I started City Year about a year ago. Life is sure different without those kids. I plan on visiting CPEMS when the new CY team gets into the swing of things.

I miss his antics, his ability to make me smile on a not so happy day.
When I was his literacy tutor, I made up a game to keep him from wandering out of the room--who can spell the word correctly and circle the vowel combinations faster?
"Andy" versus "Ella"
Of course, I occasionally slowed myself down and let him win.

"The Fraction Monster" photo taken circa 10.18.2009

Gave a Year. Changed the World.

I thought a "starfish story" would be a nice way to end my posts relating to City Year. What is a starfish story, you ask? City Year defines it in a PITW (Putting Idealism to Work) maxim: If you want to communicate powerfully, tell a story.
A major part of our mission is to inspire others to civic action. All great leaders communicated their ideas best by telling a story...

We were asked to submit starfish stories before we graduated in sort of a contest, and I won. : ) Here it is:

From an outsider’s point of view I was Alex’s enemy. I certainly felt like it. To him, every suggestion or command I made was like salt in a wound. He’d thrash about in anger followed by a string of expletives directed at me. He always had something negative to say and his knack of defying all directions would surprise most. Against his will, he was placed into the literacy program, Read 180, but he needed it. He was in the 6th grade and his reading score was at an elementary level.
One day, Alex threw a fit because I took away a seemingly benign pad of sticky notes that he was playing with instead of doing his work. This object automatically meant the world to this young boy when I took it away. “You didn’t buy those! Those aren’t yours,” he chanted over and over again. “I know, Alex. I will give them back to you after class. They are distracting you and others,” I replied. I felt like he hated me even more, and although I wasn’t trying to be “Miss Popular” with the 6th graders, I felt bad. I felt like I’d never be able to handle his antics.
Springtime arrived, which meant it was time for our weeklong leadership camp, Hero’s Summit. I was excited for a change of pace and a break from Alex. Mid-week, I see a new face. It’s Alex. My jaw dropped in surprise. He had heard from one of his friends how much fun it was and decided to join.
I walked into the middle school Monday morning and….my jaw dropped again. Alex said “hello” to me. This was the first time he had ever done that. Immediately, I had to tell some of my teammates who knew of my difficulties with him. From then on, Alex looked forward to seeing me. He would sit on the steps of the school with me in the morning, which he did every day till the very last day I was at his school. It was a complete 180 with him—in academic work and his attitude. Not only did he say “hello,” but we talked like there had never been a time when I was his enemy.
During state testing, our team held morning greetings with stations that promoted studying and stress relief. Alex showed up at my classical music station and sat down. He was quiet, and I asked him how he felt about the math test. He said he was worried. I gave him a run down of what he should be looking out for when multiplying, dividing and adding fractions along with other essential math review. The following day, during 6th grade lunch support, he came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said “Stella, thanks for those math tips. They really helped.” Just when you think you have a kid figured out, they blow you away with something unexpected.

With a raise of the hand, a toast: "To Bacchus!"

I can get drunk off things that many people take for granted-- the sight of clouds swirling in a blue sky, a flower poking its head through a fence, the flavor of sun-ripened blackberries. The idea of simply living, experiencing the world around me, has sent me spinning. In those moments, when I realize that I am and that I've woven my everyday life into this magnificent city, I become light-headed.


There is roughly a month left of my stint with City Year. The realization of these diminishing days has left me dizzy. It isn't that I have been caught unawares, and it isn't that I'm crazy in love with the 12 hour work days with little pay… rather, only now have I become cognizance that I have made a difference in the lives of others. In this instant, I have become drunk (sans alcohol) off the idea of making a difference. (All along, I knew it was in CY’s tag line: "Give a Year. Change the World"). People would insist that we were having positive effects on these children, but I never actually felt the euphoria of “making a difference”. But now, suddenly, I'm feeling three sheets to the wind.


