Yo Mista!

I've decided to quit teaching. After six grueling years teaching high school math to New York City's most at-risk students, I've become jaded. Not because of the young people. They were the most compelling reason  against  leaving.  It's everything else.  When I first started teaching, I walked into the classroom absolutely on fire about everything. I was twenty-four years old and cocky: coming off a high from people telling me how impressed they were that I'd decided to forego a career in investment banking to pursue teaching. Like any first-year teacher, my life revolved around my profession: plan, create, assess, grade, adjust, repeat. I was an animal and it certainly didn't hurt that I was coming from an industry where people averaged working over ninety hours a week. For the next few years, I grew very comfortable being "Yo Mista" in the classroom. I'd had my share of run-ins with district/school politics and bureaucracy, but I still fel...

Children react and cope with crisis in different ways. Some act out, others harm others, others harm themselves, the list goes on. From the onset, I coped by dreaming: I yearned to be a superhero and often fantasized (and still do) about having an alter-ego and going off to save strangers. I wanted to save people I didn't even know, probably because it was so much harder to save the people I already knew, like my dad. It was much easier to swoop in and swoop out. When I was younger, my disguise was perfect: nerdy, straight-A 2nd grader with parted-hair and black-rimmed glasses. I remember when my dad would go on his violent streaks, my mom and I would spend a lot of time together locked in my bedroom. She watched TV and guarded the door, and I played pretend with my Superman action figure after I finished my homework. The interesting thing was, when I played with that Superman action figure, I wasn't a spectator witnessing Superman's heroics. I was the action figure; it ...

When I left my iPhone in a cab on a Friday night, I wasn't just angry, I was disappointed. It wasn't just about the iPhone. It was also the idea that I could do something so stupid and forget something like that in the backseat of a cab. That's just not me. This depressing night actually started at a cocktail party in the Upper West Side of New York City. My wife and I arrived directly from work, so although we were dressed to impress, we had a lot of bags and things to carry. When we were ready to leave, it was really late. We hailed a cab and naturally, both of us passed in and out out of sleep in the backseat. After what seemed like forever, the driver yelled at me to wake up. I nudged my wife and asked her to go outside and open the apartment building door while I grabbed all of our bags. And that's where it all went wrong. My iPhone was resting unsecured in my dress pants pocket, and as I scooted across the backseat to get out, it must've slipped out. I not...

I've lived in New York City for six years now and in that time, I've learned two very valuable lessons. The first is that there are people peeing everywhere, so turn corners with caution. This was a very important lesson that I actually still forget sometimes. Luckily, I am often retaught this lesson every once in a while at 5:30 AM in the subway. Life in the city has become a bit unnerving because now every time I see someone turned around against a wall, I automatically assume they're urinating. I suppose life could get a lot worse. The second lesson, which is equally as important, is former and current students are everywhere, so turn corners with caution. It's actually shocking how often I bump into former and current students in this city. Growing up in Chicago, I never bumped into my middle or high school teachers outside of school. I can't imagine what that would've been like, maybe awkward, but nothing more. I guess bumping into my teachers out of sc...

"I know Mista, I did really bad. Imma come during lunch to get help." I do a lot of legwork in the beginning of the year building relationships with my students. It's actually a tactic I learned in the finance world. As an investment banking analyst a.k.a. finance monkey, my day-to-day rarely comprised of human contact outside of my own colleagues. On most days and nights, I sat in my cubicle and built financial models, created presentations, and then made sure these materials were delivered on time to my managing director's Upper East Side condo before his black Lincoln Town Car came to drive him to the airport. Of course, I sent the materials to him using a separate company Town Car that would make the delivery and come back to the office. Simultaneously, I'd take another black Town Car back to my place on the company's dime for working into the wee hours of the night. What recession?.. It was rare for a low ranking monkey like me to travel. Sometimes I...

