Key Kids

My students hold the immensity of the world - and they hold it in their keys. They wear them around their wrists, hanging from their necks, tucked away in their pockets and hidden in secret hiding spots at the bottoms of their shoes - for losing these sacred front-door keys is apocalyptic. My students' hands - only 10-years-old - hold their little brothers' and sisters' down the hill and around the bend to open empty houses and cupboards. They unlock doors with keys of all shapes and sizes to no one. They let themselves in and they keep themselves safe. Key Kids, I call them. And all of them are key kids.

Growing up in suburban South Florida, I distinctly remember my school days. My mom, or our carpool, would drop me off at school, and I would chat with friends while reviewing previous days' notes. At the end of the day, I would make my way to daycare and wait for my mom to arrive at 5:30 p.m. or so to drive me home safely and feed me a filling feast. I'd think of answers to questions like "What did you learn today?" and "What's your next big project?" so that I'd be ready to share at our nightly dinner table conversations and games. Childish, yet very real worries of how to divide 25 by 4 or how to possibly read 5 chapters in a night plagued my mind, but work always waited until after dinner.

My key kids don't have time to worry about chapters or arithmetic, and "after dinner" could mean 10 or 11 at night. They are worrying about finding food for dinner, getting clean, staying warm once the sun goes down and drowning out the sounds of sirens - worries that I shouldn't even have at my age.

Though they'll never know that their kid counterparts in suburban communities around the country do not withstand even an eighth of the weight they carry, my key kids are showing up to school, homework gripped as tightly as their keys, maintaining as much sanity and heart as possible. It's no wonder my students act out - they play the role of child, student, adult and parent all at once without guidance or support. I tip my hats to them for their courage and strength, hoping that perhaps the cycle will break, and parents will hold the keys for kids who deserve to use toy keys to open pretend cars instead of real keys to open the very real doors of the burdensome responsibilities of life.

Lesson One: Being a teacher is hard work.

My name is Ms. Packer and I'll be your 5th grade language arts teacher...that's right folks! Yours truly was hired by Bay Brook Elementary/Middle in Baltimore City (Bmore), Maryland, to be the sole 5th grade language arts teacher. I couldn't have picked a better placement for myself if I selected it (truth be told: they asked me what I wanted and by some trick short of a miracle, the school had an opening to meet my exact wants!). I will now officially be carrying on the legacy of all the English-teaching greats, even attempting to match those as fabulous as Mrs. Winrow and Mrs. Morris. Quite a feat!

At this point, I AM Teach For America. As one of 180, 2010 corps members in Baltimore, I have taken a vow - one to education, one to teaching, and one to pushing myself to my max, giving 100 percent of myself, 100 percent of the time to 100 percent of my students. I will make a difference.

Last week, in the blistering heat that apparently envelops Baltimore mid-summer, I lugged my business attire, teaching supplies and snacks to my 4th floor dorm room at Johns Hopkins University for a week of Induction. Hundreds motivational speeches, way too many informational sessions and a few too many soggy turkey sandwiches later, I have made great new friends who challenge me daily and even seek to compete with my organizational skills. I have acquired even more motivation to be the best first-year teacher I can be.

Somehow, in the midst of running to and from sessions booked back-to-back, I found an adorable, completely charming row home in Canton (young, fun part of town), and have solidified two other roommates (TFAers) to keep me sane. I went out twice, to encourage "camaraderie," and sang my heart out at a dueling pianos bar. Demanding sessions offset by a blossoming social life mean that I am keeping it together.

And good thing because my feet are not. Heels suck. Yes, I am an English teacher and yes, I said it...high heels suck!! The blisters on my feet ooze and sap at the most awful times and I have to walk barefoot across campus before re-shoeing my poor toe-sies. But I am not alone in my struggles, every other female looks as though they just begun dancing on point - with bandages stuck tightly to their raw skin and gel insets to cushion their aching arches. I have a whole new appreciation for blister Band-aids.

I passed health screenings and fingerprintings and was accepted officially to Johns Hopkins before making my way to Philly for my five-week INTENSIVE institute.

