Second Chances

Occassionally, I am asked by Rocketship Public Schools Milwaukee to write a brief reflection. I wrote this one about a family with whom I have worked for 3 years. Enjoy!
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Two weeks before the start of the 2017-2018 school year, I picked up my phone and made calls to all 19 families on my student roster. Most parents were shocked and dismayed when I informed them that their child’s previous ISE Specialist had transitioned to a new position and that I would be their child’s teacher. My predecessor was a popular and well-respected educator, so I knew I had my work cut-out for me. I had to convince the families that I would provide the same type of excellent instruction to which they had grown accustomed. 

For Mariella Gonzalez, however, there was no convincing. After two phone calls, I finally got a hold of her and introduced myself. Our conversations was very short: "My kids are no longer attending Rocketship. Sorry." And that was it. We said our good-byes and hung up. 

In July of 2017, Mariella unenrolled her children from Rocketship and had transferred them to another school down the street. Citing changes in her work schedule, she had unexpectedly informed Rocketship administrators that her children Emily and Kenny would no longer be attending. But there was more to her decision. “Kenny’s K4 year was tough,” recalled Mariella. “He needed a lot of support from me and the teachers and I felt the stress at work, so I moved him.”  But in a very short amount of time, she realized she had made a mistake. “After two weeks at the new school, I was informed by the special education staff that they could not accommodate Kenny.”

Within one month of the school year starting, she was left without options for her children. Mariella scrambled and began to look for other placements.  “I travelled all over the city, going to different schools and administrative offices,” she remembers, “but nothing was working. I decided to go back and ask Rocketship if I could return. I was not sure if the school would accept us back.” Rocketship welcomed her back without hesitation.

I remember the day Kenny showed up in the lunchroom. It was in late September and I was having a difficult day. There were multiple behavior calls, an emotionally-exhausting parent meeting, and, on top of all that, I was barely keeping up with teaching load. I sat dumbfounded when I saw Kenny arrive, and heard he would now be added to my caseload. As a first-year teacher, I was overwhelmed. But I made an about-face, shook Mariella’s hand and introduced myself to Kenny. His eyes were darting all over the room and his whole body shook with pulses of energy. He bolted across the cafeteria, screamed, and then jumped up the steps and began swinging on the handrail. “What am I going to do?” I thought.

Slowly but surely, Kenny and I built a strong teacher-student relationship. It did not come easily. Just as his mom had said, he required a lot of attention and care. But inch-by-inch, we worked on his self-control, we channeled his creative talents to incorporate art and play into his daily schedule, and we stayed positive. With time, I began to see that Kenny as one of the most caring and empathetic children in our school. He was becoming a true asset to our community. Working with Kenny meant that I was in regular, daily contact with Mariella. We developed an effective parent-teacher partnership based on openness, honesty, and joy. And I saw it pay dividends. Now, when Mariella speaks about her son, two years later, she says this: “I see him having a bright future. I see him being somebody.”

Kenny is now in second grade and is succeeding in his class. He is making growth in his academics and with his behavior. It will not be easy, of course, but with the loving support of teachers and parents, his future is bright. During a recent visit to the school, I asked Mariella what her favorite memories of the past two years have been. “When Rocketship accepted us back,” she stated without hesitation. “The staff is so caring towards all children. You do not treat kids with disabilities any differently. You have the same love for them all.”

Teacher Lesson: Parent Power

August 2018

Tracing my finger along Windlake Road, I made note of the turns, tabulated the mileage, and committed the map’s image to my memory. I had done this many times before. After eight years of biking around Milwaukee, I was confident in my sense of direction. So when I jumped on my bike, with less than 15 minutes before my scheduled arrival for Antonio’s home visit, I was confident I’d be there on time.  But a funny thing happened when I crossed Mitchell Avenue and turned left to head north past St. Michael's Basilica on Milwaukee’s Southside: I lost my bearings. I quickly made a left-hand turn and pedaled another mile. I passed several bodegas and corner bars with names like “Super Mercado” and “Food and Soda.”  I anticipated an upcoming intersection, and when it didn’t materialize, I realized I was lost. I called Ivelise.

 “Hey Ivelise. I apologize, but where is your house again?” I asked.  “Union Street. Near Greenfield,” she said.  “OK! See you soon.”

I backtracked, but I didn’t feel confident. I stopped to ask a few pedestrians for assistance, but because I didn't speak Spanish, they were unable to help me. I was disoriented in a bewildering maze of bungalow houses, concrete streets, and alleys. I called two more times. I was now late by 30 minutes. Stressed, I made an ill-advised turn, hit a crack in the road, and fell over. I was ready to cancel the visit. “Hey Ivelise, I am completely lost. Can you wait just a little while longer? I am so sorry.” Half expecting an angry response, I was shocked when Ivelise quickly said, “Yes! Of course. We will be here.” I continued on. I spotted her 15 minutes later sitting on the porch watching Antonio ride his bike on the sidewalk. I was now a full 45 minutes late. Embarrassed, I slunk up her steps and apologized. She smiled, gave me a hug, and then handed me a Puerto Rican empanada and water. I was so grateful for the food. In that moment, her house became my refuge. She saw me in a vulnerable state and offered sustenance and comfort. I wondered how I would have reacted.

