An Ode to House

My main man Matt Miller just left home to embark on the journey of his life- a two year commitment to Jesuit Volunteers International to work in Micronesia. He plans on writing a blog as well, which I’m certain will be absolutely amazing, and I’ll post the link as soon as I get it.
The first time I met Miller, we were freshmen who happened to secure the same ride home for Battle in Seattle a couple weeks after Christmas Break. The pass was covered in snow and our driver wasn’t exactly stellar. She lost control and began fishtailing, eventually slamming into the soft, snow-covered I-90. It was one of the few times in my life that I felt true mortal danger. Miller and I very well could’ve died together that day, but instead, over the next three years, it was living that we did. Living very, very well.

At first I was appalled and confused by the guy. He would open the door and address people while in the process of using the bathroom, something that at first was bizarre to me, but eventually became commonplace. We lived together for the year in Florence, and it was probably one of the best things that could’ve happened to me that year. I think our mindsets lined up pretty well- we both placed high value on getting to know Italian culture, experiencing adventure, and taking afternoon naps. Even though physically, we’re just about the exact opposite, we have a lot in common. It’s no surprise that both of us are spending the next two years making a difference somewhere in the middle of the Pacific.

We’ve shared millions of laughs together and I wish we could sit back and kick it for just a few minutes sometime soon. I’m not gonna lie- I miss every single one of my roommates from 803. They were definitely my second family. Right now, all six of us are about to start some sort of service in a different part of the country/world: Micronesia, Hawaii, Rio Grande Valley Texas, Philadelphia, Spokanistan, New Jersey. When all is said and done, hopefully sometime not too far down the road, we’re all going to be together again, with a beverage of choice in hand, sitting around some TV somewhere talking about absolutely nothing for several hours. I can’t wait.

Good luck Miller, Jr, Johnny, Sir, and Touchdown.

Home

I dropped my suitcases on the floor of my empty bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. I was home at last.

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was at University of Hawaii finishing up another TFA session. After living out of a suitcase and on hotel beds and couches for the past week, I was tired and my clothes were dirty. But I couldn’t wait to get back up to the North Shore, because the tenant of our house was finally leaving and we could move in. Myself and Crista and Amanda (my two roommates) made a stop at Costco (I bought a new boogie board along with a ton of essential food) and then headed North. It took a lot of work to get all our bags up the stairs and into the house, but it didn’t matter. We were home.

I love the house. It’s only a year old, and it’s a duplex but the house below us is still being constructed. It sits across from an identical duplex and there’s a lawn in the middle. The yard is still bare but should be finished within a month. We’re surrounded by banana trees and have an incredible view of the mountains. It’s very tropical. We’re about a 15 minute walk away from the beach, but we’re right on this bike trail that goes along a large part of the North Shore coast, so my main priority right now is to get a bike.

I’m definitely still adjusting to the change of setting and missing home, but I have to say that I love it up here. After seeing all the other parts of the island, I know that the North Shore is my place. It still has this simple, small town feel and you can’t beat the scenery- that one-two combo of mountains and sea is unbelievable. Waialua is a tiny town just a few minutes down the road that captures the simple life: there’s an old sugar mill, a town park, a tiny library, a gas station, and a few other stores. On Saturdays there’s a small farmer’s market, and on some weekends there’s a little concert at the center of town. Haleiwa is a legendary surfer’s town, with a bunch of surf and art shops and nice little restaurants. Today I went to an arts festival and mingled with some of the local artists and checked out their paintings and photos of the area.

The best thing about living on the North Shore is that I’m surrounded by adventure. I could head west and go to Kaena Point, the northernmost tip of the island that gives you a view down the Wainae coast and is a perfect place for hidden beaches, monk seals, wild birds, whales, and sunsets. I could go east and hit up some of the nicest beaches in the world- Waimea Bay, Sunset Beach, etc. In the winter, I will be able to watch pro surfers carve up 30 foot waves and see migrating humpback whales in the distance. And that’s only a small part of what this area has to offer.

But don’t get me wrong- from all of my training and courses, I’m well aware that about eight days out of my week will be dedicated to my job as a teacher. I will be extremely busy. But it’s nice to know that when I do get those slivers of free time, I have plenty of options on how to use them. And all the adventures waiting in the distance will give me something to look forward to when times are rough. So as you read this, chances are that I miss you, but know that where I am, it’s nice and warm, and there’s nothing but good things (and a spectacular sunset) on the horizon.

