No day is normal in New York City. How could that even be possible in a city where every street corner buzzes with a multiplicity of languages? When one hour you’re serving food to a homeless family at church and the next you’re observing a Picasso at the Guggenheim? When you’re sitting in the room with heroin addicts & heroin-addicts-turned-pastors? New York is a startling juxtaposition of the best and the worst in America, with its fair share of pleasure… and pain.
Monday was our first day to work in PS 179 in the Bronx. As the members of our mission trip left to find their classrooms in the public elementary school for the week, our contact pulled me aside. She apologized, but said that she had decided to pair me with one of the roughest classes in the school. I was to help a second-grade classroom, room 405, with its population of kids with learning challenges and a penchant for violence.
While the day started out pleasantly enough, it began to disintegrate after lunchtime. All the physical violence, financial instability, and emotional insecurity in these kids’ lives began to make itself evident. But these problems compared with the apparent attitudes of the teachers. While some really tough things happened in class today, I will sum up the whole day by describing gym at the end of the day.
As soon as our ragged class had made it down to the gym, the regular teachers quickly ran upstairs, leaving the class to the substitute gym teacher and me. We began gym by racing from one side to the other, but the sub sat down after a few minutes, leaving me to deal with 18 crazy kids for 20 minutes.
At first, I tried to keep the races going but they soon deteriorated into fights. The sub refused to do anything besides yell from across the room, so I cycled between four different groups of kids for 15 minutes, pulling the fighters apart. After all the clawing, hair pulling, slapping, and punching, the teachers finally came in to collect room 405 and get them ready for dismissal. For the rest of the day I couldn’t get over how violent the kids were and how uninvolved the teachers were.
As soon as I walked into the classroom the next day, I felt much better about what I was doing. I knew exactly where the problems were and exactly what my role in the classroom would be. I now had a history with the kids and I felt comfortable enforcing rules and building relationships… of course, the fact that only eight kids were present helped.
And I wasn’t necessarily disappointed with this much more manageable version of room 405. It really allowed me to make some headway with some of the kids, especially Rolando.
Rolando is probably the cutest kid in room 405. He is a little Hispanic 7-year-old who has pudgy cheeks and likes to wear skater shoes. His biggest trouble in the classroom is his level of frustration. Whenever he has problems with an assignment he gives up immediately and adopts a horrible attitude toward doing anything else. His main frustrations are with himself.
However, we began to make some headway with math as we worked on double-digit subtraction. At first, Rolando was his usual moody self. He was extremely opposed to doing math, until I moved on to help Oliver with his math. As Oliver began to understand subtraction his eyes lit up and he began to excitedly yell answers to me before rushing on to do another problem. When Rolando saw how fulfilling it was to master a concept like double-digit subtraction he came and eagerly tugged on my arm.
We started off slowly, just subtracting two from nine or five from 10, but Rolando began to quickly get the hang of it, eager for more. Soon he was just guessing at pieces of the subtraction process, eager to feel the thrill of having finished a problem. I laughed and gently made him take the time to get correct answers. When the regular teacher finally called for us to put away our math books, Rolando had gone from hating math to whining about having to put it away.
Though it was a full day full of kids, it went as well as it could. Sure there were fights and squabbles, but today I saw a classroom full of kids who wanted to learn and participate.
The best part of the next day was music, a hilarious dichotomy between the soft-spoken, peaceful music teacher at the front of the room and the unfocused, rambunctious kids scattered around the auditorium. After we sang through several melodies, the class began to learn a new song: “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
When these kids from the Bronx sing, it’s a beautiful harmony of hope in a dark place. In a part of New York City where the high school graduation rate is 38 percent, these kids need hope. They need to feel the potential to fly away to a better life. It was an amazing testimony to how fired up these kids get when they’re given just a little encouragement and love.
The last day, the performing arts teacher came up to get most of the kids. As we walked down to the music room, I learned that room 405 was combining with some of the other second- grade classrooms to put on a multicultural dance.
We got in the classroom and the kids began to put on green beads and baggy green shirts for the Irish portion of the dance. And without further ado, they kicked off the dance… and it was good.
These kids were dancing much better than I ever could — jerking and spinning and clogging. It was unbelievable. And I had never seen these kids put so much effort into something and get so much joy out of their experience.
It may sound cute that these kids could dance, but it brought tears to my eyes. I just kept praying and hoping that these kids would continue to find passion in life — a passion to move beyond their circumstances in the Bronx.
I don’t think I ever want to take a vacation again. I mean, sure, vacations are fun and interesting and exciting, but this mission trip has been 10 times more fulfilling than any vacation to New York would ever be. I got to see all the sights but I also got to know the city. I got to know the homeless, the children, and even some brothers and sisters struggling with HIV/AIDS. I don’t know if I made an “impact” or not, all I know is that I got to love and be loved by a special group of kids. And I wouldn’t trade that for a month of “vacation” anywhere.