Dear Professors and Colleagues,

     I decided I wanted to become a Special Education Urban Educator simply because I love my community.  I love my people.  My journey in life has taught me the importance of giving back to my community.  My experience with self-hate and longing for progress in my impoverished neighborhood was fodder for my career choice.  I wanted to be part of the solution and at the forefront of such powerful movement.  I decided one way to address these tensions was to become a teacher; I wanted to be a part of making the world a better place especially for kids who come from the same urban streets in which I was raised. 

     Why I wanted to be a special education teacher started way back--during my tenure as a youth care specialist for family services.  In my latter twenties I worked as a Youth Specialist for SCO Family Services.  There my primary responsibility was to provide care for underage, at-risk youth (13-17) whom got into trouble with the law, but whose crimes were not severe enough to place them in a secured facility.  The Department of Juvenile Justice and the NYC Family Courts worked directly with Community Organizations, such as SCO Family Services, to provide a Non-Secure Detention environment (group home setting) in order to detain and assist young adolescents for a specified amount of time. In those homes, it was our duty to provide direct “eyes on” client supervision to those left in our care 24/7.  I worked with a team of individuals to develop and model effective relationships and behaviors with kids and co-workers, as it was expected of us to provide immediate therapeutic crisis intervention when unexpected moments occurred; and they occurred often.

     One of the difficult realities of working in the program was that 80% of all the adolescents that ended up in the program were labeled with emotional disorder.         Everyday staff had to administer prescriptions such as Ritalin to these youngsters, and it was very difficult for me to watch the effects these prescriptions had on them.   One day on the job, I had forgotten to administer medication; I was grateful that no problems ensued occurred during my shift.  When remembered, I rallied everyone together to administer their prescriptions and they all pleaded with me not to.  They expressed just how much they hated how the drugs made them feel.  They used words like “dopey” and “slow” to describe how they felt after taking the drugs. I was amused to hear how far the youngsters would go to plead their case. They made promises to adhere to skills and behaviors we taught in the mandated workshops.  One very powerful admission that stood out to me was how they believed their good behavior had much to do with the caring environment we had established in the home.  They said they felt “safe”, that they “liked” many of the staff, and how they would not “violate” us through unacceptable behavior.  To this today, that moment is one of my most impressionable memories I have as a childcare worker.  That day I saw and realized how creating a safe environment for adolescents helps to foster trust and community. 

     My tenure at SCO Family Services exposed me to the realities of special needs adolescents; in this particular case those whom were labeled (ED).  As I grew to know so many of them, and hear their stories, it was only natural that I developed an affinity towards them.  Most, if not all, of the kids I met came from urban areas where poverty and struggle were a way of life.  So many of them were misunderstood, came from broken homes and/or had no one in their corner.  Some of them were just victims of their circumstances or products of the environemnts they lived in, where extra curricular activities were scarce.  Truth be told, every time I saw those kids I saw the people from my own community.  I shared the same struggles growing up in an urban neighborhood.  Walking away from my professional experience at SCO helped me understand my role and responsibility in improving communities[1].  My employment afforded me room to improve a community through a household of misunderstood youths. This value of mine, is aligned with the second claim in the Social Commitment Domain and is the reason why I believe my background validates my interest in teaching special needs students, specifically in urban areas.

     While my background may validate my interests in becoming a teacher, much of my experience in the educational system is what specifically propelled my decision to join the ranks in urban education.  As I continue to ponder on the KEEPS Claim, I realize the ideas embodied in the domains look only to address many of the inequities I’ve experienced myself as an urban student nearly twenty years ago.  If someone were to ask me how many of all my teachers in public education ever took the time to know more about me, as a learner, a thinker, my interests/talents, or even about the strengths I believed I had that would have allowed me to access knowledge much easier, I could count them on one hand.  Much of my education from LIU’s coursework made clear to me many of the frustrations I’ve experienced as a student.  My recollection of high school in the early nineties, when large violent schools were the norm, is not filled many positive school memories. 

