Week 2

            On Friday, I was thanked profusely, almost desperately, for my efforts in the classroom. The thing in particular that my praiser noted is, to my delight, what I’ve been trying to work on—the hands-on approach to the children. As much as I sort of conceptualized for you in the last post my methodology, this type of treatment really just seems intuitive to me. Sister M (the one offering this compliment) told me that she rarely, if ever, sees the mentors actually playing or even merely conversing casually with the children beyond the rigid events of their daily schedule. As soon as the mentors are done instructing, dictating, or rebuking, they become more reserved towards the children, preferring to chitchat amongst themselves. I suppose this makes sense considering the children usually provide each other entertainment (they are by no means just sitting around), but how does one justify being there on a daily basis if they’re not continuously interactive with the children? The emotional, supportive foundation of this program seems heavily dependent on instilling value by way of attention and relationship building.

            Admittedly, I’ve been doing my job a considerably less amount of time than any of the mentors. Some jading is bound to sneak in. Also, their opportunities for interaction are seemingly infinite. If they come in with a spirit less than bounding, they always have the next day, week, or year to finish the job. The brevity of our program makes our work more urgent. Our window is much smaller. This is interesting, however, because it is not an entirely realistic work model. Knowing that our efforts for whatever particular organization we are interning with are technically temporary, we can justifiably exhaust ourselves. We may never work with the same demographic, region, or issue ever again. This position is perhaps dangerous because it might allow us a false sense of superiority. This is something to be mindful of.

            On a completely tangential note, I’ve found the simple notion of communication to be frustrating recently. For instance, part of the curriculum preparation includes crafting and filling “mystery boxes” full of items relating to the stories we'll be teaching on. I’ve been responsible for sifting through stories, picking out important objects that could manifest themselves as items in the “mystery box”. I was under the impression that we were trying to be economical with the items so for a number of them, I opted to make colorful, construction paper replicas as opposed to purchasing everything from the store. I’m by no means the best artist, but I was relatively proud of the work I’d spent a few hours on. I did not, however, explicitly consult my supervisor about the specifics of this project. This sort of statement might give the impression that I’m ominously foreshadowing an altercation, but I’m not. I was only given a mild complaint that perhaps the objects should be more tangible. This makes a lot sense in retrospect (especially when I’m mindful of how distractible these children are—they probably could not care less about my excuses for cutouts)—I just wish I had been given more direction and rigidity in terms of their expectations. This doesn’t mean we will scrap everything I’ve been working on—it just sets me back a few hours and makes me feel a little less useful. Oh well.

            In general, I find communication about these open-ended kinds of projects to be a bizarre fear of mine. In hopes that I won’t have to change the way I think is right to approach a project (to make my work seemingly irreversible), I often times consciously/subconsciously (I’m still deciding) allow myself to become too far invested in a project and only ask for approval after I’ve made considerable progress. This is weird and also something I should consider being mindful of.

            Anyway, as much as I complain and philosophize, the time I spend with the children is a whole lot of fun. If I’m not making them any more insightful or responsible, I hope I’m at least making their lives a little happier.  

1st Post!

            I’ve found the best way to approach the hands on work I’m doing with the children is to act as if I am one of them. This sounds like a cliché, but I’m really trying to embody it. You see, each class has a mentor or teacher—ideally, a young adult African American male that has grown up in the program. For that reason, they are very familiar with the sort of personal development ideals that the program asks the boys to strive for. Being in positions of authority, however, it is difficult to not be somewhat domineering. It’s not as if the boys respond horribly to this type of treatment or anything, it just often rubs me the wrong way. When I was plopped into the “Kings” classroom (ages 7-9), I was given very little (if any) instruction as to how to behave myself. For this reason, I felt challenged (or perhaps inspired) to make the role my own. Whenever Brother O and Brother D request that the boys sit down on the carpet in preparation for sharing a bit about their day, I do the same. Whenever they make clear that it is time to clean up after playing, I start cleaning up with them. Whenever the boys must walk the halls silently and single-filed, I secretly sneak a poke at my neighbor’s pudgy waist—eliciting as many smiles as possible. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not as if I’m attempting to mock their authority—I recognize the necessity of having someone in charge of calling the shots. The reality is, however, that there are already two authority figures! I’ve chosen to just act like one of their buddies. It does put me in a weird position though. No matter how much I goof off, I’m certainly not going to be rebuked by the mentors. I have their respect. In the one instance in which my mentor got onto one of the boys for talking (when inspired by me), I quickly took the blame and the mentor smiled and shook his head.

            I think my methodology of befriending has served me well. One of the boys in particularly certainly gets more antsy and excited when I’m spotted as opposed to the mentors. I’m hoping that the position of friendship will allow me to better embody the type of rebuke that was recommended by Sister T during our first day’s orientation—to suggest alternative behaviors when necessary as opposed to demanding them. This is in the interest of making good behavior seem like plausible possibility as opposed to antithesis—as in, maybe I’ll come off as just a good friend giving them casual advice.

            Will this type of relationship serve me well in the long run? Since it’s the end of the school year, the children rarely have any homework and so I’ve not really had to function much as a formal educator. During the small glimpses for 10 minutes here or 20 minutes there that I’ve had of actual “tutoring”, I’ve found the kids to be pretty difficult to work with. Don’t get me wrong—not significantly more difficult than other student’s I’ve tutored, but perhaps a little bit more. They’ve struggled. This is frustrating and exciting. I’ve got work to do over this summer! I will also have to be exceptionally patient!

            Most importantly, I wonder if the friendly relationship I’ve established with the boys makes me harder to take seriously when it’s time to do the “real” work. Is it more confusing and problematic than strategic that I’m acting like I’m just “one of the boys”? Is it hard for them to code switch into academic mode when they just saw me ridiculously impersonating an alien made of K’nex that I’ve provocatively named “One-Eyed Charlie”? Time will tell.