The whole story was this:
This morning, I got up in the morning, got ready, got down to breakfast, and got so prepared, it wasn't even funny. I'd written out answers to possible interview questions, looked up the places I'd been slated to interview online to find out more about them, considered how far outside of Gallup I'd be willing to be placed, thought about what I'd be willing to coach or do or teach, and even figured out how flexible I'd be willing to be with principles to get a job; I'd figured out everything. I felt calm, confident, filled with a sense of possibility. I even went upstairs and smiled at myself in the mirror after I'd dried my hair and gotten my makeup on; I knew I could do it, that I would do it, and that things would be great from here on out. I was stoked.
We got to the GMCS (Gallup McKinley County Schools) job fair a bit late, but I still got to sign up for three promising-looking interviews in the immediate Gallup area... and then headed back in a shuttle van to the Teach for America office in Gallup, where I had an interview with Borrego Pass. I figured this would be my warm-up interview, but I got word from the few people who went before me that it was actually kind of like an info session. When it was my turn to meet with the tiny, warm, but sort of wrinkled and very down-to-brass-tacks Principal, Mr. Whiteagle, about his school, he basically gave me a bunch of details about his school, the packet of information about it, and some details from his head of HR, and I determined it wasn't for me. The very first thing they said was (I kid you not!!), "You have beautiful eyes!", and about the only question I answered was, "Where are you from?" to which my reply of "Wisconsin" was greeted with, "OH! You're basically Ho-Chunk!" .... so, yeah.
I must have just tuned out at some point during the interview. I took notes, and have them, and vaguely remember hearing that we'd have to be monitored, clock in and out, stick to very strict curriculum, use only tests that are in the format of the State exam, and turn in lesson plans 30 days in advance -- leaving no room to adjust to students' needs, seemingly no room for games or play or interaction with the material, and certainly no room for giving students more time to grapple with the extremely difficult concepts -- but I pretty much just wrote it down without hope. Clearly, this school was not for me. How on earth would I bring the awesome Teachah Katy theories of introducing theories thoroughly, and then reinforcing them with games to this kind of hardened, unyielding table? I was polite, and nodded a bunch, and asked about Navajo in the school when I saw there was "Ya'ah'teeh" on the brochure, but I didn't even really pay attention to the details as the HR lady went over the packet in her tired, raspy voice; I wasn't going to apply. These two seemed nice, but I was going to find a place where I'd be a better fit.
I shuttled back to the GMCS Job Fair and had quite a long wait until lunch. Though it'd been scheduled to arrive at 12:00 noon, nothing actually arrived until 12:40pm, which meant not only that we'd gone from 7am to almost 1 without eating anything (and all work and no food make for pretty cranky TFA members), but also that I had only 20 minutes to get food, shove my face, then wash said face and get back into The Zone before my first actual interviews of the day. Fortunately -- even with a much-anticipated phone call -- I was able to do all of those things, and I pretty much killed the interview at Turpen Elementary School. I loved it; loved the principal, loved that their school motto of "Work hard, go far, and never forget who you are" aligns so well with the TFA idea of "Work hard, get smart", and liked the idea of incorporating Navajo stories and culture into my classroom. I mentioned that I think that I have at least as much to learn from my students as I have to teach them, mentioned that I've already started working toward my Master's degree at UNM, mentioned my various teaching experiences and even tutoring Josie and Jeanie... and I felt like I did great. I felt convinced I'd get the job on or before next Tuesday, which is when the principal said I could expect to hear back from them. It seemed like a great fit; here in Gallup, elementary school, I'd be teaching 4th grade, so I could really show how much progress my kids had made in measurable, documentable ways, and I'd be able to take classes and attend cool cultural events and visit others using Gallup as my main hub. I was psyched... and still had two more interviews to go!
After Turpen, I was slated for an interview with Sanders, a school actually just outside of New Mexico in Arizona (but still on the Navajo reservation). This seemed promising; I'd be working on the rez, but with a principal who seemed open to change and creativity, knew it was All About the Kids, and was even giving out flash drives with the school district logo on them! Awesome!!
... When we arrived, the Executive Director of the New Mexicorps branch of TFA -- Landon Mascareñaz -- was on the phone. So, I'm sitting in the conference room, readying for this interview, psyching myself up again and reviewing the notes I'd made on what I should say in answer to possible curveball interview questions, get up to go to the bathroom, come out... and am told that I have a job.
"Oh, Catherine!! You have a job."
"I have a what?!?"
