A Little Delay

I am supposed to be back in Congo by now. But, like the tens of thousands of dollars of school supplies that are sitting in customs waiting for a Congolese signature facilitated by a good mood, I am the victim of New York's own senseless and grumpy bureaucracy. How could I have possibly guessed that although I need to get my fingerprints cleared by the State Education Department and complete 200 practicum hours to get my special ed license, I need to get my fingerprints cleared by the City Department of Education to be allowed to student teach? It doesn't matter that the city department of ed is under the jurisdiction of the state department of ed or that there is only one FBI doing the fingerprints for both. That would make too much sense. "But can't the state department of ed send the city department of ed your fingerprints?" a naive young teacher might ask. "Of course, [idiot]!" the mole-studded HR personnel screams at you over the counter, hoisting her girth out of the way to pass you no less than 4 forms. "10 days!" she screams again, over the sobbing of countless broken-hearted teachers-to-be who have all had their immediate futures wrecked by this evil woman. My friend starting her fifth year banging her head against the wall of PS *** says she wishes she could tell me that it was a fluke, that things weren't like that all the time, but sister, they are that bad and worse and no amount of standing on your tiptoes and banging your little fist on the counter is going to change anything.

All that's to say is that by the time things took their own sweet time straightening out, the school where I was supposed to student teach had closed for the summer. I was reduced to cold calling dozens of summer and year-round schools trying to market my free labor. I found two placements, changed my flight so I would have time to accumulate enough hours and marvel at my own good fortune.

I have thus spent most of my summer vacation teaching for free. Actually, make that, paying to teach, since Touro College, aka, Disfunction U charges tuition for student teaching. I'm sure that's not uncommon, but that doesn't mean it's not annoying. So I have spent my days trying my hand at early intervention on the Upper East Side (the incredible, amazing birth-3 scheme that gives babies and toddlers with disabilities their best shot at either "catching up" or simply starting their formal education on the best possible foot). This often involved a two-year old with Down's Syndrome gurgling all over neck instead of putting shapes into the bucket, but who was I to deny him? Gooey times, we had. Sweet and gooey times.

My other site was an ABA school for children with autism. Did I mention it was an ultra-orthodox Jewish school? It was. I live in Congo. The culture shock of moving to Africa does not compare to working with teachers younger than me with marriages. And wigs. And children. Multiple, intentional children who need their mommies to pump breast milk whilst they try to have a casual conversation with me in the curriculum room. These conversations mainly consist of grilling me about why I don't live with my parents and what the heck a Congo is.
                   Congo? Where's that?
                   Congo? Can you be more specific?
                   Kinshasa.
                   I mean is it in South America?
                   Um, well that's a continent, so that would be less specific. Nevermind.
                   Are there blacks there?
                   Is that a real question?
                   How come you know how to speak English?
                   Oh dear.

The teacher dress code is good for: not having greasy men talk to you on the subway, not having college students with clipboards ask you if you have a minute for gay rights, planned parenthood or to save the children and also good for baffling you (stockings are allowed under skirts, leggings are not). The teacher dress code is bad for sitting on the floor and heat waves. OY!

ABA (Applied Behavioral Analysis) is THE autism buzzword. Mainly, I guess, because it works. Using data and formally observed behavior to plan student learning- sounds great! Problem is, this particular school's version of it really sucks the fun out of learning. Way too much sitting. Way too much treating kids like lab rats in a giant maze of literacy and math and social skills who will do anything you want for an Oreo. So I wouldn't say I learned a great deal about ABA, except how I wouldn't want to use it. I did get really good at spot the wig, a game I played out of the unlikely combination of boredom and fascination.

So I am at the tail end of my extra week in the city. I have been taking advantage of warm, fresh bagels, pizza slices on the corner and mint chocolate chip gelato. In my summer time neighborhood, Astoria Park has become my second home with a track where people put their babies in the long jump pit while they run intervals and women in burqas play ultimate frisbee. And since I teach in Manhattan and Brooklyn I have made sure to get my last fixes of Central Park and Union Square, Brooklyn Lager and the Brooklyn Bridge.

48 more hours. Congo here I come!