A Conversation in April

When I meet new people and tell them what I am doing on the Delta, there is a pretty consistent assumption that I am in Teach For America. Teach for America (TFA) is a much larger, much more well known alternate-route teaching program that serves critical need areas all over the country. Due to the similarities of the missions, there are a copious amount of TFA'ers on the Mississippi Delta (roughly 540) and the issues faced by any TFA teacher here easily mirror those of the Teacher Corps. When reading articles like this one and this one, I can only nod my head as I am reminded of critiques and war stories of my own.

I remember a conversation over dinner the April before I started the program. I was living in a big city, with a much more lucrative and attractive job, and had been making plans to make the transition to the Delta. In the conversation, my friend asked me: "What are you most excited about?", to which I paused, pondered for a second, and responded, "you know, I'm just really excited about working my butt off, I know it's going to be a challenge, but that's what I'm most looking forward to". For whatever reason, this conversation has lingered with me through the past eight months and likely will continue to. Not for the ignorance of my answer, but for the life lesson that has come from it.

It is easy to talk about training for a marathon. You can research training plans, make fantastic carb heavy meals, and even go buy a pair of new shoes. At some point though, you actually have to start running. All the talking of training and intentions won't actually bring you to the finish line, only your legs will. Herein lies the lesson, as it has been my experience with Teacher Corps as well. It is one thing to say, "yeah I hear this is the most difficult thing I'll ever have to do", and a completely different thing to rise at 4:30 am in October, exhausted and defeated, and realize it is only Tuesday and you have to continue on for four more days and seven more months.

A certain element of teaching here requires planning, a certain element involves realistic expectation, and a lot of it mandates grit. I don't say this to glorify myself and my meager accomplishments here, but because the expectations of the experience should be realistic. All too often, I imagine aspiring teachers read or hear the accounts of the alternate route, and imagine themselves to be the exception. "Oh well it's terrible that they had to deal with that, but I surely won't have to", they think, or "well it sounds like they had a very difficult time, but they probably didn't do much in college to prepare them". To all these thoughts, I would humbly say, "I hope you're right". Yes, I poured a lot of time into studying while in college. Yes, I was heavily involved in several extra-curricular activities while enrolled. Yes I worked. These are all things that caused strain and stress in my life, but again, the comparison is not there.

The difficulty comes, though, when one hears accurate testimonies, and discounts them to subjective self-pity. Any random aspiring teacher can hear that they will likely face the challenge of their life, but to say this and to do it are two very different challenges.

Will This Circle Please Be Broken

Yesterday, while in my first period Precalculus class, a young lady asked if she could have a word with me outside in private. She spoke softly, with worry filling her eyes and I knew something was not as it should be. We stepped outside, and she explained to me that there had been a death in her family. With a concerned voice, she informed me that due to this death, she may be at odds with some other students in the school. Apparently her step-grandfather had passed, and there was some confusion as to the actual cause of the man's death. I tried to decipher what I could from the girl, offered to help in any way I could, and we returned back to the class room.

The next period, the same girl came to my door with tears in her eyes. Her boyfriend was in this class, and she came to speak with him. Given the background and situation, I allowed her to speak with her boyfriend, and after a few minutes, he returned back to class. His face showed anger and I could only guess that she had had a run in with another student.

Today during the RIT instructional period (homeroom), there was a large disturbance taking place outside. Because the students were just completely reassigned new teachers for this class, I figured there would be some confusion as to where each student was to be. The commotion outside, however, clearly indicated something more was wrong. One could hear screaming through the window, and when I looked outside, I saw people running. One student yelled, "oh they fightin'", which would be the assumed cause, but nothing was visible from my classroom. Honestly, I had no idea what was going on. There was a general uneasiness in the air, but I knew not why. For a moment I was tempted to run out and see if I could lend a hand, but with a class full of students, and 3 stitches in my toe, I thought I should probably stay and watch after my own flock. Within a few minutes of the bell ringing, there was an announcement over the intercom to lock our doors and not let any students in or out of the classroom. I continued on with class as normal, hoping that my students would remain calm and direct their focus toward my instruction. Luckily they did, and after a few minutes nothing else could be heard outside.

Several periods later, I spoke with the School's resource officer, and was informed of what had happened just a few periods earlier. The girl's situation I had heard about yesterday had unfortunately escalated. The girl in my first period class was attacked by one of my football players, and a kid I would have never guessed could be capable of doing such a thing. It seems the step-grandfather who had passed over the weekend had a history of beating his wife. This step-grandfather was a member of one local family (the football player's), and his wife was a member of another (the girl's). The cause of his death is still up to debate, and the families involved are at odds with one another over it; one claims heart attack, the other suspects murder. Because the community is so small here, the families are big and the loyalties deep. An offensive word or act to one person could offend a whole host of others, so naturally the situation at hand created an explosive and volatile atmosphere.