"You have a job."
"... what? I don't see how that's possible." I was glowing with the very small hope that the Turpen principal had decided she wanted to hire me on the spot.
"Borrego Pass said they were really impressed with you, and want you there."
"Well, that's... flattering, but I wasn't given an offer. I was given an application, and was not planning to apply..."
"But they've said that they want you. You're hired."
"I feel as if I should have been contacted.... I..."
"You look as if this has taken you by surprise. Is there a problem?"
"I just hadn't been planning on taking a position with Borrego Pass. It seems as if I might be a much better fit at another school, such as Turpen, or..."
"Well, you've been hired by Borrego Pass."
... and that was supposed to be that. So, I was trapped. And abandoned. And swimming in the tears of frustration that I was failing at fighting back. I had already been wondering about TFA's questionable placement methods; my friend Julia had been told she was to apply for positions teaching high school science, when she neither has a background in science nor a desire to teach it; several other TFAers have backgrounds in biology or political science, never taught a day in their lives, and had been placed in early childhood Special Education positions, and lots of people that hadn't had math since high school trigonometry were being told that they were to teach middle or high school math. Most of us had wondered what was up with that, but had been quelled somewhat by the ubiquitous insistence of the TFA Staff Members that this had been thoroughly researched, and we'd be fine.
Well, we weren't fine. Apparently -- through no fault of TFA's own, I admit -- the state standards had recently been switched around, so we found out today that hardly anyone was actually qualified to teach the things they'd been told they would have to apply to teach. The whole range of positions that our corps was applying for shifted, and soon several people were competing directly against each other for positions. It was a mess. Now, not only had we gotten there too late to sign up for interviews in anything but the morning, but several people couldn't apply for any interviews at all, because the ones they'd signed up to interview for wouldn't be able to hire them no matter what.
On top of all of that, I felt particularly abandoned. This was NOT something that I wanted, in any way, shape, or form. This was not just a case of flexibility; the things that Mr. Whiteagle had talked about seemed like things I would NOT be willing to do, NOT be willing to subject my students to, NOT be willing to sign on for. I was so bewildered, I began ending sentences in prepositions. I simply would not work there. I thought of quitting TFA right then and there.
I calmed down for a moment; Laura said that she had talked to one of the staff members in charge of hiring -- Jenn Love -- about her concerns about the Borrego Pass school wanting us on for three years and some such. We haven't placed any corps members in Borrego Pass for three years because the principal before Mr. Whiteagle didn't seem to be doing anything good, and I don't know that we're sure they've improved. So, I got on the phone with Jenn, who pretty much told me, 'tough luck'. She insisted that many other Gallup-McKinley County schools are by the book, have strict principals who often come by and observe, and will likely have similarly unyielding curriculums and discipline policies. Basically, I felt like I was being told, "Well, you're going to hate it wherever you go, so you might as well hate it an hour and a half from the middle of nowhere." .... Great.
I spent the next hour trying to keep it together while I waited for a shuttle to talk to Jenn in person; she said she felt as if she were "barking out answers" on the phone, and I knew that I was blinking back tears I didn't want to have in my voice while we were talking about something so important to me. I knew Jenn had almost a hundred other people to think about, but I felt this was important. So, I started making calls. I called Mom. I called Papa. I called Dan-o. I called Betsy. I called Paul. I called Grandma Williams. I called Aunt KJ. I called Aunt Ann. I tried calling friends I have out of the country. I called Craig and Rowans' US numbers, just in case their parents picked up. The only other time I'd thought I needed so much help and had found absolutely none was when I had been laying in desperate pain on Aunt Ann's couch, in need of surgery. And I felt that my straits this time were just about as dire. This hurt; it felt as if TFA, New Mexico, and all the powers that be were conspiring against me to keep me from the one thing that consistently brings me happiness: working persistently in a challenging classroom to help students learn, and to create a great atmosphere in which I can learn from them while they're learning from me. For the past few days -- and months before -- my only real hope was to enter into a classroom where I could learn my students' names, learn what makes them tick, learn what kind of music they like to listen to, learn what they love to talk and think and dream about... and it seemed like this would be an abject, straight-up impossibility if I were to work at Borrego Pass.
I got back to the job fair. Jenn reiterated that I was going to have to deal with things I hated, no matter where I was, and there was no helping it. If I hated it a lot, and with good reason, I could talk to my Program Director and plan how I would be moved to a different position.
I was heartbroken.