October 2018

Right away, I knew something wasn’t right with Ivelise. She sat there dejected in her chair. Shoulders slumped forward, hands on her forehead, softly mouthing the phrase, “No. No. No.”  Everyone was silent. “Would you like some time?” I asked. “No. Let’s keep going,” she said. I proceeded with the IEP meeting. Taking a cue from Ivelise’s demeanor, I faced her and reassured her that her son Antonio was gregarious, loveable, and hard-working. “Not only does he work hard, but he has a sense of humor,” I continued, “he is empathetic and caring; you’re raising a wonderful young man.” My words felt like shallow platitudes. But I meant them. Ivelise looked up at me said “thank you” and silently waited for the academic report.

IEP meetings can be bewildering experiences for parents, teachers, and students alike. They are full of educational jargon and acronyms. There are specialists--Speech and Language Pathologists, Occupational Therapists, Psychologists, Physical Therapists and others--each speaking a language composed of acronyms and code words unique to their field. As the educational specialist, I too have my own “teacher talk.” Here are just a few of the common acronyms I use regularly during a meeting: PLOP, MAP, STEP, BIP/FBA, SDD, OHI, ED, ILD and IEP.

Just as it is difficult to estimate the worth of a grown adult by merely looking at their profession or salary, the same is true for a child. Occasionally, educators (myself included) are guilty of deconstructing students into what I like to think of as “educational atoms.” Instead of reflecting on a child’s character growth or their passion for Cenozoic-era reptiles, we talk about their percentage growth in ELA (oops, another acronym). Instead of focusing on a child’s interest in surrealist art, we count the number of behavior referrals sent to the office during chemistry class. Unfortunately, IEP meetings are venues where this type of deconstruction into “academic atoms” can easily take place.

I could see that this was happening to Antonio. Ivelise knew her son struggled with comprehension and reading, but she also saw him holistically, as an individual. And her more nuanced, complex understanding of her son’s character was coming into direct conflict with the numbers and acronyms of the “atomized student” being portrayed during the IEP meeting.  We were all guilty. Especially me.  The tone of the meeting changed drastically when Ivelise talked about Antonio. She spoke about her dreams for Antonio and where she sees his growth both academically and emotionally. The love for her son was infectious and the dignity with which she handled herself during what had to be an emotionally challenging IEP meeting made me reflect on my role as an educator, and has made me a more empathetic teacher.

Perhaps this is a contrived comparison, but after the meeting I thought back to that summer day when I was bewildered and lost searching for Ivelise’s home. And much like that afternoon in August, I was again lost in October. This time, however, there were no roads or wrong turns to be made. Instead, I lost the complete image of her son when his IEP meeting began to focus too much on numbers and not enough on Antonio, the child. But unlike that time in August, Ivelise offered me more than an empanada and a lesson on grace and patience. Like a master of a pointillist painting, she made me step back to see the full canvas. Each minute dot (or atom) was merely one small part of a larger portrait. And she showed me that my relationship with her son is more than just a one-way street of progress reports and IEP meetings. It’s instead a dynamic relationship where I am often the student, being guided and supported by the most impactful teacher of all: the parent.

Fulbright Application / Rejection

I received a rejection letter from the Fulbright Commission today. When I went back to graduate school in 2017, I promised myself that I would apply for a Fulbright Scholarship. It had always been a dream/goal of mine. I kept my promise, and from April 2018 to October 2018, I worked non-stop on writing a competitive application. I received a lot of support from professors at Marquette and Cardinal Stritch Universities. I'm proud of what I accomplished, even if it was not meant to be. I'm going to leave some of the application on this blog for posterity. Many of you probably don't know about my ambition to be a Fulbright Scholar, so for you, this will be entirely new! Enjoy. 

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Personal Statement:

I was the first born in a set of triplets. From birth we were treated as a unit. Strangers and family alike would refer to us as “the boys” or the “Ault brothers.” It was common for people to identify us by one physical feature or a specific character trait (I was deemed “the quiet one”). The only place where I felt treated as an individual was in school. However, the individual attention I received was a consequence of my own failures as a student rather than any unique traits or abilities inherent to me. While my brothers excelled in the classroom, I struggled. When I was in kindergarten my parents were told that I needed to be held back. In first grade, they heard the same thing. It appeared I had a learning disability. I was eventually separated into a special education classroom. My parents and a few of my teachers recognized that holding me back would be difficult due to the fact that I was a triplet--they were concerned about my future confidence and academic success when I got to middle and high school. Instead, the school and my parents worked together to institute an intensive intervention program replete with small group instruction, one-on-one tutors, reading specialists, and academic counselors. This intervention lasted five years. Their hard work paid off. 

