If I had a dollar, heck, if I had a dime for how many different emotions I’ve felt over the last couple months, I would be a very rich woman! Thankfully, dust is starting to settle, and I am able to pinpoint much of this as culture shock. In my last entry, months ago, I wrote that I didn’t get culture shock anymore, and that I wanted to have it. It kicks my off my butt, makes me look at things in a new way, question, and refocus. Usually, the big question is ‘what are my fortunes that I take for granted?’
Well, turns out, I didn’t have to go far at all to experience this. In fact, what I needed, was to be in a different place, but not as a tourist. I needed to be someplace new for a longer period of time, to really feel the shock. Welcome back to New Orleans! I’ve been going through many different phases of culture shock since I’ve been here, just at a much much much slower rate than I thought. First came comparing here to home, and being excited about the nuances. I stayed in this phase for a long time, until it became time to re-join the workforce and get a ‘real’ job here in this new culture. Another layer of cultural difference started to unfold as I visited different workplaces, met with interesting people, and became acutely aware that I have been living in a tourist-based town, and one that operates mostly by word-of-mouth, rather than resources I was used to like craigslist.
I found a job as a middle school math teacher, something I’ve often thought about moving into. The details sounded ideal- 3 ninety minute blocks of teaching, one prep per day. I went and observed a functioning classroom, different than the one I’d be taking over. More and more of these layers were uncovered as I began my first day teaching. I brought my California ideas and ideals into a system that was very different. For one, I had 16 and 17 yr olds in my 7th grade class. For another, I had a class full of incredibly angry young people. Honestly, they had every right to be angry- here it was January, and they hadn’t had a teacher all year. And I can’t even pretend to begin comprehending what they were dealing with at home, let alone the last two years during and after Katrina.
On my second day, in my class of 6th graders, one girl started quite the raucous. Books thrown, insults thrown, she decided to walk out of class. I wasn’t quite sure what to do- how did I let the office know a child had left the classroom? I didn’t have a classroom of my own. Like the students, I moved from room to room to teach. Where was the phone?
This is when I was introduced to “the buttons”. In every classroom, there was a white button, and a red button. The white button just called the office, and a voice would come over the intercom system to see what was going on. This was for normal things, like so-and-so needs to call home for his library book. The red button was to be used if there was a disturbance, a fight, an emergency. When this button was pushed (and it did get pushed), the campus police would come directly to the classroom.
Without going into too much detail, it became very clear to me that this was NOT a safe place, or a good fit for me. Although some kids had started to turn around, I knew that making a difference was going to take a lot more than one semester as their math teacher, and was going to cost me too much personally. If I had to pick the one thing that really made me sick at night thinking about going back it would be this- the kids weren’t allies. As a teacher of this hormonal age-group, I expect some disrespect, some hostility, and even some hate to be directed towards me. But kids are supposed to take care of each other. Yes, there are bullies, and there are the loners. But big picture, middle schoolers are supposed to be overly consumed with friendships. These are the years of cliques, and first crushes, and slumber parties and ridiculously long phone conversations. When I realized these kids weren’t looking out for each other, and that so many of them felt unsafe, my heart sank. It became the first job in my life that I walked out on. I got seriously SCHOOLED in the New Orleans public school system, and thrown face flat on the ground with all of my presumptions.
It was a rough month after that, trying to regain balance, as more and more cultural differences began to unravel before me. Instead of marveling at the nuances, I was frustrated. I was trying to figure out how to fit in, if I fit in, and if these were cultural norms, or just traits that some people had in common. I found myself suddenly understanding why people who were from New Orleans behaved in certain ways, and why I sometimes didn’t see eye to eye with people who’s opinions I valued. I felt like the kid in math class ‘getting it’ for the first time, but over and over again in succession, to where it became exhausting just to get through a day. On a professional level and a strong supporter of (though terribly flawed) public education, I struggled with finally, completely, totally, understanding why many parents in greater New Orleans chose to put their children in private schools. I hated to admit that if I had a child, I would do the same.
Well, a week passed, and I was picking up any odd job I could find, and thought maybe it was time to throw in the towel, move back to San Francisco, and go back to what was….. comfortable. I think that was the moment I realized I could name my emotions, and decided I needed to see it through, regardless of what decision I made, or will make in the future. I needed to get through all the discomfort, wear it, sweat it, overanalyze it, and finally EMBRACE it. Once I started to see this experience as a lesson (and boy was it ever!), I was ready to steer it a little better, and look for all the positive growth it had to offer.
One Monday morning, I woke early, got on the internet and wrote a list of all of the charter and private, non-religious schools and their phone numbers. I cold-called almost every one of them. When in Rome, right? I knew there were plenty of smart, well-educated people in this town. They had to have gone to school somewhere. Through avenues learned living within the culture here, rather than getting yet another one-day gig on craigslist (though I do love them!), I connected with a friend of a friend, whose son needed tutoring. This led to a phone call to the principal, and a just-funded position, a fantastic connection, a gun-shy but successful school visit, and voila! I am now an academic interventionist at one of the two top public charter schools in the city of New Orleans. I work with 6th through 8th graders, again. Only, these kids are really kids. They’re silly and hyper, and have their temper tantrums, but I have yet to see one outburst that isn’t age appropriate. There are no red or white buttons, and there is no need for them. They hug their teachers, and most of all, they look out for each other. I wake up in the morning feeling fortunate to have such a fantastic job in such a beautiful setting (http://auduboncharter.com), and leave with hilarious stories about what happened during the day.
I got schooled, and it was worth the humility, and every tear and sleepless night. I asked for culture shock, and boy did I get it! As rough as it was, I can’t imagine not having pushed through these barriers. So what were the fortunes that I have that I want to be more conscious of? Culture shock taught me so much more about myself, and about my new friends and colleagues, and reminded me how wonderful, brilliant, and supportive my family and new and old friends are. I know there are more layers to unpeel as I live here (yikes- is that really what I am doing? Living here?), but I am now armed with more experience and information to make sense of those layers. I feel really lucky to be doing what I am doing, in a place so different from home, and learning so much while having such a good time.
I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it a bit differently this time- Come visit! I promise you will have a good time, and now I can say YOU CAN STAY WITH ME!
Back in my condo tomorrow……
-Rebecca