7B

I thought it might be a good idea to tell a few stories about some experiences with my students during Institute. I changed the names a little, but that's about it.

Ariel

During the last week, Ariel was placed on RISE. It's a disciplinary program that YES uses (which I'm still torn on) when students consistently display poor behavior. Ariel had to wear a plain white shirt, eat lunch alone outside the principal's office, and have a teacher sign a form after each class to say that he had been good that day. He had to ask to enter and leave the classroom, and he wasn't allowed to talk to any of his fellow students.

The day he showed up with the white shirt on, he was a completely different person. His behavior was never exactly spectacular in my classroom, but now he was just completely checked out. He slouched, limped through the assignments, and consistently showed that he didn't want to be there. Each day, when he brought the form to me, I sat him down and talked to him. "You're way better than this, Ariel," I'd tell him. "You don't belong in RISE. But you need to show me that." But each day was the same thing. I tried to motivate him in different ways, but no route worked. On the last day, I told him, "You've done outstanding work in this class. Your tests and essays show that you have what it takes to go far. But you're not acting like you want to be here. You don't HAVE to be the kid on RISE all the time. You can change that." He nodded without looking at me. I wish I had more time to follow up with him. I'm not sure which direction he'll go come fall...

Rogelio

Heading back from New Orleans, I got a call from a familiar Texas phone number. "Mr. T?" the young voice asked. "Can you explain the homework for me?" Three minutes later, the phone rang again. It was the same number. "Mr. T? Do you have Ms. Imboden's number? I don't know what the homework for her class is." Five more minutes passed, and the same number called again. "Mr. T? I'm still a little confused. How many metaphors do we have to add to our essays?"

I answered the questions with a smile. "Do you understand? If you have any other questions, just give me another call, okay? I don't mind at all."

"But won't you get bored?" he asked with the most concerned tone.

"Of course not. There's nothing I like to do more than talk grammar and writing," I assured him.

On the last day of school, after the final assembly, he came up to me and asked to see our published book of personal narratives. "You haven't seen it?!" I asked. "Here, look at your story. It's published in here with the rest of them."

Rogelio looked at his story there on the page. Then he looked up at me, and he had this look on his face that said so much. I thought he might cry. I had to turn away because I was about to. "Keep working hard, bud," I told him. "I'm really going to miss you."

Jaime

During fifth period, I was walking around the history classroom as the class showed off their culture fair projects. Almost all of them were about Mexico. On Jaime's poster was something about an annual rodeo that he participated in. He pulled a large rope out of his backpack and showed it to me. "I can do a lot of tricks with this. But there's not enough room in here and I'm not sure if I want to do it." I told him I wanted to see what he could do after class. "Will you ask Ms. Swanson if it's okay?" he asked excitedly. I assured him I would.

After class, I asked to borrow Jaime for a second. He insisted that he did his lasso show behind the portables. "I don't want anyone to see," he said. He broke out the rope and spun it everywhere. He rapped it around himself, jumped over it, jumped through it, wove it in and out, and did all sorts of other tricks with it. Then he roped me from about 10 feet away. The rope barely even touched me. I asked him why he hadn't done this at a talent show. He told me he was too scared.

Shortly later, at the assembly, I looked over at him. He put his finger up to his mouth. Shhhhh. I crawled over to where he was sitting. "What are you talking about, Jaime?" I asked.

"Don't tell anyone about my tricks with the lasso."

I was a little shocked. "Are you kidding me? That was the coolest thing I've ever seen. You better do that at the talent show next year. You'll bring the house down."

He grinned and nodded.

FIN!

It's over. I made it through Institute!

It was a fun day for the students at YES, and every teacher had to plan out something special to do with the kids. I was going to go outside and play soccer with the kids. However, I wanted to make it a surprise. We'd start the day as we normally did inside the classroom, and I'd congratulate them on reaching their academic goals. I'd present the final product that we had been working on throughout the course: a published copy of all the students' personal narratives. Then I'd grab the soccer ball and we'd head outside.

That morning, before school started, I was frantically searching for a ball. I went into the cafeteria and found one of my students. I called him over. "Robert, you can't tell ANYONE this." His face got serious and he nodded intently. "Where can I find a soccer ball?" I asked him. He lit up a little. "In the gym," he replied. "Okay, thanks. Remember that this is a huge secret."