In 2013, I graduated from Marquette University with a Master’s Degree in Global History. At the end of the ceremony, my father asked to hold my diploma. I was the first person in my extended family to achieve this level of education. When I put the diploma in his hands, he said that he regretted that the teachers and specialists who worked with me decades ago were not able to share in the moment. In that instance, I realized the lasting impact of special education: the belief in a student’s potential no matter the odds; the power of a future not built upon false hope, but one that is attainable. 

For ten years, I held various positions in an array of nonprofits. I was a teacher, an after-school program director, a youth counselor, and a development director. Through the course of my career in nonprofits, I have had the opportunity to  study and work in the Czech Republic, Moldova, Ukraine, and Nigeria. From 2011-2016, I served as the director and founder of a small nonprofit organization called Diaconia Connections, where I worked to raise over $78,000 for aid and development causes in the Middle East, Eastern Europe, and parts of Eastern Africa. My experiences working internationally challenged me to be a better cross-cultural communicator, to have empathy and seek understanding. By learning languages (I speak Czech and Slovak) and befriending people very different than myself, I became more aware of my privileges, prejudices, and the way in which I represented western power and hegemony (an unsettling realization for an individual working in global relief and development). 

In 2014, I received an invitation to teach at Pater Noster Elementary School in Owerri, Nigeria. The understanding was that I would volunteer for two months, learn about Igbo culture and language, and develop lessons and programs for the students. Pater Noster is a private school with a reputation for international exchange and creativity. Founded in 2010 as a Pre-K through 6th grade elementary school, Pater Noster has since grown to 80 students with a full-time staff of 13 teachers. The school has welcomed three volunteers teachers from the United States (including myself), and has hosted three sets of FLAS fellows through Michigan State University’s African Studies Center for Igbo Language. It was an offer that I could not refuse. At the time,, words like “empowerment” and “agency” were common in my vocabulary. I was concerned about “micro-loans” and “sustainability.” But when I witnessed first-hand the dedication and care of my teacher colleagues at Pater Noster and the seriousness with which Nigerian families take their child’s education, my understanding of “agency” and “empowerment” began to change: a good education and a quality school are the single most important tools for community empowerment. 

In 2017, I accepted a teaching position with Rocketship Southside Community Prep as a Teach-for-America Corps Member and enrolled in a Master’s of Urban Education program at Cardinal Stritch University, with a focus in Special Education. I currently teach in one of the most-impoverished cities in the country (Milwaukee, WI) and work with predominantly Spanish-speaking students from immigrant families. As a special education teacher, I firmly believe that every student can learn. That every student can teach. And that they all have talents, ambitions, and dreams. If we are serious as a country and global community about poverty reduction and equality, then we must offer a quality education to all students regardless of their culture, location, or physical and mental ability. It’s why I’ve proposed this project. I want to work alongside Nigerian teachers to develop with them a training program that will give them the skills and knowledge necessary to provide more inclusive, research-based teaching practices into the classroom—practices that have been proven to enhance the learning of all students, including those with physical, cognitive, intellectual, and emotional disabilities. Simply put, all students should have an opportunity to succeed and pursue their dreams. They should be afforded the resources and support needed to be educated, to attain their career and life ambitions, and to live as independent, civic-minded individuals.  Through the hard work of my own teachers, I’ve been able to live the privilege first-hand. And I know there are students in Owerri, Nigeria, that deserve that chance as well.

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Statement of Grant Purpose

Graduate Application, Urban Special Education (Master’s Degree)

Research into whether professional development trainings around inclusion can influence teacher beliefs and practices would provide insight into how Nigeria can more effectively educate all learners, including those with special needs. As inclusion has become a focus of international educational policy, Nigeria has adopted inclusive tenents into its national educational policy statements. Policy makers around the world are beginning to understand inclusive education as central to human rights and development. Significant barriers, however, prohibit most Nigerian schools from implementing inclusive educational practices. The following are widely-cited problems: limited funding for special education training and resources; culturally-insensitive and ineffective assessment and placement evaluations; negative cultural perceptions; a dearth of assistive technologies; and a small number of properly-trained teachers.  This project proposes to use an Intervention Research method to investigate whether a low-tech, replicable professional development model can improve inclusive practices in Pater Noster Elementary School in Owerri, Nigeria, thus mitigating one of the barriers to Inclusion: teacher training. 

This project developed from discussions with school administrators and teachers in Owerri during the summer of 2014 when I served as a teacher at Pater Noster Elementary School. Fellow teachers and school leaders spoke openly about their need for training in educational strategies to enable them to more effectively educate students who were exhibiting academic and social delays. To meet this need, I was asked to organize and develop a series of three teacher trainings for an all-staff professional development. While the trainings were received positively, I was left wondering whether that form of professional development could be reimagined to make it more culturally-competent, teacher-led, and replicable. Since that time, I have received a Master’s Degree in Global History from Marquette University and pursued a career in nonprofit administration and education. At present, I am working as an elementary special education teacher in the city of Milwaukee, WI, where I teach low-income, Spanish-speaking students from migrant families. Further, I am currently enrolled in an Educational Master’s Degree Program at Cardinal Stritch University, where I am pursuing a degree in Urban Education with a focus in Special Education. 