Up until my early twenties, I spent every other summer in Karachi , Pakistan. I've grown to love the city, but it wasn't always like that. I hated going there when I was younger, when my mom had to drag me there by force. Of course, as an unworldly seven-year old, I wanted to spend my summer vacation playing Sega Genesis and Super Nintendo. Don't get me wrong, I loved my extended family. I just didn't consider bonding with them in over 100 degree weather and rolling blackouts "fun." My mother often took my reluctance into consideration, but I knew she'd never let me win. She would buy our plane tickets anyway and tell me to shut the hell up because, "This is the only time I get to see my family. This is the only time I get to be away from your father. Cry all you want, we're going." Touché mom. After what seemed like a week-long flight, we'd finally land in Karachi and make our way to the baggage claim. Since my dad never came with us, ...

It's the kids' first day of school. When the bell rings and they start filling up my classroom, there's a brief, chaotic moment where I have absolutely no control or influence. They don't know me, so I haven't established my presence. Nobody knows who I am, yet everyone seating in their seats is desperately wanting to prove themselves. Everyone has their tough face activated. There's a group of students that immediately run towards the back seats. Not all of them will have issues with noise or chit-chatting during class, some just want to be left alone. There are students who have to be loud about everything, because attention is their game. I foresee myself really enjoying toying with them for the rest of the year. A select few might even throw in a few cuss words out loud right before I'm about to speak, just to show how "bad ass" they are. "Fuck you bitch. Dat's my seat, n****." Buddy, I've heard a lot worse. At this po...

I recently searched "John Strauss" on Google and was surprised that none of the search results said, "the best teacher I've ever had in high school." In fact, there was barely any information or mention of the John Strauss I wanted to read about, a true rock star of a teacher and a living legend at the high school I graduated from.  Mr. Strauss was my senior year English teacher. He was not a young, highly motivated, self-proclaimed hotshot. Nor was he part of some national movement claiming its teachers were more effective than others. When I had Mr. Strauss, he was already a veteran teacher, humble and modest. He had a sense of humor and was deeply committed, but most importantly, he had passion. In fact, there's a picture of him in my senior year high school yearbook with a caption that reads, "Mr. Strauss is a perfect example that a passion for teaching can bring enjoyment to classes." When I read that at the tender age of eighteen, I pr...

An article published in the NYT this week highlights how states across the U.S. are changing the way teachers will receive certification. According to the article, "New York and up to 25 other states are moving toward... de-emphasizing tests and written essays in favor of a more demanding approach that requires aspiring teachers to prove themselves through lesson plans, homework assignments and videotaped instruction sessions." I say it's about time. Back in 2009, I joined the teaching profession in New York state via Teach for America , which simply meant I had to obtain a master's degree (part-time, at night) while teaching full-time in a classroom. Like most of my peers, I paid more attention to my job as a teacher than my actual master's degree courses. I wish it didn't have to be that way, but it was. My kids were much more important to me than some excerpt written by Linda Darling-Hammond about best practices. Actually, not all TFA teach...

My mom played a significant role in my early childhood education. Despite our differences now , I have to give credit where credit is due. I learned first grade-level skills well before I entered kindergarten because my mother spent hours tutoring me everyday. At this stage in my life, my dad was brutally abusive and controlling; he would not allow my mom to make friends, much less hold a job. Perhaps if she'd been allowed to lead an independent and abuse-free life, she might not have spent as much time tutoring me. I guess I will never know. Instead, in between cleaning and cooking, my mom prepped and tested my mind. She believed her ticket out of this prison was my education and success, that maybe something good could come out of this tragedy of a marriage with my dad. After kindergarten, my mom decided to transfer me out of St. John Vianney (a private, Catholic school) and into Roy Elementary School, the local public school to begin the first grade. This would be her last...

"I'm sure you have some pretty wicked stories." I was eating brunch at a dim sum restaurant recently with a large group of friends and friends of friends. My wife was telling someone about my career change from banker to teacher, which prompted the quote above. "Pretty wicked stories" - these words really got me thinking about a story I'd been wanting to write, but couldn't because I didn't know if he would be okay with it. "He" being Kareem, a former student of mine, now in college, but whom I've written about on this blog before (see here , here and here ). After brunch, I wrote Kareem an e-mail asking if I could write this particular story. He wrote back, "Go ahead, put it all out there lol." Three years ago, I had the pleasure to teach algebra to then 17-year old Kareem. When I first met him, he immediately struck me as an intelligent, motivated student with a lot of depth and personality. Here was someone you just co...