Five minutes before class started, I was alone in my room setting up. For the final three days, because we had just completed our personal narratives that would prepare them for college applications, I had converted the room into Talevich University. I was putting up the proper decorations and changing into my tennis shoes when Jaime walked through the door.

"Jaime, class hasn't started yet. I need you to wait outside," I told him. "It's okay, Mister," he replied. "I know what's going on. Robert told me. Can we just go out and play right now?"

I grinned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"But what about your shoes, Mister?"

"I think Robert was playing a big joke on you. I'm sorry, but we aren't playing soccer today."

The class came in, and we celebrated the improvement and growth they had made during the past four weeks. I walked over and pointed to a poster I had made at the beginning of the course that illustrated our Big Goal. It read, We will create INCREDIBLE personal narratives that will be PUBLISHED. I pulled out the book of their narratives and we all cheered. I showed them that there was an ABOUT THE AUTHORS section and asked them if they wanted me to read it for them. They got excited and I read a paragraph about all their accomplishments that they had made during the four weeks. Then I read a section about myself that I had added. "Mr. T will soon move to Hawaii to teach." I had to pause and take a deep breath before continuing because there was a lump in my throat and my eyes were welling up. "He would like to learn to surf, but he would also like to return to Houston in 2014 to watch all of his 7th grade class graduate and HEAD OFF TO COLLEGE." The class cheered and I took another deep breath. I was really going to miss them.

We went outside and played soccer. My students were really good at it. It was a blast and by the time we finished and headed to lunch, I was drenched in sweat. Even though our class was done, I spent most of the rest of the day with them, passing out candy during lunch, viewing their culture projects during their history class, and then going to the assembly with them.

The end of the year assembly was awesome. YES Prep and TFA executed it perfectly. They showed the school's yearbook DVD along with some added photos from summer session. During the first week of teaching, we had completed an assignment where we wrote about our most inspirational student. Little did we know that the TFA/YES staff had used that information to take pictures with each student holding a sign with a thank you and our name written on it. During the slideshow, these photos flashed by quickly. The sign with my name on it flashed up on the screen, with Komanya holding a sign that read Thank You Mr. Talevich. Komanya had been one of those students who could brighten up any classroom. He worked hard every day and improved more than anyone else. Seeing him up on that screen with my name validated every single thing that I had sacraficed and went through during those five weeks.

That evening I went out with my collaborative (the four people that I shared a classroom and lesson planned with) and our Corps Member Adviser to celebrate the completion of institute. They had been the group of people I had gotten closest to during institute since we spent literally 14 hours a day together. Unfortunately, they are all in the St. Louis region, so this was sort of my going away party. We had a great night and then said our goodbyes. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty tough. I'm going to miss them a lot and I wish I had them by my side for this next challenge.

So now it's over. Finito. I'm very very relieved, but I'm also quickly realizing the things that I will actually really miss about institute. But it's moving way too fast to take too much time to reflect. As soon as I land in Hawaii tomorrow, TFA Orientation starts, and then I check into my school. No time to slow down.

TFA Madness

The strange tune of my phone alarm jolts me from a deep sleep. I grab the phone and glance at the time.

7:15

"(insert any word that I can in no way put on this blog)!"

How did I sleep in this late?
Where's my roommate?
What am I going to wear?
Will I make it down to the bus in time for school?
What time does the bus leave again?

I'm completely out of it. I realize that the bus, as it has every single day for the past five weeks, has departed for YES Prep at 6:33 a.m. sharp. Without me. I'm about 45 minutes too late, and I'm not even dressed yet...

...but as I begin to finally regain consciousness, things start to fall into place. Sure, it is 7:15. But it's 7:15 IN THE EVENING. An hour earlier, I had decided to take a brief nap. I didn't miss the bus. I still have about 12 hours to catch it. Everything's going to be okay. I hang my pants and shirt back up and sit down on my bed. My heart's pounding and I try to take deep breaths.

It's moments like this that show how much TFA absolutely owns me. During the 20 hours each day that I'm awake, I devote 90 percent of my time to lesson planning, teaching, and info-sessions. When I sleep, I dream about my class and what I need to do the next day. Institute, you win.