My research project will be designed to measure the effectiveness of professional development in enhancing the practices and beliefs of teachers around inclusion. To do so, the research will consist of three components: 1) a Pre-Assessment of teacher beliefs and practices; 2) a systemic intervention that will consist of the development and facilitation of a professional development module; 3) a Post-Assessment that will evaluate the effectiveness of the professional development module through observations, teacher belief inventories, and a survey of student perceptions about school connectedness and learning. 

To initiate the first component of the research, I will work with Pater Noster school leaders and regional educational experts to develop a culturally-appropriate Beliefs Inventory tool to obtain baseline information on the knowledge, skills, attitudes and dispositions of Pater Noster teachers towards inclusive practices. The beliefs inventory will be modeled off of the Options Relative to the Integration of Students with Disabilities Mainstreaming (ORI), developed by Antonak and Larivee (1995), along with the Scale of Teachers’ Attitudes Toward Inclusive Classrooms Instruments (STATIC). In addition to the development and use of a beliefs inventory, I will observe the teaching practices of educators in the classroom, evaluating the frequency and use of inclusive practices prior to intervention. Observational protocols will be modeled off of the Teaching Dimensions Observation Protocol (TDOP) and the University of Michigan’s Inventory of Inclusive Teaching Strategies.  Through interviews with teachers and through observations,  I will gather the necessary background information needed to construct an overall inclusive profile of the school, which will be published in a report to the head of school. The duration of this component will be 2 months. 

The second component involves the intervention. To do so, I will synthesize the information gathered from the belief inventories and observations to develop a professional development module that will train teachers in inclusive practices. I will work with Pater Noster school leaders and regional educational experts to formulate a culturally-appropriate professional development curriculum that will incorporate best-practices in adult education, including but not limited to, Universal Design for Learning frameworks that imbed multiple means of learning alongside low-tech elements that incorporate action, expression, and engagement. The professional development module will be designed to be low-tech and easily replicable so that teachers can be trained as facilitators and offer the professional development to both rural and urban schools. Once the professional development module is written, I will then model its facilitation through a series of 5 monthly installments at Pater Noster. Each session will last between 3-5 hours, with targeted practice, coaching, and follow-up, during the weeks between sessions. The duration of this component will be 5-6 months and will begin at the termination of the first.  

The final component of the research will consist of a post-intervention assessment of the effectiveness of the professional development in improving inclusive practices at Pater Noster, whether the training has enhanced the knowledge and skills of teachers around inclusion, and whether the intervention has positively influenced student perceptions and attitudes about school connectedness and learning. To gather the information, I will again model the beliefs inventory off of the Options Relative to the Integration of Students with Disabilities Mainstreaming (ORI), developed by Antonak and Larivee (1995), along with the Scale of Teachers’ Attitudes Toward Inclusive Classrooms Instruments (STATIC); and develop my observational protocol off of the Teaching Dimensions Observation Protocol (TDOP) and the University of Michigan’s Inventory of Inclusive Teaching Strategies. The duration of this component will be 1 month. 

After concluding the research components, I will synthesize my data and findings into a report so that the research can be distributed and presented to educational leaders and government officials in Imo State, Nigeria. I will also work with Pater Noster staff, regional educational experts, and Nigerian Universities to publish the professional development module into a curriculum book so that it can be distributed to other schools in the region. Further, I will work with Pater Noster teachers and school leaders to train them as professional development facilitators and offer the training to other schools in Owerri and Imo State. In the United States, I will seek opportunities to adapt the professional development to offer it to rural and urban schools who are in need of training and guidance around inclusion. I will also seek opportunities to publish my research in academic journals. 

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On Race and the Confederate Flag

It was probably my second or third day at Rocketship when I noticed the flag flying two stories above Cleveland Ave. on Milwaukee’s Southside, hidden behind two spindly spruce trees. The design itself was unmistakable: a blue St. Andrew ’s cross adorned with thirteen white stars set upon a red background. It was none other than the Confederate battle flag—an icon revered by white supremacists, neo-Nazis, and misguided “State’s Righters” and/or “Southern Heritage” fanatics.  

As a white man who has spent periods of my life living in rural America, I have become accustomed to seeing the Confederate flag proudly flown on front lawns, re-purposed into bumper stickers, fashioned into bikini bottoms, plastered onto refrigerators, and emblazoned on cheap coffee mugs peddled at road-side flea markets.  And while my reaction upon seeing the flag is always negative, I’ve become rather immune to its appearance—a privilege of “immunity” that is impossible for People of Color. The flag symbolizes too much hatred, too much violence, too much bigotry and unaccounted history. It simply cannot be ignored.

