When In Doubt, Write It Out

I've had some very conflicting emotions this past week. While things are going relatively well (considering the circumstances), I've been more down and out than usual. For the first time in a long time I questioned my purpose and effectiveness at my school, and that was a very alarming moment.

I love my job. I love my students. I even love most of my co-workers. However, when the going got tough these past few weeks, and this week especially, I broke down and cried. I felt ineffective, incapable, and lost. After sleeping for 14 hours in the past 24, I rose up from my slump and searched for something to ground me in my purpose, sturdy my resolve.

That's when I came across the first piece I wrote when I started teaching. It was October 1, 2009 and I had been teaching for about 6 weeks. I was knee deep in children (16 going on 20) in a small closet with a carpet that made my head throb every time I walked in. The number of desks needed made it so there was about 15 sq. ft. of walking space, and nothing stuck to the walls because cinderblock was invented by the devil. I had an aide who beat children, and the other tried his best but was as lost as I was. My principal ignored that me and my students existed, and the only time he spoke to me was when one of my students was caught in the wrong location. "This MR kid doesn't belong here. Don't let him out of your site, Walker."

I was in a pretty low place. Even though I cried every day at 1pm to my mother (thanks for listening, Mom), I was more angry than sad. So what did I do? I wrote about it.

I Can. I Will. I Must.

I accept that DC schools are among the lowest performing in the country – at the moment.

I accept that my school was shut down because it did not meet AYP three years in a row.

I accept that I was placed in a classroom that is filled with students who have a disability I was completely unprepared for.

I accept that John cannot read the word “the”.

I can even accept that Joseph came from a school that refused to teach him.

I accept that Diamond has brain cancer and may not live to next year.

I accept that Denzel adds with his fingers – but is a regionally ranked basketball player.

I accept that my students have been neglected and forgotten in a broken system.

However…

I do not accept that Washington, D.C. chooses to label children as “Mentally Retarded” – for it scars my students deep in their souls – they are “Intellectually Disabled”, not retarded.

I do not accept that these children cannot learn – because they learn everything I offer them.

I do not accept that Clarice comes to my room nearly every day and says “Ms. Walker, can I be in your class? I want to learn how to read but my teacher won’t teach me.”

I do not accept that these children are a lost cause in need of babysitting – because they are independent and strong young adults.

I do not accept that DC public schools refuse to open their eyes to the traumatic experiences they have put these children through.

I do not accept that a group of students at my school do not have a classroom, or a teacher, because it is not an emergency.

Instead…

I accept the responsibility to educate the forgotten, the broken, the alone.

I choose to teach some of the most eager and engaging children and tell them they CAN learn, they ARE smart, they WILL read.

I empower my children with the ability to teach others what they know – not make excuses for what they do not.

I enable my children to fight for their right to an education – since nobody has ever told them they have that right.

I fight for the children who have been told they are not to interact with other kids because they are called “retarded”, “stupid”, and “unable to learn”.

I teach those who are feared, shunned, and misunderstood.

I tell my students every day that they are smart, beautiful, and able to learn – as some have never heard these words said to them.

I can, I will, and I must advocate for the children who have been forgotten, for the children who have been pushed aside and hidden behind a door stained with the stigmatized label “Special Ed”.

I refuse to sit and watch a population be discarded and neglected.

I teach 9-12^th grade, self-contained, MR Cluster students.

I come from a life of privilege and good fortune, but I have never been as privileged as I am now – teaching 17 children who are fighting the system and proving that they CAN, WILL, and MUST learn.

When I had finished, I sent it to my father, my biggest fan and best critic. Once he read it (and sent me some edits), he told me to share it with others. He was moved, motivated, and angry about what he had read, and he wanted other people to feel the same. (He and I, we're two peas in a pod.) So I sent it along to my mentor, and ended up being nominated to read it to 300 other educators. It has slowly spiraled through my education circles, and people have thanked me for strengthening their resolve in the mission that all children deserve an equal and excellent education.

The most important part of this piece was it gave me my mantra. No, not the "shit could always be worse" mantra that I seem to have had on repeat for the past 7 months, but the "I can, will, must" mantra. The driving force behind everything I do.

I can design and deliver an excellent education, both in and outside of the classroom.
I will work tirelessly to deliver said education to all children who enter my life.
I must do this in order to be a proud citizen of the great United States of America. There is no other option, this must happen.

A lot has changed since I wrote "I Can. I Will. I Must." We have a thriving program for students with Intellectual Disabilities at my school. It is no longer just me, but a team of teachers that educate these beautiful children. DCPS has not only paid attention to, but acknowledge our students, their accomplishments, and has begun working with other clusters to change their curriculum. The national language to describe my students' condition has officially changed from "Mental Retardation" to "Intellectual Disability."

But it's not all sunshine and rainbows. We're back to being severely understaffed because of budget cuts and lack of understand for what is necessary for our children. I have begun working with students outside of the cluster and have been exposed to new injustices within our building and district. It is these challenges that made me question my resolve and ability these past few weeks. However, it is also what gives me resolve to move forward.

Today, I move forward instead of backwards, regardless of the direction that the system is trying to make me go.

I Can. I Will. I Must.