Today was my first day. I woke at 5 a.m. Had breakfast at 5:45 and loaded my bus to an elementary school in Philly by 6:30 a.m. At the school, I am giving my crash-course in lesson plan writing and teaching. For the summer, I will teach 6th grade math in a 90 minute session all by myself, but under the direction of a mentor teacher. Though the grade and subject don't directly correlate to my placement in Baltimore, I am anticipating strong transferable skills that will make me a fabulous, well-respected teacher.

Every moment of mine is practically booked solid, but I will provide e-mail updates as often as possible. I miss you all and must keep you all in the loop.

For the time being, I am reminding myself to "B' More," no matter what it takes...I'm betting on pots of coffee!

“Now the world’s gonna wake and see, Baltimore and me!”

It’s almost surreal.

I knew Teach For America decisions would be e-mailed on January 21, 2010. I knew they said the decisions would be posted at 8 p.m. But still, I couldn’t help myself from clicking the refresh button on my e-mail at least once every five minutes starting at 8:30 a.m. A night of tossing and turning, dreams of children in my classroom and waking up practically every other hour didn’t help to keep my naturally anxious self from relaxing.

Going to class was painful. My thoughts of lessons and lectures were interrupted by notions of decision letters – good and bad. By the end of each class period, I had thoroughly convinced myself that I wasn’t gonna be offered a spot.

“Well my interview went well, but the one-on-one had some silent moments.”

“Perhaps you came across too strong in the group interview, Katie. I’m sure they don’t like that.”

“Why would they pick you, Katie? There are 35,000 other amazingly qualified applicants.”

Every thought, every self-realization of doubt had decided to flood my brain during my two-hour ethics of journalism class. My pen tapped; my legs bounced; my breakfast went uneaten. Texts were sent to my boyfriend begging for support.

By some miracle, I had managed to calm myself down on my drive home from class. Knowing that it was only 4 p.m. allowed me to persuade myself that there was no use in worrying for the next four hours. Menial tasks on my computer while talking to Andrew on the phone lead me to check my e-mail.

And there it was.

“Congratulations! We are pleased to invite you to join the 2010 Teach For America corps and are excited to assign you to teach elementary school in Baltimore.”

Woah, hold your horses, it’s only 4:30 p.m. Was I just accepted? I then proceeded to read and re-read and re-read again.

Nearly one minute after those congratulatory words embedded themselves into my mind, I had to alert my new best friends, Facebook and Twitter - they’re such gossips that I knew I could count on them to get the word out.

About five minutes later, one of my best childhood friends, Jamie Goldstein, a senior at Vanderbilt University, called me. Between tears of joy and childlike, giddy screaming, we realized that we would both be teaching in Baltimore as 2010 TFA corps member – a total fortunate fluke.

Jamie and I were elementary school buds to the 10^th degree. Sitting together on field trip buses, sharing lunch food (Lunchable pizzas!) and participating in color group activities didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

My most fond memories of grade school all seem to involve Jamie. My very first day of Kindergarten in Ms. Cowan’s Scooters class introduced me to her. From there, she helped me practice and audition for the oh-so-prestigious Sunsations, our elementary school choir. We sang duets (“In the meadow we can build a snowman…”) and practiced our mini-show, “It’s Saturday.”

We cheated together on in-class spelling tests, and we roomed together on overnight trips. Our parent-child book club, beginning in fifth grade, brought us even closer. WU-TV, our school’s own news program, and Dear Sunny, our school’s student-to-student help club, were a scream.

Outside of class, Jamie and I celebrated every single birthday together – pull-apart sunflower cakes and all. Brownies camp-outs and meetings filled our days. Sleepovers and flat-ironing hair filled our nights. Multiple group projects and partner projects were completed at her or my house.

Funny how life works, isn’t it. The happiness of my elementary school years will be joining me as I tackle primary school all over again. I can’t wait to see what’s in store.

As a Teach For America teacher, I will be making a difference. I will make direct impact on students. I will serve as the bit of hope and encouragement that many students have never had. I will teach not only knowledge, but life smarts, and I will instill my love of learning to all within my reach.

So KP in the City will, from here on out, more aptly be KP in the Classroom….'cause that’s where you’ll find me. Baltimore and me!