The flags calculated existence across the street from my school, however, elicited in me such a visceral reaction that I’ve reflected on the experience for nearly one year and have only now begun to articulate some thoughts. It’s not to say, of course, that the Confederate flag’s existence in other locales is more acceptable. But, within the context of my own life and, more importantly, within the political and cultural context in which this particular flag was flown, its appearance sparked within me a deep reflection on the meaning of the flag in general and, ultimately, why, in the 21^st century, white Americans continue to revere and display this symbol that represents pain and suffering for millions.

Flags are powerful symbols. Within the confines of a piece of cloth, people’s national affinities are declared, their cultural identifies, linguistic heritages, and historical experiences are often affirmed. So, it’s easy to see why the Confederate battle flag has become such a touch-point for State’s Rights advocates and Southern Heritage promoters. Those individuals who continue to justify and perpetuate the flag’s existence do so within the framework of historical memory and identity. Whenever the flag comes under attack as an unrequited symbol of slavery and white oppression, their response is often to deflect the charge by claiming the flag is not a symbol of slavery, but is instead an icon of history and Southern cultural identity (regardless of the fact that flag is now flown throughout all 50 states). When I hear this argument, my first question is usually this: But what about now? The Confederacy as a nation is dead. The cultural markers of the Confederacy (plantation-based economies and slavery) are also dead. Its national symbol (the flag) is by all accounts a historical relic. It deserves to be remembered in a museum, as its purpose (to serve as a national symbol for the Confederate States of America) is no longer needed.

The Marquette historian Dr. James Marten argues that the meaning attached to historical symbols can and does change. When white supremacists gather around the bronze bust of a fallen Confederate general, they are redefining the meaning of the historical symbol changing it from a commemoration of the past, to an active representation of their modern ideology (in this case, a worldview fearful and antagonistic to an ethnically and culturally-diverse 21^st century America). And the same is true for the flag.

The South-side of Milwaukee is an immigrant enclave. It’s a neighborhood made up of thousands of families working hard to provide a better future for their children. They are roofers, cooks, teachers, police officers, political representatives, and doctors. Rocketship reflects the demographics of our neighborhood. According to the Wisconsin Department of Education, over 97% of our students are of Hispanic/Latino descent. Many of them come from low-income households. Each morning, hundreds of parents drop their kids off at the school. And they drive past that flag, too. I’m sure they see it. And that’s the point of it, right? The person who has chosen to fly that flag, year round, across the street from a school where all of the students are students of color wants to convey a message. It’s not a message that commemorates the fallen soldiers at Antietam or Gettysburg. It’s not a message that celebrates Dixie or the heritage of Scotch-Irish ancestors felling southern pines in the Georgia Piedmont. No. It’s an intimidation piece. The purpose is to remind them of their “supposed” place in the society. Its existence is decidedly modern, commenting upon a political and cultural context relevant to 2018.

Yet, there are other battle flags waving across the street. They wave from the steel rafters of the school’s portico. They adorn the walls of the school and are hooked into the drop-down ceilings of the hallways. They are flags that represent not nation states, but universities. They are symbols with a modern meaning. And much like the flag across the street, they too convey a message to our students (and their parents). And the message is this: You belong. You can succeed. And that your future is the hope of our nation.

Teacher Reflection

I pedaled up to the main entrance of Rocketship Southside Community Prep and hurriedly stashed my bike. I was arriving late. That morning there was a 20-mile-per-hour headwind. Cold gusts howled down Milwaukee’s wide streets turning the entire city into a large harmonica. I crept across the city.  And as I rolled along Lake Michigan’s shoreline, I prepared myself for the flurry of activity that would befall me upon entering the building.

And make no mistake: It would be a lot.

And make no mistake: I was overwhelmed.

For I am a first year Special Education (ISE) teacher.

Upon entering the school, I was informed by my colleagues that our first grade cohorts would be leaving for a field trip to the Urban Ecology Center—a local nonprofit dedicated to giving urban youth first-hand experiences with conservation and the natural world.

“Great!” I thought. “While my first graders are gone, I’ll have time to catch up on my IEP paperwork, on my lesson plans, on my parent contacts, on my behavior intervention plans, on my schedule, on my….”

The list seemed endless.

I was looking forward to a morning of laser-focused paper-pushing.

I NEEDED this morning to feel prepared, to feel competent, to try to “get ahead.”

Then I was told by my SPED supervisor that I would have to go on the trip to help a student of mine named Peter.

My plans were dashed.

“There is no way I can go.” I thought. “I’ve got 8 other kids to teach and work with. Sacrificing their academics and learning so that one could learn about a butterfly’s life cycle was not worth it.”

That was my rationale.

Our wonderful para-professional (of course) agreed to go.

Issue resolved.