I've pushed off writing this for a while, but I think it's time I just say it: I'm leaving my high school to teach somewhere else next year. In the spring of 2009, I left investment banking because I wasn't feeling fulfilled. I was miserable, pathetic and without passion. Teaching high school the last three years has offered me something different, something I'd never experienced. I didn't just feel fulfilled teaching, I felt passionate. It was honorable, righteous and ridiculously challenging. This was a job where you couldn't just do the same thing over and over again everyday, it required adaptation, improvisation and commitment. I began my first teaching year at a transfer school also in it's first year, serving 17-21 year old students from all over New York City. We operated our small school within a larger high school complex and we shared this space with three other schools (one of which would phase out). I began my three-year journey with...

Growing up, my mother would drag me to Pakistan every other year for the summer. A large chunk of my mother's family resides in Karachi, so we generally stayed with them for three months at a time, switching up which aunt or uncle we stayed with every so often. I used to hate going there, but as I got older, I grew to love it. And eventually I developed deeper friendships with my cousins, which was nice. We would get to Pakistan in early June and leave late August, so I was able to observe my cousins end and begin their school years. Most of my cousins considered school to be a privilege and a way out (generalizing here, I know). I couldn't relate to the former, but I definitely agreed it was a way out: a way to get options. In Pakistan, I have family at all class levels: lower, middle and upper class (although right now it seems there isn't a middle-class left anymore). My cousins, not by any means wealthy, took school very seriously - sometimes memorizing entire chapt...

When I was in high school, I knew how to cheat. And if I wanted to cheat, I could get away with it. Back then, I learned how to program words, equations, and complete paragraphs into my TI-83 graphing calculator. The "A-student" cheaters were the ones who didn't get caught. We had developed effective methods with minimal risk. For example, writing out an entire essay lightly on notebook paper the night before and simply retracing our pre-written essay during test time. We would strategically position ourselves next to those who might be marginally better than us during an exam we knew for sure we couldn't ace ourselves. But this new seating assignment wouldn't occur on test day - that's too suspicious. The new seating arrangement would take place weeks before the exam. The list goes on. Some educators may disagree with me on this (from an ethics perspective), but I believe the art of cheating properly requires strategy, intelligence, and intrinsic motiva...

Several kids in my advisory class were discussing the possibility of a fight breaking out between students later in the day. One of the gossipers turned to me and said, "Yo Mista, you seem like the type of guy who has never gotten into a fight." Unfortunately, he was wrong. In the first grade, my mom worked at McDonald's part-time. She didn't have to because my dad was making plenty of dough as an electrical engineer, but she wanted to get out of the house as my father generally preferred she stay inside. My father wasn't all bad though, he allowed her to clean the house 24/7 and cook him three hearty meals a day: breakfast, lunch, and a packed dinner for work (he worked a later shift - 2 PM - 12 AM). Pretty nice guy, my dad. Before becoming corrupted by her own rise to power in our household, my mom felt pretty bad about the conditions I grew up in. My dad was drinking all the time, beating the shit out of her and ruining our weekends. To compensate, my mom d...

There's something about blowing my kids' minds that makes me feel pretty awesome. What makes me feel even more awesome (if possible)? Finding out that my kids are teaching each other my tricks and lessons outside of class time. That's a special feeling. Warm and gooey. At a transfer high school, such as the one I teach at, the skill levels of students vary significantly. A student with fifth grade math skills could be sitting directly right next to a student with eleventh grade math skills in my Algebra class. With that kind of variety, it's very important I provide some side-challenges to the students bored out of their minds with my class, particularly those who passed the NY State Regents Examinations and just need the class credit to move on. So last week as a side-challenge, I brought a calculator over to Jamie, a new student sitting in the front row and said, "Okay, once you finish the problems on the board, figure out how I did this." I showed he...