     The school where I work today, EBC High School for Public Service-Bushwick, was founded in 1992 as a safe alternative to large violent schools that led to the murder of two students[2] in the community.  Even Hollywood reflected the lack of safety in the school system through movies like, “Class of 1999” and “Lean On Me.”  Watching these movies reminded me of how militant roles teachers took to the classroom. However, my memories of the classroom had less to do with not feeling safe among my peers, but feeling safe to learn. Teachers back then were a bit blind to the unwelcoming learning environment many of them cultivated in their classrooms.  How could I access knowledge of curricula, when asking questions at times annoyed the teacher or made a student feel they were stupid because they asked what some considered a "dumb question?"  Most of my memories in a class were of over-lecturing and as a student I struggled many times decoding what I heard.  If I heard something that intrigued me during a lecture and pondered on what I heard, I would lose track of the continuing lecture.  Maybe I was a slow processor.  But often times I was subject to being perceived as not paying attention during class when I asking clarifying questions.  I would always hear, “Well if you were listening-you would have heard.” The truth is I started to think there was something wrong with me and it affected me deeply as a student.  Apparently some teachers were incapable of creating appropriate learning environments to teach to students like me in urban settings like the one I grew up in; establishing such settings is deemed important within the Knowledge Domain: Claim (3). 

     So you can imagine that in many of my classes some us were afraid to ask questions in fear of being persecuted by the teacher or ridiculed by more advanced students.  We were not afforded teachers who demonstrated an on-going commitment to the improvement of their practice.  Many of them felt they did a great job teaching either through lecturing or giving us worksheets for the entire class session. Such classroom environments kept students like myself from inquiry.  Is it possible to get urban kids to think about their thinking, create their own questions, or demonstrate metacognitive awareness in an inappropriate learning environment?  It wasn’t until I pursued my undergraduate degree that I sought deeper knowledge of content through inquiry.  My limited exposure in the public school system only made my collegiate pursuit difficult.

     As a second year teacher today, I know the importance of being committed to the on-going improvement of my practice, as conveyed in Enquiry Domain: Claim 4.  I work in an urban setting and see first hand the propensity for veteran teachers to err on the side that their practice has no need for improvement and it is the fault of the child if they cannot/do not respond to instruction.  I will resist succumbing to that sort of pompous thinking. I continuously contend with that mindset when I have to correct veteran staff and respectfully disagree with them when blame is so readily put on a child because they are not doing well.  I will always try to look in the mirror first and ask myself what I can do better or change in order to meet my students where they are and get them to learn.  This is why I want and need to remain teaching in an urban setting.  I understand the students from and in my community.  

     Not only do I like to think I understand most students in my community, I empathize with them as well.  LIU clearly distinguished the numerous ways a student may process information.  I hold dear to my heart every claim found in the Empathy Domain.  During the first year of my tenure, my ninth grade stand-alone class showed me firsthand that no two kids are alike[3].  My classroom consisted of a student with a severe cognitive disability, another with an emotional disorder, one with dyslexia, and the other with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, the rest were labeled as Learning Disability.  What troubled me about my students was the huge disparity in their reading and computation skills.  Most of their grade level equivalences for reading and math were 2nd and 3rd grade.  "How could this be?" I asked.  As I spent time with my students I heard various stories of the lack of support they never received even as special needs students.  Blanchett, Klingner and Harry (2009) in their examination of the effects of race, culture, language, and disability argue how children of color from urban areas have difficulty accessing equitable education because many of them “experience inequities that are inherent in the special education system” (p.392).  Tasked with the responsibility of preparing them for a Regents exam the only way I would see any promise of closing the achievement gap was by first creating a caring community of learners[4].  Only then would I be able to invest the time needed to get my students to realize that I cared for and believed in their ability to learn[5].  Sitting in such a classroom challenged me in ways that would scare off most non-special education teachers.  I figured to myself, you have to have empathy if you want to take on such a feat. 