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I remember the first time I worked with Peter. He was reluctant to come into my office. Tears welled up in his eyes as his mother assured him that I was going to be a great teacher (this, of course, was total conjecture. It was my first day. She had no idea if I was going to be a ‘great’ teacher—I sure didn’t feel like it). 

Reluctantly, Peter sat at my desk and whimpered. He wouldn’t talk. I prompted him by asking numerous questions. Nothing worked. At the end of our first 30-minute small group, I had yet to hear his voice, let alone know what his favorite color was, or what memory he cherished most from summer.

Slowly, however, Peter and I developed a functional working relationship. It was pretty straightforward: I would come into his class two times a day. I’d bring in my teaching tools: a numbers chart, a white board, a few dry erase markers, and some flashcards. We’d drill the names of numbers, the sounds of letters. I’d ask him to rote count to 100 and back, guiding and modeling for him whenever he was unsure of himself. I’d call on him to answer my questions and encourage him to speak loudly, confidently.

A lot of our time spent together was sedentary. It was comfortable for him physically, for Peter was born with a neurological condition that has weakened his limbs, negatively affecting his balance and motor skills.

Quickly, I noticed that he would become distraught often refusing to answer questions and beginning to cry if he felt too challenged or pushed.

Excuse the imagery, but at times Peter reminded me of my 1977 Yamaha Moped from my youth. It was a unique one-of-a-kind bike with a mounted 2-cycle engine. It had potential for power. Unfortunately, it was a temperamental machine. Nearly every time I kick-started the bike, I would have to lightly push in the choke to allow more gas to seep into the piston chambers, coaxing the bike to idle. Often, I’d flood the engine and it would stall out, forcing me to wait another 30 minutes.

And much like that bike, I had to take the time to learn about Peter—to figure out the areas where I could target teach and support him--to discover, if you will, the correct amount of gasoline to release into the combustion chamber of Peter’s own academic and social potential.

Teaching as an ISE teacher, I realized, is a delicate balancing act. One where I must be attuned to the voice of my students (often non-verbal), indicating where I am succeeding, at times pleading for assistance, and, most importantly, asking me to believe.  

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Peter began to cry when he learned that a field trip was planned for the late morning. The change in his routine shocked his ability to cope. If indeed Peter was going on the trip, he made it clear that I would have to go with him. He began to point at me and worked furiously to grasp onto my hand.

I was now conflicted. I was telling myself that I had to choose between my desires to accomplish my paperwork and teach my 8 other students, or to travel with Peter to the Urban Ecology Center.

Realizing that Peter, through his grasping of my hand, had taken a major step in advocating for his own needs, I knew I had to go with him.

Throughout the morning, I had been engaging in a false choice. This was not about Peter vs. my other students. It was about Peter internalizing our lessons on empowerment. At Rocketship we often talk to our students about the importance of agency in the classroom, and I honestly couldn’t think of a better example of this lesson being lived out than in Peter informing me that he needed me to go on the trip.

So I went.

Our para-professional stayed at school.

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As the class broke up into two groups, the students were wild with anticipation. Within the hour, we had acted out the life-cycle of a monarch butterfly, wiggling on our bellies as caterpillars and curling into cocoons. We analyzed the life-cycle of mammals, observing the physical changes that manifest when mammals mature into adulthood. And we got to touch the hard, scaly shell of the resident North American Box Turtle. Naturally, a planned hike along the banks of Menomonee River was the perfect way to end the trip. 

Peter held onto my hand tightly as we descended a grassy knoll, walking under an old rail-road bridge and across a gravel bike path. Aware that Peter needed both vision and balance supports, I walked next to him. When we cut through a patch of stiff, yellow cone flowers, I held his hand as he navigated through the thick roots and stems. When the rest of the class hopped from rock-to-rock as we followed the forest path that runs along the river, Peter grabbed the back of my shirt to maintain his balance as he picked his way through the stones. When the class ran ahead, so did he. When five students from his class scuttled up a steep, muddy embankment to inspect the burrow of a groundhog, Peter didn’t hesitate to follow.

I saw him gaining confidence by the minute. His innate curiosity began to burn bright. Peter was no longer being “held back” by either his shy demeanor or some physical “disability.”

At some point in our trip, it began to rain. Our group sought shelter under a high-way trestle, where we sang songs. When the rain subsided, our group made our way west along the railroad tracks, peeling off into a cove of spindly willow branches that tangled together to create a natural room (or clearing) just big enough for fifteen 6-year-olds to fit.  The hike leader had each of the students climb inside, where they mimicked the call of a few migrating birds.

Peter and I came in about 3 minutes behind everyone else—I had to carry him down the steep trail and helped him navigate through the curtains of spiraled willow leaves.

And as his classmates ahead of him began to file out through the narrow exit-way onto the path, I saw Peter glance up and look around at the canopy of green in which he was embraced. He was smiling widely.

And in the end, it was I who thanked Peter for the trip.