The good news is that I've passed this challenge in top form. Two days left. Though I still don't feel nearly prepared enough to teach Special Ed in less than a month, I did what I had to do here in Houston, and I did it well. I have a little confidence and a little swagger (but a whole lot more humility) built up for the next challenge, and I'm definitely going to need it.

When I walk away from Moody Towers and the University of Houston on Sunday for the final time, I will breathe one of the biggest sighs of relief that I've ever breathed. I don't even think I'll turn back to wave goodbye. There are only a few things that I'll truly miss about Institute. I'll miss the people I worked with, including my fellow CMs and advisers who helped me build my skills as a teacher. I'll miss the fitness center, which was awesome. I'll miss the 'za at the cafeteria, because it was surprisingly good. But most importantly, I'll miss my 28 students, because the 50 minutes I spend with them each day makes all of the other stuff- the countless (and often repetitive) info sessions, the TFA jargon, the questionable living facilties, and the tireless work- more than worth it. They're the reason I hop out of bed every morning when the alarm blares in my ear way too early.

It sounds crazy, but maybe I woke up this evening thinking it was morning because I WANTED it to be.

Big Easy

Friday, July 4, 2008. Fireworks peak out from between weathered skyscrapers as trumpets blast and a busy French Quarter bursts with life.

As I write about my trip to New Orleans for Fourth of July, I'm torn on how to approach it. Should I be dramatic and talk about the hurricane and all its aftermath, or should I just focus on all the fun I had on Bourbon Street during a well deserved three day weekend? It's tough. But I think my confusion captures what New Orleans as a whole is going through right now. The swagger, spirit, and culture are still there, and they still shine day and night. But just around the corner remain the reminders of a city that was devastated and then ultimately forgotten by its own country.

Because we were granted a three day weekend, myself and three other (overly) seasoned TFA Instituters made the five hour trek to New Orleans on Friday. After all, when else would we get the chance to see that city? I knew that I was in for a treat. We rolled in at about 7 p.m. and found our hostel, which was a very unique large building that used to house orphans. The fairly sketchy doormen checked us in and made a few too many jokes about the place being haunted. I didn't doubt it...with all its old statues, furniture, and loud clocks, it definitely fit the criteria. As they showed us around, I couldn't help but think that this could be beginning of any horror movie...perhaps Hostel III. There was an old courtyard in the middle with a murky green swimming pool and an overgrown gazebo. Our room was a large one with about 40 bunk beds, but fortunately we were the only ones staying there.

We went out that night to Bourbon street, and I would definitely compare it to Amsterdam. They close it off to traffic and there's nothing but bar after bar with very talented live bands in almost every building. New Orleans is one of those cities that exists for entertainment. You can't help but dance everywhere you go.

The next day we slept in a little bit and then got some soul food. I ate a lot of ribs and even got to taste some alligator. We then drove around the city in search of the Ninth Ward, the area that was most devastated by Hurricane Katrina. We had vague directions of how to get there, and as we followed them, you couldn't help but notice that the city got poorer and poorer. Graffiti and boards covered the weathered walls and windows of most buildings. The first time through, we drove past the Ninth Ward and into the country, which was pretty interesting itself. As we headed back and finally figured out where we needed to be, we took a turn into one of the neighborhoods of the Ninth Ward.

The area we saw was very impoverished, but blatant signs of the hurricane were gone. Other people who drove through that area later that day described how bad it was- there were rows of abandoned and boarded up houses, and posted on the doors was info such as when the house was evacuated, how bad the flood damage was, and how many bodies were found. To be honest, I was kind of glad that we didn't see that part of Ninth Ward. I don't think I deserved to be there, driving through tragedy and devastation just to see it for myself. When the sky fell on that city, I was tucked away at college living in a dream world. As thousands of refugees waited for something to be done, I was in Italy living a paradise. Three years later, it's too late to point fingers. We all forgot that city.

I have nothing but the greatest respect for all the TFA corps members who are paving the way and establishing the movement in NO. I don't think there's a place in our country that needs it more than here. God bless them and God bless all those young kids who are looking for some sort of hope...it may just be a flicker right now, but it's growing.

After that, we went out one more night in the French Quarter. I loved the music and the company. The next day we slept in a little and then headed back to University of Houston for one more week of Institute. That's right...one more week. Almost there.