Now, 4 weeks left, and I ask myself, “What more can I do? How much more of an impact can I make?” It's so easy to give up those days when ignorant, uninspired people and their roadblocks get in my way. I want to push them all aside and just do what I have to do but it's easier said than done. I started tutoring math in a one-on-one setting today. We were never assigned to this role, but I have always thought it should be an integral part of our service at the school. Now that these middle schoolers have their names added to the "promotion in doubt list," and teachers give up, I have begun to push forward with this mathematical endeavor.

During a teachers’ meeting, I requested the names of those that I could pull out of independent reading in order to help them with their math. One teacher's retort was, "Well, I don't know how much you can help them. The state math test is in a few days." I replied, "Well, I think it's important for them to understand math as general knowledge--not just for the test.” That teacher's sentiment must have been similar to many of the kid’s former instructors.

"Well, I don't know how much you can help them...."

"He'll have to rely on his looks to get him through life"

"You can take him; I can't deal with him,"

"She never pays attention--too boy crazy"

"She’s so far behind, she'll just have to repeat the grade again. Luckily, I won’t be here."


When I meet a person and tell them about City Year and about the children I work with, they are in utter disbelief (WHY?). Dear reader, I beseech you to open your eyes to the world outside your own. These children are in middle school and many read and write at a 3rd or 4th grade level. They have trouble adding and subtracting let alone dealing with fractions and decimals. Where will they end up if no one gives them the time of day? Perhaps, in a newspaper--not for winning an award, getting a book published or discovering a cure for cancer, but for something regrettable. Regrettable not only for themselves, but for each person who did not try to help that child become an individual who has something to offer himself and the world he lives in.
Think about it all. Maybe one day you can get that dizzy feeling, too.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?

Spring has arrived in New York City. People are basking in the sun or reading under the cool shade of a blossoming cherry tree in Central Park, the ice cream truck's familiar tune becomes the soundtrack of the streets, and the man on 125th has started his daily routine of push-ups on the sidewalk for all to see. If you thought NYC had crowded streets during winter, "you ain't seen nothin', yet" in the spring. After a day spent absorbing spring into my skin in what is called the "Sheep's Meadow" of Central Park, I realize, once again, how much I love this city. My leisurely bus trip (who can bear to hide from the city on such a day in the dark subways?) back to my apartment in Harlem, exposed me to the vibrant explosion of life that had been long held in a tight bud during the cold winter months.

My 23rd birthday has come and gone. It wasn't the most exciting of birthdays, but I guess I'm "getting to be that age." I had to go to work on my birthday. Let me rephrase that: I wanted to go to work on my birthday. City Year was in the midst of our week-long spring break leadership camp, fittingly called Heroes' Summit. We recruited the best of the best from our two middle schools in Harlem and teamed up with our "sister team" to facilitate a week of activities and lessons designed to create little leaders in our society. While behavior is a huge issue in our after-school programs, we finally got our hands on a group of kids who wanted to learn, become better citizens and do community service. The entire group of them were amazing, and I don't throw that word around lightly. They inspired me, gave me hope, reassured me that what I was doing was worthwhile, and I know we did the same for them. About a month ago, we had this week of training called ATA, or Advanced Training Academy, which was simultaneously given an acronym of BWE, or Best Week Ever. Misnomer. I ended that week thinking "Wow. They think this is the best week ever? I'd rather have done most things than this." It was a series of stations where we were forced to "team build" (with a team that wasn't our own) or, rather, try to pop someone else's balloon that was attached to their leg, do the limbo, play pictionary, and try to keep a piece of toilet paper in the air by blowing it. Not my best week ever, to say the least. Heroes' Summit, on the other hand, was the best week ever. The best part of my birthday, besides the weather, was when all the kids sang "happy birthday" to me. That will never happen again in my life. On the same day, I enjoyed shooting baskets, which I haven't done since middle school, with my 6th grade student from JHS 13. She persuaded me to make consecutive free-throws till my arms were sore. Taking me back to my younger years, I played jump rope and had a hula hoop competition with several girls and won (still haven't lost the touch).

I have a feeling that like spring giving the city that boost of energy, my experience at heroes' summit has given me that positive fortitude that will push me to the end of my year of service and continue to do great things afterwards.