Educator Manifesto

My educator manifesto is a reflective one. It’s personal, actually. When I initially sat down to write this manifesto (2 weeks ago), I wrote down two statements:

1.       That I believe in the potential of all students.

2.       That I believe that teaching is the primary way to work for justice and equality.

And both of those statements are true. But the deeper I reflected, the more I began to think critically about my role as an ISE specialist at Rocketship.

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I was the first born in a set of triplets. I’m older than my brother Jared by 2 minutes and older than Jonathan by 4.

We were small and underweight (as all multiples are), so we had to spend time in incubators. The doctors and nurses used color-coded onsies and bedding sheets to tell us apart. From birth, we were treated as a unit. Strangers and family alike would refer to us as “the boys” or the “Ault brothers”, or in reference to an individual, “one of the kids.”

Worst of all, sometimes we would be differentiated by a physical feature or a specific character trait: “Get the Ault kid with the curly hair.” Or “Jonathan, he is the smart one.”

As for me, I was deemed “the quiet one”—as if my adolescent shyness was the only defining feature of my character and my intricate person hood.

I hated this. I hated being a part of a whole. I hated the fact that people refused or had an inability to see me as an individual with all my complexity, likes and dislikes, struggles, and joys. I recognized this from an early age.

When we would go out to eat, I would sit at a different table.

When we would play organized sports, I refused to play on the same team.

When my parents attempted to dress us up in like clothing, I threw epic tantrums.

I was very, very stubborn.

--

One of the only places where I felt treated as an individual was in school. But it wasn’t because the teachers recognized my need for independence.

It was because at the age of 5, I was determined to have a learning disability.  

It was hard news for my parents and became a very complicated issue for the school district. Holding back a child is always a decision fraught with potential conflicts and tough conversations, but holding back a child that is a triplet is even more nuanced:

1.       What would this do to my confidence as a I aged?

2.       How would I be perceived by my brothers?

3.       How would I be able to explain that I’m a triplet, the same age of my brothers, but two grades behind?

My parents and a few of my teachers recognized that holding me back (for two years) would be a devastating decision, especially when I got to high school and middle school.

So, the Special Ed teacher and the reading specialist went to work.

They provided student tutors from local universities to meet with me after school—my indelible memory is when one of them purchased me my own cactuses and succulent plants that I used to decorate my room.

I recall the yellow manipulatives that I had at my desk during math lessons when I was in the general ed. class, and the pride I felt at being unique.

I remember the praises for the small, but substantial successes.

I remember the way in which my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Kilker, would lightly touch the bottom of my chin while working with me on letter sounds. Her patience and care for me still illicit deep feelings of gratitude almost 30 years later.

I remember my first grade teacher Mrs. Bennis who met with my parents weekly to assess my progress and who protected me from getting held back, working each and every day to assure them that I could succeed…

In the end, I was moved to a private school for 4 years, where I had more one-to-one attention, while my brothers stayed in public school.  Their interventions worked.

--

In 2013, I graduated from Marquette University with a Master’s Degree in Global History. At the end of the ceremony, my father asked to hold my diploma – I was the first person in my extended family to achieve this level of education.

He said he wanted to take it back to PGH. I asked him why. He said he wanted to show Mrs. Kilker and Mrs. Bennis the fruits of their labor.

Two teachers I had nearly 3 decades ago were the ones my dad wanted to thank first.

And that’s the importance of Special Education.

It’s believing in students no matter the odds.

It’s the power of advocating for families.

It’s the power of an imagined future that isn’t built on false hope, but one that is attainable.

New Chapters

So much has to be written. Since the birth of our second daughter Madeline, Jamie and I have had a hard time eating regular meals, let alone blog. This year is nearly half over, and this is the first post.

One year ago to this day, I left Diaconia. I thought it would be the end of my tenure with the organization, but it was not to be. Since then, I founded the American affiliate of  Diaconia (Diaconia Connections) and have continued to work for the organization as a volunteer director. It's been incredibly rewarding, and I'm happy to say that we've been able to raise around 30,000 dollars for humanitarian causes. In fact, just this past month, I took a group of 5 individuals from the Milwaukee Presbytery to Ukraine and Moldova to visit with our partners and learn more about Diaconia's work abroad. It was a successful trip.

Anyways, I "left" Diaconia,  moved into a new apartment, placed Ada into daycare, and started my new job as an analyst at Spectrum. I thought I had a made a change that would last 2-3 years. But, alas, it was not to be.

Less than a year later, we're moving again. While we're moving only a few houses down, it's nevertheless a needed change. With our added child, Jamie and I need more space, and we're also looking for an apartment that will allow us to host family and friends from out of town. And I believe we got what we were looking for: a 3-bedroom, hard-wood-floored, bungalow.