     Teaching special need students for the last two years challenged my ability to modify different content to various learning modalities coupled with distinctive skill levels.  But when teaching in the urban context, one will also encounter issues of diversity in the classroom where race, ethnicity, and cultural differences are all legitimate factors and learn to come to understand and appreciate[6].  The KEEPS Pluralism claims reflect both a consideration and appreciation for a vast amount diverse nationalities represented in New York.  My school is situated in the urban area of Bushwick Brooklyn.  My inclusion class alone, one will encounter students from Southern America, Mexico, and the Latin- Caribbean Islands.  When I first started teaching, my ability to speak Spanish was quickly put to the test for Bi-lingual instruction.  Although I am a special education teacher, I was tasked with teaching Algebra to newly immigrated students from Colombia, the Dominican Republic, Mexico, Ecuador, Panama and other Latin American countries.  Despite the fact that we all speak Spanish, our different dialects presented its challenges.  Nevertheless, my presence in the classroom was a relief to many of my students. Still sitting in such a diverse class of English language learners one must be prepared to learn and celebrate the vast diversities of the heritages represented and finds ways to allow curricula to mirror student’s backgrounds.  Leonardo and Hunter (2007) in their excerpt, “Urban Space and the Politics of Authenticity” discuss how the ability for Latinos to speak Spanish is crucial in urban areas where more recent immigrants are likely living” (p.786).  The researchers refer to this as “authentic cultural practice”, and as a Latino of Puerto-Rican descent I agree with this notion.  Being a native from the same area in which my school resides, I see how crucial my role is as an educator.  This “urban space is my home”, and I find fulfillment in the role I play as an educator giving back to the very same neighborhood in which I was born in (Leonardo & Hunter, 2007).  These ideas of knowledge, enquiry, empathy, pluralism and social commitment give me perspective on my decision in becoming an urban educator.

     As I sit and consider the development of my own identity over the course of my thirty-seven years on this earth, I am a bit more settled in how I see myself, how I view and approach the world, my family, my home, my work, my heritage and my community.  I realized that I have been and still am on a journey of the development of my identity and how I relate to those around me.  Throughout my life’s journey I’ve experienced different degrees of what Brendtro, Brokenleg, and Van Bockern (1990) describe as “seeds of discouragement” during various points of my own “identity development.”  In addition, I reflect on how I lived my life as a young person. I was an active experimenter, forming theories about myself and testing those theories through my life experiences. This concept I now understand to be “the construction of adolescence”. 

     Growing up as a Puerto Rican male in Brooklyn during the 80’s and 90’s I experienced first hand the difficulty of poverty.  My parents came from nothing and worked really hard trying to make ends meet both for my young sister and me.  Neither of my parents were educated.  My father worked long hours and spent most of his free time taking side jobs to put food on the table and clothes on our backs.  My mother was dependent on the welfare system in order to qualify for a food assistance program. As a young Spanish man I lived under a cloud of shame; shame of poverty and being part of a heritage of people who were granted citizenship but did not have the "know how" for a better way of life.  I found myself struggling with a sense of powerlessness, inadequacy, and unworthiness; those things formed an unhealthy feeling of self-hate.  Drugs plagued my community as it had become a means of escapism for many and many of us were ashamed to be considered Spanish. 

     My father constantly pushed me towards education as a means of escaping a life of poverty, but pursuit of academic success proved difficult without direct support and guidance.  I graduated from high school, and went directly into college as my parents wished, but I was not prepared for the difficulties I would experience in college on my own.  I ended up dropping out after a semester and looking to help my parents whom were separated at the time.  At the early age of nineteen, I was forced to step into my father’s shoes and provide for both my mother and sister. I can identify those in my classroom who walk down a similar road in their own journey.  Many immigrant families still come into the community where I teach and parents of those students are also not college educated.

