A-T-L-A-N-T-A I Could Do This All Day

Well, I'm in my third week since graduation (NB: My nose still hasn't stopped peeling) and now, my third city. Although I've taken to calling this booming metropolis Hotlanta, the truth is that I just can't complain about it after the brutality of the Nawlins ray. At least not yet.

Sunday began the five week program known as the TFA Institute, during which we are slated to be transformed from students to teacher, grasshoppers to sensai, apprentice to master, Wolverine to Professor X, Cartman to Mr(s). Garrison. There are six regional Institutes around the country, and Atlanta serves as the home base for Greater New Orleans, Memphis, and, logically, the Metro Atlanta area. So, just as I finally got my below sea level legs in Nola, we shoved off for the seven hour pilgrimage to the ATL, during which we covered about 350 miles on 3 roads.

Now I hate to stereotype, but there were a couple observations that I simply feel must be shared. First, I noticed a high correlation between people who drive Ford F-150s and people who drive downright homicidastyle. In some cases it was hard to tell whether the Confederate flag draping their rear window actually prevented them from seeing or if they were just as drunk as they appeared to be. In either case, I was judging them pretty hard core. Next, it seemed as if we drove the same 50 miles of road about six times. Turns out Mississippi and Alabama, at least from I-85 East, are pretty identical. Who knew? Finally, I knew that Coke was the official sponsor of Georgia, but I had no idea that they were so generous as to buy up most of the deep south.

So if you have any dentist friends who are looking for a new place to settle down, send them my way. From the looks of it, they'd have no trouble finding a couple hundred acres to squat upon.

But driving through Alabama especially wasn't entirely the joyride you might anticipate. Before the catastrophic tornadoes that massacred Joplin, Missouri, similar funnel clouds victimized Alabama. While the majority of the damage struck Tuscaloosa, north of our route, we had to pull over once to notice the defined path of destruction that cut across the highway. It definitely made me appreciate the lifelong refuge from these sorts of disasters which Pittsburgh's terrain has always provided.

Finally, after seven hours of basically country highway, we hit Georgia, which appropriately prompted me and my passengers to tribute the late great Ray Ray's "Georgia on My Mind". We were pretty tired of being in the car by that point, so our concern for pitch was secondary. If RC hadn't already died, I'm pretty sure the hack job we did on his classic tune would have done him in.

From my friends who preceded me in Teach For America, I heard that Institute really boils down to a lot of Kool-Aid drinking and reflecting time. They're really big on reflection. And also discussing. They really love to discuss things. thoroughly. So, honestly speaking, I can't say I was looking forward to these five weeks, mostly because 35 days just seems too long of a pep rally for a pep-less fellow like myself.

But it's amazing what an open mind will do for you. A good deal of the programming so far has not been explicitly a pep rally. In fact, I'd say there's an obvious and universal sense of urgency among the TFA staff and us young bucks alike. For the staff who's in charge of training us, there's a strong sense that time is of the essence. In five weeks, we're supposed to learn how to manage a classroom, how to write lesson plans, and how to make up years of wasted classroom time in a matter of months.

For those of us trying to become teachers, there's a sense of real terror. TFA keeps casually dropping knowledge on us, like the fact that 30 states adjust their prison capacities based on third grade literacy rates. Third grade. So we either need to teach these kids how to read, or we might as well ship them off the prison now. More shockingly, 44 million parents in the United States don't have the literacy skills to read their kids a bedtime story. Although these stats are enough to blow anyone's mind, it's still fairly easy for me to imagine these as faceless numbers. And then you meet individual students, like Scarlett, an 8th grader who reads at somewhere between a first and second grade level.

My sister once told me that it takes at least three years to become a good teacher. But kids like Scarlett don't have three years to wait while we play teacher. Seeing her stumbling over words like "always" and "lonely" is enough to make these 9-14 hour days worth it. It's also enough to make you wet the bed. But even laying in wet sheets, I know this is worth it. It's worth sitting in elementary desks, and stooping to reach the bathroom sinks, and having the lights flickered at us when we get too raucous. Which is just adorable.

I really don't feel like a teacher, even if I'll have to fake it starting next Monday. But you better believe I look like one from head to toe, complete with good hallway clunking shoes and somewhat premature (although stylish) teacher bag. I've not only gained an increased appreciation for the difficulty and importance of being a teacher, but also for the difficulty of pulling off the educator garb while standing for 8 hours. It'll take some getting used to, but I'm expecting to have some killer calves by the end of Institute.

If one thing gets old, it's that teachers can't stop being teachers. The staff members who are training us just can't shake that tone of voice and those sophomoric classroom tricks ("Clap once if you can hear my voice. Clap twice if you can hear my voice. Don't make me get to three claps..."). It's stirred up some long-forgotten images of nuns at St. Maurice elementary.

If one thing will never get old, its the confidence that the organization has in us. They truly believe that TFA, and each of us individually, can make significant gains towards closing the achievement gap.

When you hear that enough, you start to believe it, too. I don't feel like a teacher yet. But I can't wait to give it my all so that kids like Scarlett can go to high school, college, and then med school if they so desire. That's what we're here for. And that's pretty awesome.

One anecdote that all of you from the 412 might appreciate: I decided to get aggressive with housing in New Orleans and proceeded to call one real estate agent who was recommended to me by a 2010 TFA Corps member. I really wanted to call her today, but all of our training sessions were running long and I had trouble finding time. Finally, I decided to suck it up and optimize, so I called her whilst taking advantage of our infrequent and all too short restroom breaks. As a result of my multitasking ambitions, I stumbled awkwardly as I tried to describe my rent parameters and neighborhood preferences. She became understandably frustrated and told me that she'd try to find an agent to look into some properties for me. Then she asked for my phone number. (Get your mind out of the gutter.) After I gave her my area code, 412, she stopped me and asked where in Pittsburgh I was from. Turns out she graduated from Norwin in 1986. I had 15 listed and unlisted properties sent to me in 45 minutes. Along with a few Steelers Youtube videos. Seriously.

Well. That was some heavy stuff. Sorry, team--- but I did warn that it would continue to be a stream of consciousness. More to come soon.