.  All experiences, regardless of their setting, entail the same volatility, the same peaks and valleys.  The addends of our lives are, as it turns out, part of a cohesive emotional sum.

I’ve flopped a set and lost, and I’ve been burned by a dishonest student.

Eternal Thread #1: Some things are just too good to be true.

Welcome to The Daily Rake

Welcome, dear friends (and random folks, and enemies), to my brand new blog. “The Daily Rake” is a big step forward for me, in that it represents the first time I’ve ever set out to chronicle the happenings of my own life. I tend to write at length about minute sports arguments, obscure cross-discipline connections, and countless other topics that might generously be referred to as “hodgepodge.” (Anyone with half a brain would use the term “shite.”)

This new undertaking, however, follows a completely untrodden (and terrifying) path: I will henceforth write about the world through the lens of my own life.

I will probe the deep emotional struggles that characterize the daily life of a teacher in a school for over-aged children; I will address the ups and downs of being in a cross-cultural relationship; I’ll give firsthand accounts of what it feels like to have a gambling problem; and I’ll (eventually) chronicle my path to one of the nation’s top 20 law schools.

I’m sure that other subjects will enter the fray from time to time: I’ll certainly write about sports, music, and politics when they prove relevant to my own life. In short, this blog will be the story of an average American twenty-something who has by no means adjusted comfortably to the idea of being “grown up.”