     I find myself today intentionally looking to play a supportive role in the lives of my many students, while also trying to offer them the kind of support I didn’t get myself as an adolescent[7].  Brendtro et al. (1990) discuss the widespread concern how contemporary society is creating a growing number of children at risk for relationship impairment.  The authors quote the theologian Martin Marty and argue how today’s nuclear family is neither reliable nor sufficient in the preservation of civilization.   Marty highlights how it is a “tribe” rather than a nuclear family that ultimately ensures cultural survival (Brendtro et al., 1990).  Construction of Adolescence reinforces this notion in the case they present how educators today play a vital role in the life of students from a co-authorship role.  My role as an educator plays is vital in the construction of my student’s lives as they look to find meaning and direction in their adolescent journey.  Today I take part in the tribe that works to sustain the many students I serve and look to help offer them the additional support they need for their own academic success and adolescent development[8]. During my middle school years, my hunger for learning and strong work ethic proved that I was a student capable of high academic achievement.  However, if a teacher had difficulty helping me understand the objectives taught on a daily basis, I struggled to keep up. I lived with both my parents, and studying at home was a part of their expectations.  Still even studying at home proved difficult if I could not grasp the objective of the lesson for the day, and that contributed to my inconsistency as a student.

     I remember going through a number of ups and downs as a student.  These shifts in experiences, I admit had some to do with my developmental transitions. However, I believe more now as I reflect on those early years much of it was predicated on the experiences I had in the various learning environments teachers created in the classroom. I realize just how much of my success was directly linked to my ability to connect with my teacher. I had the greatest success when my teachers didn’t just tell me what I needed to know or do, but they took the time to make sure that I understood what was required of me so that I could move forward. I distinctly remember in middle school, that Social Studies and Algebra were two of my academic strengths.  The teachers who taught those particular courses made learning fun, built my sense of self-efficacy, and went out of their way to make sure all students understood the lesson taught for the day. Each and every day during the school year I felt they worked hard to ensure that learning was taking place in classroom.

     The classroom circumstances that proved most effective for my learning was a safe environment where structure existed and learning was valued.  I remember sitting in classrooms with teachers whose classroom management skills were not keen or they didn't even try.  Most of those classes were difficult to learn in because students often became a distraction for learning and if the teacher was not effective at maintaining order, the rest of the class became demoralized and gave up. Subsequently, we were left to our own devices. 

     O’Neill (2011) in his excerpt to new teachers, and whether they are “In It for the Long Haul,” talks about the many hardships that await new teachers during their journey, but lists reasons why teachers return.  The author goes on to state, “When all is said and done teachers return because we didn’t choose the profession, the profession choose us… because we had a teacher who made us want to be a teache.r”  For me, that teacher was my eighth grade social studies teacher Mr. Holub.  I still cherish today the days I spent in his classroom.  His impact on me as a young student has inspired me to be a teacher just like him.  Everyone loved Mr. Holub and his sense of humor.  His class was always fun and engaging. But what I loved about him was his belief in me.  Social Studies at first was not my strength but he played the role of both cheerleader and coach.  His methodology distinguished his class from the rest. The fact that he believed in me translated to me believing in myself. His faith in me encouraged me to push through the more challenging content; because he cared, I made the effort to care.  To this day I think of Mr. Holub, and hope I can connect to students the way he connected to me.  

     On the opposite end, I had teachers who felt like, “You either get it or you don’t. I did my job. The rest is up to you.” The onus for my achievement was totally on me. There was little to no support, they barely delivered the content and that was their bottom line. Students who had supports outside of the classroom may have been able to get by, but I had no such supports.

     I am excited about being a teacher.  I love kids...period.  When I was afforded the opportunity to participate in the Fellows Spring Classroom Apprenticeship, I’ll never forget teaching my first lesson.  Students were excited, engaged and learning took place.  It was at that moment in that class, that my life made sense.  For the last ten years of I’ve volunteered at numerous schools, youth organizations and community centers and served kids in a number of different ways.  I am grateful for the opportunity to enter this profession and help the young students of this generation.  I am a firm believer and advocate for education and the opportunities it presents to students.  No student should ever feel they are incapable of learning and it is my hope to help every student progress in their academic pursuits. 

     Growing up in New York City presents its challenges.  As a native New Yorker I experience first hand how it is common for people to measure themselves by what they do for a living.  Often when people meet they introduce themselves by their profession as a means of caliber assessment: “Hi, my name is Dan I am a lawyer. What do you do?"  People often approve or disapprove of one another by the professions they hold. 

