Ms. Wongton

Yeah, one of my students called me Ms. Wongton.

You can bet 'twas a singular occurence. There shan't be addressing me as Ms. Wongton no way, no where, no how, no matter how adamantly you attempt to convince me of your love for wontons.

But that hindered not the subsequent inquiries that reeked of presupposed curiosity about Asians.

EXT. SCHOOL BASKETBALL COURTS - MORNING

STUDENT 1

(lining up in front of me for homeroom)

Ms. Wong, Ms. Wong.

HELEN

Yes?

STUDENT 1
Where are you from?

HELEN
I grew up a little outside of LA, not too far from here.

STUDENT 2
No, really, where are you from?

HELEN

(looks at him quizzically)
What do you mean?

STUDENT 3
You're from Tokyo, huh?

HELEN
Oh, you think I'm Japanese?

STUDENT 1
Yeah!

STUDENT 2
Or Korea.

HELEN
So you think I'm Korean?

STUDENT 3
I mean, you can't be Chinese.

HELEN
Why not?

STUDENT 3
(shrugs)

HELEN
Actually, I am Chinese.

STUDENTS 1, 2, 3
WHOAAAAAA!!!! NO WAY!!!!

INT. CLASSROOM - MIDMORNING

STUDENT 4
Ms. Wong, do you play chess?

HELEN
Do I look like I play chess?

STUDENT 4
Yes.

In blatant honesty, I found these situations a tad humorous, 'cause, apparently, they haven't encountered many Asian-Americans in their 13-year-old lifetime in their neck of woods, so there've been some teachable moments in that regard thus far. And they've indubitably been teaching me buckets, too. I'm humbled by the matter-of-fact madness they oft confront, as they impart to me tales of domestic violence, rape in their families, frequent imprisonment, and nearly getting shot by gangbangers in a drive-by. They are such characters, particularly this week, whence one student dropped his pants down amidst instruction for all attention to hone in on him whilst another student stabbed himself (or something equally ridiculous) to the point where he wriggled his blood-swathed hand in the air as a request to shimmy to the john, a request I denied for we allow 'em never to gallivant to the bathroom during instruction. 'Tis so difficult to maintain a deadpan teacher face and implement classroom management strategies in such hilarious and incredulous moments.

All in all, I love my students so. They've limitless potential and I am thrilled by their passion to get on the college track despite the challenges they face, as they rattle off their imminent futures, "USC! UCLA! Harvard! Princeton!" - paths to traverse as stepping stones to change the world. After testing them the first week of summer school, my 8th graders were reading on a 5th-6th grade level, comprehending what they're reading at a 2nd grade level, and half cannot scribe complete sentences - overwhelmingly appalling anger-inducing data that connotes the achievement gap.

We are currently at the midpoint of summer school - the need is great, and the time is short. We haven't a second to dilly dally into nonexistence and I pray the reading comprehension and writing strategies we're teaching aid in getting 'em on track. 100% of my students are currently passing the class, with 72% as the lowest, and 99% as the highest - a thrilling statistic. But there is still much work to be done. I'm increasingly discerning that how effectively I teach an objective directly correlates with their daily assessment scores. Whence I pummel over the allotted time or fail to guide them through mastering an objective competently, their assessment scores are substantially lower, which is a frustrating burden on my part. In essence, 'tis truly the teacher's responsibility to get every student to achieve via lesson planning and executing, classroom managing, and building classroom culture. I want to be a better teacher for my students, so they can be better achievers, for they are absolutely capable of so much more than anyone can imagine, so much that only God knows. I've so much to learn to be an effective teacher. All of which has been, is, and shall be due to God's abundant grace. He is way too good for articulation.

And, oh yeah, behold the champs of yesterday's Teacher Olympics. What?

Oh, dear Sleep, you elusive friend, I know I've neglected to set aside time for you lately, but make a hasty return into my life, pronto. TFA is a maniacal machine. Two more weeks of Institute await us still. Let's rock it.