A Journey Through Deja Vu

Who am I when I can only change my address?

As I walked through the halls I felt like I was a freshman in high school again. Being mistaken for a student by the security guards and teachers didn’t make my time warp less of a reality. Why did they hire me; what could I do about the problem in schools on the south side of Chicago? How could I reach these students when I grew up two expressways away? I was at this high school to aid in running The Alternative to Suspension Program (ASP). It was setup to reduce suspension rates, each student that created an infraction was sent to my classroom for half the days they would have gotten for being suspended. For instance, if they should have gotten 10 days they spent 5 with me, or 5 days they spent 3 with me. In my class we worked on behavior modification, conflict resolution, and most importantly respect. In order to complete the program a student had to follow all of the rules and submit an exiting essay; if these things weren’t done then the student was awarded their full suspension. I had students that saw fighting as a hobby, that saw a “D” as a good grade because it was a passing grade, and saw that if they weren’t hardcore then they were getting ran over. Each time a new student walked through my door I made sure I established the rules to set that “I’m not going” tone, but after that was done it was all about getting to know who I had to be with for the next few days so I could know how to handle each situation. I listened to their stories without bias and respected them as long as I received it too, I tried to show them that “keeping it real” all the time can go wrong, and most importantly I tried to teach them that life is not fair, so don’t expect the best, that’s something you have to work for. One day these twin boys was sitting in my classroom for keeping it too real apparently; they had a temper problem and as I got to know them the only thing that ran through my mind was “Déjà vu”! We had more in common than I could imagine and I soon started to see how much I had in common with my other students. All I did was listen to each student and gave each one advice on how I would have handled the situation, but in the same breath not taking away from the choice they already made. That’s all I did, all I did was listen, and soon those students that cursed their teachers for telling them to pull out a pencil during the test was asking their friends not to curse in front of Ms. Victoria because it was disrespectful; go figure! Students I didn’t know were walking up to me in the hall asking me if I could be their mentor, but then get upset when I told them I only helped the suspended students. After I read each essay I realized these students listened to me and it meant so much, because who am I? Some people talk all day but you will never remember a word that they’ve said, but these students repeated all of my lessons in their papers. When I read them it made my alarm clock going off at 5am, my $74 paid each month to a gym I wasn’t attending, and telling my friends I couldn’t hang out all worth it. I reached them, but who am I? What can I do about the major problem in the schools on the south side of Chicago, especially when I drive away from it every day to live like a fat rat among the diverse? I felt like mosquitoes fighting a windstorm, because as soon as they walk out of my classroom reality kicked back in and the walls came back up. What could I do about the problem on the south side of Chicago when the system is structured to keep things the way they are? Who am I when I could have easily been one of these students if I had a different address?