It’s difficult to escape the negative implications that this sort of social interaction creates in society today.  As an adolescent, it is easy to root one’s sense of self worth in the type of career one holds and how it plays into identity development.  I know today that it has always been my passion to work with adolescents.  During most of my twenties, I found myself interacting with youth in different lines of work both professionally and by volunteering.  I have worked at non-profit agencies working directly with at-risk youth from group home settings to non-secure detention facilities, but I have also volunteered to help kids both through churches and community organizations.  Unfortunately many of the jobs I had working with kids did not provide the most glamorous pay, so I found myself pursuing academic endeavors that would lead in a different direction than my passion. 

     After returning to college, I later graduated with a four-year business degree, I took several jobs in corporate only to learn that what seemed like a glamorous career with a title was often void of any fufilling rewards or true purpose as I did when working with adolescents.  Many of my family and friends considered me successful when I worked in corporate, but all I saw was a changing industry that viewed people as

dispensable in the midst of a recession.  It began to be common practice to hire under qualified people at lesser pay and harder working demands; thus it became increasingly difficult to maintain employment in an unstable job market.  Although I held a respectable position at a corporate job, I could not escape the false sense of accomplishment I often ignored because my identity was rooted in something superficial and void of a sense of purpose.

     It wasn’t became apparent that I needed to pursue a career in line with my passion: working with adolescents.  By this time I was married to a beautiful school teacher who I secretly envied.  She would come home and share the sense of fulfillment she experienced working with adolescents.  Overtime, I had the privilege of meeting the many individuals whom she had a positive impact on.  I realized then that it was not a glamour career I sought but rather a vocation that would enable me to do something I felt great pride in. 

     I took her advice to apply, accept and join the Fellows program. In time I was afforded the same opportunity to work with students from the same community in which I was born and raised in. Today, I have the honor of giving back to my community while working directly with adolescents whom come from the same impoverished background as I did.  Ever since I landed a job as a New York City school teacher, I feel I have found my vocation, one I truly enjoy.  My own sense of identity development has evolved into an individual who can directly give back to the same community in which he was birthed, helping the very same students he was once twenty years ago. 

     Today I have found meaning in life through my vocation as a high school teacher.  I take pride in advocating for my students and supporting the disenfranchised transition from difficult upbringings to more possible promising futures[9].  Although my journey has just begun, but I am more settled with my place in this world as I contribute to the those I teach and work with[10].  

     Growing up in Bushwick Brooklyn, I saw first hand how poverty cripples a child’s education.  The students who walk through my doors everyday carry the world on their shoulders.  At the end of the school day, many of these students return to broken homes, others to shelters. Sometimes I hear how kids don’t want to go home, because there is nothing to go home to.  Some have loving and supportive parents, still there are those whose parents are not present, and still others who are victims of unfortunate circumstances.  Educators in urban settings contend with these barriers to learning, and it is imperative that we seek to build healthy relationships with our students in order to create the best possible learning environments.  Ask any of my students, and I truly believe you will hear positive feedback from each of them for many different reasons.  I take the time to make sure my students understand that I truly care for their well-being.  Ther thoughts and feelings derive from that fact that I believe that cultivating relationships with your students have a direct and positive impact on both classroom management and a students learning progress.  A student will listen to you if they you care about them.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Blanchett, W. J., Klingner, J. K. & Harry, B.  (2009).  The Intersection of Race, Culture, Language and Disability: Implications for Urban Education.  Urban Education.  Vol.4 No.4

Brendtro, L. K., Brokenleg, M. & Van Bockern, S. (1990).  Reclaiming Youth at Risk: Our Hope for the Future. Bloomington, IN: National Educational Service

Leonardo, Z. & Hunter, M.  (2007).  Imagining the Urban:  The Politics of Race, Class and Schooling.  International Handbook of Urban Education. 779-802

O'Neill, J. (2011). New Teachers: Are you in It for the Long Haul? Retrieved from http://www.edweek.org/tm/articles/2011/07/25/oneill_oldtonew.html