And as of May 1st, I resigned from my position at Spectrum. My decision to leave my job was not so much an indictment of my place of employment but was actually a decision made out of deep reflection and clarity. Spectrum afforded me the wonderful opportunity to consult with numerous nonprofit organizations: museums, social service groups, advocacy organizations, and schools. Most of my work with the clients was behind-the-scenes research. I helped them articulate their strategic missions and visions, I wrote and edited final reports and white papers, and supported our staff of professional consultants. It was rewarding work because I knew what we were doing necessary and important. However, I know that I'm a communicator and realized, after about 9 months, that I needed to find a job where I was engaged in more face-to-face interaction. I needed a position that was more service-oriented, preferably with an organization that was grass-roots in attitude and management (for better or for worse).

After a lot of deliberation and much thought, I've made the decision to pursue a career in education. I've decided to join the organization Teach For America, which is an alternative certification program for young professionals and graduates who have an interest in education but have not necessarily studied education or been certified. I will be teaching in Milwaukee, WI, in a public school.

I don't really need to rehash all of the statistics, but Milwaukee has some of the United State's most shocking numbers when it comes to educational equity. Most of the problem stems from Milwaukee's hyper-segregation and history of economic exclusion and discrimination. Jamie and I live in the neighborhood of Riverwest. Less than one mile from our house is the neighborhood of Harambe. The zip code there is 53206. It is the most impoverished zip code in the state of Wisconsin, and it has the highest rate of incarcerated males IN THE COUNTRY. The community is resilient, but it's at a major disadvantage. African Americans in the state of Wisconsin have the United State's worst prospects for wealth accumulation and job growth. And, not surprisingly, the public schools are being called on to fix the problems, even if they're not given the resources to do so. Milwaukee Public Schools have high drop-out rates and their academic scores are often behind their rural and/or suburban peers. These numbers, however, are not an indictment of the inherent "inability" of poor students in urban Milwaukee, for they are usually the result of decades of state-wide under-funding along with an encroachment from choice/charter/and open enrollment schools that "leech" money from the public education system. (TFA places teachers in choice, charter, and public schools....opinions are my own).

I believe that equity in education is one of my generation's greatest civil rights battles. In the United States, children's futures are often predetermined based on where they live. Regardless of the ideals that we espouse as a country of "freedom" and "opportunity," the truth of the matter is this: opportunity exists for those children/students who live in regions where the property taxes cover the cost of the schools. There is very little of this in urban areas. The fact that our educational system is as unequal as our tax system is an embarrassment and it is a rejection of our most fundamental American ideals.

I want to learn more about this current crisis, and I want to see if I can be of any help. When I initially requested to teach, I asked that I teach history. The TFA staff told me that Milwaukee Public Schools are in dire need of special education teachers and that if I were willing, they would want me to pursue Special Education at the graduate level. I initially balked at the idea. However, after some weeks of reflection, I decided to accept my offer. I rarely talk about my own educational journey, but I realized that my experience may give me greater patience and insight to indeed help some of the school district's toughest students, because I was a "special ed" kid myself. (there is a lot more to write here, but I'm going to leave it at that).

I have no illusions as to how difficult the next two years will be.  I recognize that I have little in common with many of the students of color in Milwaukee. I have very little understanding of their life experiences, of their stresses, of the conversations that they have with their parents around the kitchen table. And if we were picking our teaching assignments based solely on the places where we would have the greatest impact and be able to relate the most, then I am 100% confident that I should be teaching in Appalachia. BUT,  reality is far more complex, and there is so much to learn from people and students with different backgrounds. 

This lack of knowledge humbles me. It makes me realize that my students have to be teachers as well. They have to teach me about their lives, of which, they are the experts. I can teach them about mine, about subject matter, about the ways in which we can relate to each other to move forward. It's not going to be easy, but I know it can work. I have to be open to their viewpoints, their passions, and interests in art, music, clothing, etc. I have to know when to let them lead in their learning and think critically about where I can push and motivate. Because of my skin color, because of my own family heritage and history, there are going to be times where there will be miscommunication, but if I were to boil down what I want my students to take from me, it would be this: That I believe in their inherent humanness and intelligence. That I believe their history is important and empowering. That I appreciate and respect their perspectives and lived experiences. That I care about them as individuals. That I recognize my own shortcomings and "blinders." And that I hold them to high standards because I believe in their abilities. 

Lastly, and briefly: As someone who has studied Global History and has had the opportunity to teach in Nigeria, I firmly believe in the power of history as a liberating force. I will be very proactive in my classroom in encouraging students to tell their own stories, to explore their family's histories, and to explore the literature, art, music, and architecture of African-American history, and Sub-Saharan African history. I personally believe that beyond all the emphasis on STEM and technology in the classroom (which are undoubtedly important), the single most redemptive piece of a "liberating" education is when People of Color are able to not only reclaim their own history, but to tell it. In so doing, they understand the agency within themselves that has been passed down for generations and they will begin to see that 1) they belong, that 2) their race and heritage have made this country/city stronger, and 3) that they can be proud and confident in their skin, in their language, and in their art.