....But, somewhere among the desperate clawings of my brain to make sense of how this could all be, I decided to try to give TFA and Mr. Whiteagle the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, maybe... maybe I was overreacting. I couldn't figure out how, or wrap my mind around what could possibly be a case scenario that would make me accept the monumentally awful task that beset me. But... I ... I was going to try. Because the coming months would keep me writhing in agony if I didn't figure out some way to deal with it.
I got back to El Rancho, and found Erin and Angela -- the other two who had gotten the job. I remembered coming out of the Borrego Pass interview and responding to Erin's inquiry of "How'd it go?" with "Oh, it's awful. Totally not for me." ... so I wondered at them when they both seemed to approach me with smiles and hope. What had they heard that I hadn't heard? What had he told them that had give them a sliver of a possibility of a glimmer of hope? I beckoned them both into my room, and asked them to explain to me what their impression was of the prison that awaited us.
... I had been totally, completely, utterly wrong. When I had shut down, I had lost the opportunity to ask questions, and didn't. But Erin and Angela had, and Mr. Whiteagle had seemed open and receptive to all of the slightly out-there things that both had asked about. It seems we'll be helping to revitalize a school of about 150 kids, K-8, whose school was in danger of shutting down, and whose principal was just looking for a few good [wo]men. It hadn't been a personal affront that he hadn't asked us specific questions about us; he just needed to nail down a few people, and work it out from there. At Borrego Pass, we may be able to help design lesson plans for the curriculum, work with some very young students and possibly impliment reading-buddy programs, help coach volleyball, really figure out a way to make learning interactive... it seems that nearly all of the things I may someday want to be able to do with a school of my own, I'll be able to start working on here.
It'll be a huge challenge; we'll be out in the middle of nowhere, working from at latest 7am to at least 5pm, and there will be lots of training and professional development and manditory meetings and planning sessions. But... there's so much hope. It started in those two, and it infected me. There is so much possibility, so many things we can help this school, these people, these children with; and I'm going to pour all of myself into it. I have accepted the position, my place at Borrego Pass, and everything that it will mean to have me there. I'll begin training in late July in Oregon, and be working from there on out (more on that once I know about it).The thing is, I think the Turpen job would have been much easier. It would be in Gallup, with almost no commute to my classes at UNM, and it would be less of a challenge, more straightforward; I would have had a class pet with a rotating feeding schedule, some autonomy, not so much accountability, and would have done a great job. But it wouldn't be the huge challenge which I know I can rise to meet. I had actually been talking to Allie, one of my roommates here at Induction (in the El Rancho), last night about how the world seemed to have come together to push us to our very limits... and I think this will be mine. These next several months are going to be brutal, but they will also, if I put my everything into it, be so incredibly rewarding that I think I will not be able to imagine having been anywhere else. I'll know all of my childrens' names, and their favorite games, and what makes them tick, and their favorite music (if I can help it, I'd still like to have periodic iPod dance parties for them to shake their sillies out in between lessons)... and I want very much to help lay the foundations for that school to know continued success. I think, with help, I can do it. Just as I had been in the shower this morning, I am filled again with a calm sense of hope, of possibility. I hate to use the term -- it's one of those overused pieces of TFA jargon that I think I use to mean something different -- but I really do think that making a tangible, incredible, needed change is possible.
This evening, after a delightful dinner with Michael Mahoney, Allie my roommate, and Julia, we were treated to several traditional Native American dances in the down square, just outside the courthouse. The emcee, Vernon Smith (?), was delighfully longwinded and I loved his teaching of Navajo words and welcoming of TFA and spectators from other countries. He expertly filled the time it took for the dancers to change between dances, and expertly described the impressive or meaningful bits of their costumes. The dances themselves -- and the flute-playing in between -- was impressive, and it was almost hypnotic to listen to the voices and drum while the wind blew low over the Gallup plain and up over the sun-warmed steps of the square at sunset. Just as the sun was about to go down, all of TFA -- and everyone in the audience -- was invited to take part in the circle dance... so we were all connected, over and above the strife and worry and aggravation of the day, in a dance, in music, in the scene, to each other.
A small group of us walked back, and enjoyed the little sights of Gallup; a couple fixing their fence, a cat on a giant heap of discarded rubble, the dogs barking and falling over themselves for attention from the passersby, the gorgeous, rolling landscape that was lit by the sideways light of sunset and the clouds above that blazed purple, pink, and orange. New Mexico, I think, is going to take care of us. And in return, I will take care of its children.
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