It seemed, at some times during this week, that Institute here in Gallup was the perfect storm of boredom, pseudo-business jargon, and brainwashing, all wrapped up in a too-warm, Western old-timey, darkened conference room in the quaint little El Rancho hotel, where the employees were far too kind to recognize what was going on.
At times, the topics and the discussion questions we were given were either so unrelated, clearly leading, or just stultifyingly dull that I couldn't imagine that such a successful, big-deal movement as TFA could possibly have meant for us to spend our first days together on them... or, more cynically, that perhaps the point was to bore us and stuff us with enough unhealthy food that we'd slip into a stupor, accept the party line, and stop asking questions.This, I think (now), is silliness. I'm not sure of why Teach for America does some of the things it does. I don't know why we were given the schedule we were, why we were given the assignments we were, or why we discussed things like the hierarchy of TFA and other details about the organization that we'd already joined during the very first days together as a Corps -- days I'd expected to be using to get to know my peers and get pumped for interviews, Institute, and the instruction of our students. But I think, whether by design or by accident, this week brought us together. And for that, I'm very glad; I really, really enjoy every one of the people I've met and had a chance to talk to.
Today -- Friday -- for some reason, post-chaos and post-anger, seemed to get miraculously better. The sessions were more relevant and, on the whole, more stimulating; the people that gave their opinions were engaging, and had interesting, useful things to say, and I think the whole Corps just seemed closer, as a group. We laughed at the jokes of the cops that gave us a safety talk together, taking notes about how the local country radio station made one officer want to "go home and beat [his] dog," on how another officer noted that there is mace available online that "comes in different colors!" for the girls, and how, since it's the 4th highest grossing store in the US, we should "Stay away from Wal-mart!" ... especially on the 1st, the 15th, and weekends. The community session was great, too; there was a huge panel of intelligent, articulate Native American folk that told us how they wanted us to get involved in our communities and school, what their kids need, and how we can be culturally sensitive as teachers. I think the danger of having come out to New Mexico knowing I would be serving low-income, generally low-performing schools is that I had, somewhat unwittingly, imagined that many people with whom I'd be in contact would not be well educated, or at least not value education as much as I think they should. So, in addition to being impressed by the number of people who took time out of their day to address a room full of mostly 20-something-year-olds and all wanna-be teachers, I was also impressed by the passion that became apparent in everything they said: passion for their kids to do well, passion for education, passion for a generation of strong thinkers and potential leaders for the tribes here. I felt equal parts inspired and humbled -- and wholly hopeful for all of the things I know I have to learn from this place and its people.
But the best bits, I think, were yet to come. After a nice little (and by little, I actually mean enormous) buffet dinner at the most ostentatiously Chinese restaurant in town -- the King Dragon, complete with the Forbidden-City style yellow pagoda roof -- we came back to El Rancho, digested a bit, and found ourselves milling about in the now more homey, but still hilariously overdone southwestern themed lounge area, mimicking bits of Weezer's Sweater Song: "Hey, did you know about the party after [dinner]? ... Aw man, it's gonna be the best, I'm so stoked!" ... "Hey, I'd like to go to this party, but my friends don't really want to go... do you think I could get a ride?" 
We'd all been invited by Tom Ponce -- already known to most of the New MexiCorps to be a character, though we hadn't yet met him -- to a party at his house. At first, the thought of trudging in the warm night off to an unknown place to drink cheap liquor over beer pong didn't really appeal to me, but the camaraderie of the day, of dinner, and the general relief of knowing we'd not have to be attending sessions the next day -- as well as invitations from several people I wanted to hang out with -- all worked in tandem to change my mind. So, around 9, rather than do my duty by you, Dear Reader, and blog like I'd intended, I instead headed out with Ally Johnson and Julia Ecternach, to find the house that we'd know by the "Got Tom?" sign in front. (Did I mention he was already established as a character?)
After a moment of misdirection, we arrived, and I was immediately glad we'd come. The inviting glow inside the little house was the first thing we noticed upon having the front door opened to us, and already there were people clumped off and talking in little, warm groups, beers and other drinks in red plastic cups in hand. There was laughing, and flirting, and talking, and all with a spirit of having been unshackled, not having to watch words any longer or worry about being overheard. For the first time in a week, I think we none of us had to worry about being sure we sounded professional, or sounded like we were thinking along TFA party lines; we could just... be. And the exuberance of this small freedom brought a joy and a sense of community that I knew wasn't just the alcohol. I'd been to parties where the attendees were drunk and alone. Here, at varying levels of intoxication, we were family. Sure, there were clumps of cousins who were closer to each other than to older Auntie Mae -- people with similar interests or shared geography that had already brought them closer to a few than to others -- but there was genuine gladness to see every new face that came to the door in the faces (and the greetings) of those already there. It was like, after a week of real or imagined adversity, coming home.
The kitchen was painted a vibrant goldenrod yellow-orange, and was filled with an everchanging ebb and flow of people. We met and re-met older Corps Members, re-introduced ourselves to people in our own Corps, and generally got to know things about each other we hadn't known before. There was the usual bunch of silly antics -- Joe Mensah got "iced"; he was presented, somewhat ceremonally, with a Smirnoff Ice and made to drink it in one go -- but there were also conversations about homes, and interests, and passions, advice from people who'd been there and questions from we who haven't yet been... all intensified by the fact that generally everyone involved was actually listening to the stories, the answers, the jokes and the opinions being presented. At least, when we weren't trying to avoid random encounters with Smirnoff.
I made my way downstairs, past the beer pong tables and huge clumps of people talking, and ended up striking a conversation with a girl named Heather, who went to George Washington University. Having recently been quite close to her campus, I asked her about it, and what she'd done there... and was delighted at how the girl, who seemed to be quite quiet in our sessions, sprang to life. She told me about how she had run the sexual awareness group on campus, and told stories about her interactions with transgendered people, the gay community, giving advice, and finding her own comfort level with herself -- all with a passion and a hilarious sense of humor I hadn't known she'd possessed. Before that night, I'd known heather was quiet, from Kentucky, had a scar on one of her arms, and had enviably straight hair. I loved that conversation.
By the time I was ready to head out. Ally, Julia, Patty, and a couple of other girls had joined and left (and joined again) our little group, and we'd talked about the Sandlot and the stars overheard and any number of things that people getting to know each other touch on, our conversation flowing as intently and changing as quickly as the river of people upstairs. Ally, Julia, and I walked home, climbing sidewalks most of the way, laughing ourselves to tears and assuring each other we'd grow a garden together and have kittens and puppies and lambs and llamas if we could find a centrally-located enough compound on which to make it happen.
I climbed into bed not too late, and drifted to sleep looking forward to the camping trip that would come the next day, and the leisure of being able to go for a run, sleeping and packing and showering all on my own time, and looking forward to the ride on the way to Arizona. Like it or not, liking the way it had run or not, and perhaps mostly in spite of our feelings for it, the TFA-NM 2010 Induction week had brought us together, and I couldn't wait to greet what was to come with the people around me.
Pictures courtesy: Steph Asper, Google Maps Streetview, and Angela Cerci.
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