Until today, the two students involved were friends. After today, though, their lives could be permanently changed. This is a sad sad situation.

A sick irony is that two generations later, there is a young man from one family who is in prison for beating a young woman from another. The reason why? Because of accusations of a man from one family beating a woman from another, two generations earlier.

Snow Day on the Delta

Admittedly, when I returned from Christmas break, I was a bit disillusioned. I was back on the Delta, away from family and friends, and the realities of the day to day requirements were setting back in. We came back to school on a Monday (which is brutal by the way), and went through a full week of class. Toward the end of the week, I began hearing rumors of potential wintry weather that could come our way, and my spirit started hoping and praying for a snow day. The rumor has always been that schools here could be cancelled even with a threat, so I knew the 100% precipitation that was predicted for Sunday night had a great deal of potential. Sure enough, wintry weather arrived. It started as snow, then we had some sleet, then more snow, providing a light white blanket over the Mississippi Delta. As I looked out the window into the arctic tundra that was forming outside, my mind began reeling with how I could accomplish what I really wanted to do with my day off: go duck hunting.

I've grown up hunting and got into duck hunting when I went to college. Because the Delta is so close to the Mississippi flyway, duck hunting here has been acclaimed as one of the better places to hunt duck in the United States, if not world. I moved down here with all of this in mind, and hoped that I could make the connections necessary to do some legitimate Delta duck hunting while here. Fortunately I have developed a fantastic community of people through my church, and within this group there happens to be some salty waterfowlers.

I called up a friend whom we'll call Farmer John. Farmer John is, you guessed it, a farmer, and consequently has a copious amount of land that floods in the winter months. These fields which once held rice or corn are now magnets for various species of waterfowl and are prime locations for duck hunting. After speaking with Farmer John for a few minutes, we had reached an agreement, and I made plans to arrive at his house at 5:30 the next morning.

I could hardly sleep that night; I think I literally got 3 hours. Between nervous excitement and random energy, I had to do push ups and read Old Testament literature to eventually find slumber. Sure enough, though, my alarm fired off at 3:50 a.m. and I was on the road to Farmer John's by 4:30 a.m.

Because of the nature of the roads, I tried to leave ample time to make the 30 mile drive to Farmer John's. I crept my front-wheel drive Honda Accord up the highway, knowing that a bad move could literally result in my being stuck in a ditch for who knows how long. Motivated by a healthy amount of fear and a giddy excitement that rivals this kid, I completed my passage and pulled into a remote driveway in the middle of nowhere.

After we loaded the 4-wheeler, bags, decoys and guns, we set off to one of his fields on the snow-covered gravel roads. After a short ride, we unloaded the 4-wheeler, and continued on to one of Farmer John's duck blinds. A duck blind is a place where hunters are able to hide and stay out of sight from the ducks and out of touch from the weather. Think of it like a baseball dugout with camo all over it on the side of a lake or field. We sat in the blind as shooting light came and passed, and honestly saw little action. A few birds passed here and there, we shot two, but again, were sort of wondering where all the ducks were. After about thirty minutes, we kept hearing the near deafening noise of the thousands of geese on the fields nearby. I turned to Farmer John and asked if he wanted to maybe just poke his head around and look at 'em, he smiled and agreed.

We left the blind, and went over to a slough (a muddy side channel) on a neighboring field. This is where it got good. We arrived to a place among the cattails and marsh grass, threw out a couple of decoys, and set up on the shoreline. The birds that had seen us arrive were initially a little skittish, but either they left or forgot about us, because it wasn't long before there would be a steady stream of birds flying in within range. One fell, then another two and so on down the line until I had successfully shot my daily limit. I'll be honest and say that I've never shot my daily limit. Admittedly I was beginning to think I might have been cursed because of my track record with duck hunting is so dismal. The curse was broken, though, and we began to accumulate a small pile of feathered friends as the morning matured.

All in all, we shot nine birds that day, and had a boat load of fun doing it. I was able to get out in God's creation, marvel and the beauty of the region, and truly and legitimately experience some of the storied Delta duck hunting. It is a hunt I will not soon forget, and will surely be a new standard for my hunting. Interestingly, it also happened to be a bit prophetic that I was able to hunt duck on the morning of the BCS Championship game, where the Tigers of Auburn ate some duck of their own. In light of their victory, we'll dedicate the song of the week to "the loveliest village on the plains". KL, this one's for you, WAR EAGLE.