Can you believe it? Twice each week I go to a correctional facility and teach Adult Education. My afternoon is split in half as the women and men are not allowed to occupy the space at the same time. I’m finding the students to be very respectful and sincerely interested in working towards their GEDs. I truly enjoy my time with them!
I’ve always believed people are people…but I must admit before I first came to teach I had images of Hannibal Lector with his mask and talking about fava beans. I wondered if students would get violent with me. I wondered if some might not like having a white instructor (the inmates are all Native American). The truth could not be further from the Hollywood image or my own ignorance.
I find my time in class relaxing. Yesterday I did some practice testing with students and found myself pacing the floor as I finished reading Frank McCourt’s Tis. The room is barren except for a stack of grey pads in one corner, the long row of tables and chairs filled with orange garbed ladies. There is a window high on one wall which is likely ten inches high by thirty-five or so inches wide. From where I stand I get a perfectly framed vision of Mesa Verde in the distance; it appears like a very realistic landscape image and I breathe out deep.
The class is considered a privilege and I think the students see it that way. I admit there are things I’ve done in my life which might have gotten me in jail- nothing too serious. Anyhow, I keep my time and materials as organized and simple as I can. I try to determine the students’ need and point them in the right direction.
I learn as much from my students as they learn from me. I asked if they were allowed to talk with each other when they are in their cells. “We speak into the vents,” one shared. I guess it is a little like the movies.
The time goes by quickly and soon I find I am reaching for the button alongside of the door. I know someone is watching me from behind a mirrored wall. “It’s Joe in the GED class. We’re done for the day.” The students return their chair into a stack in the corner and file out to walk through the metal detector. I sort my stacks of papers and fill the handled file box. Out the door, down the hall, I buzz my way through a number of doors and out into the world again. Beyond the parking lot, an old mare chews on a tangled mass of sage. This is a fine life, I decide.
I’ve always believed people are people…but I must admit before I first came to teach I had images of Hannibal Lector with his mask and talking about fava beans. I wondered if students would get violent with me. I wondered if some might not like having a white instructor (the inmates are all Native American). The truth could not be further from the Hollywood image or my own ignorance.
I find my time in class relaxing. Yesterday I did some practice testing with students and found myself pacing the floor as I finished reading Frank McCourt’s Tis. The room is barren except for a stack of grey pads in one corner, the long row of tables and chairs filled with orange garbed ladies. There is a window high on one wall which is likely ten inches high by thirty-five or so inches wide. From where I stand I get a perfectly framed vision of Mesa Verde in the distance; it appears like a very realistic landscape image and I breathe out deep.
The class is considered a privilege and I think the students see it that way. I admit there are things I’ve done in my life which might have gotten me in jail- nothing too serious. Anyhow, I keep my time and materials as organized and simple as I can. I try to determine the students’ need and point them in the right direction.
I learn as much from my students as they learn from me. I asked if they were allowed to talk with each other when they are in their cells. “We speak into the vents,” one shared. I guess it is a little like the movies.
The time goes by quickly and soon I find I am reaching for the button alongside of the door. I know someone is watching me from behind a mirrored wall. “It’s Joe in the GED class. We’re done for the day.” The students return their chair into a stack in the corner and file out to walk through the metal detector. I sort my stacks of papers and fill the handled file box. Out the door, down the hall, I buzz my way through a number of doors and out into the world again. Beyond the parking lot, an old mare chews on a tangled mass of sage. This is a fine life, I decide.
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