*I figure my adventures in the educational system are probably something I'd want to write down, so I decided to try out one of these Live Journal things. I'm a college student who is aspiring to become an Education/Mathematics double major. I'm also a guitarist in a number of lesser-known projects and an automobile racer who spends time honing my skills on busy construction-littered roads around my city. I've got a knack for destroying things, which tends to get me in trouble with my band mates and my coworkers at the local pharmacy. I'm a bit wary about revealing my real name, so you folks can just call me Keaven View. But enough about me... these writings are actually more about my escapades in the world of education.

So, my first day of interning was today. I was assigned to a 4th-grade class at a predominantly African-American elementary school. I can still recall the woman telling my class about this place.

"So, you all will be interning at (name withheld) Elementary School. Now, most of these kids are Black, and about 75% of these kids have one or more parents incarcerated. Many of them are emotionally scarred. Still, they're absolute angels. You'll absolutely fall in love with them. All they really want is love! But, remember one thing... never EVER go alone with a child at any time, any place!"

At this point, I had some very strange feelings about this whole deal. First off, I thought to myself, I am a secondary education major, not elementary! On the other hand, I was going to a classroom. An actual classroom! Then again, these are emotionally-scarred kids... aw hell, I'll be in a classroom!

After procrastinating for a couple of weeks, I decided to give the teacher a call. She seemed nice enough... I'll refer to her as Miss Smith. We set up the first observation to be on Wednesday. As luck would have it, two rather attractive classmates of mine were planning on going to the observation on the same day. As you may imagine, I cleaned the hell out of my old Toyota. After a few days of preparation, a disappointing call from my classmates informing me of their failure to rendezvous with their respective teachers, and eight hours of Benadryl-induced slumber, I made my way out to the other side of the city with Google's directions in hand. (In retrospect, this was a rather poor decision on my part. Never trust Google for directions.) If I knew how to get there, it would've taken thirty minutes at most. However, with the world's worst directions tossed to the side, it took me a good hour and a half to locate the street that the school was on. When I approached the school, I was a bit disappointed. The campus is undergoing some construction, as there's a new schoolhouse being built next to the old one. The old one, however, was a damn shame. The two-story white brick facility looked completely worn down and sketchy... kind of like an old abandoned warehouse. After parking in a gravel-filled baseball field that is now a makeshift teacher's lot, I popped my trunk to get my observation material when I realized a horrible truth: I had left the observation material on my dresser! Still, I had come too far to turn around. I grabbed a notebook from my bag of textbooks, along with a Gay Pride pen that these really nice folks gave me, and slowly made my way to the main office. With my dress slacks, button shirt, and tie, I looked like a real teacher (or perhaps an administrative official, as I got a weird ass-kissing vibe from many of the teachers that I came across). I went up to the receptionist, and she promptly called Miss Smith's classroom.

"Hello? Miss Smith? She's not there? Oh no... Well, I've got an intern here. He'll just sit there, I guess."

Needless to say, I was somewhat peeved by this. I came to observe a teacher, not a substitute. Still, it was only fair, as I did leave my proper materials at home. I approached the classroom when I witnessed a class that was slightly out of control near a hallway restroom. A middle-aged African-American woman was squawking away at the kids to stay in line, then turned to me and flashed me a smile that made me feel quite uneasy.

"Go on in! Have a seat!"

I entered the classroom slowly, avoiding kids who were rushing out to use the restrooms. "Hi!" one girl exclaimed. I didn't know how to respond, so I just nodded and smiled. One boy asked me if I was the substitute. I managed to utter a "no", and thought to myself; perhaps I'm a bit too dressy. I went over to a desk on the side of the room only to find several rings of water on the surface, perhaps from a can of soda or something. This will not do, I thought. So, with sigh, I just stood there. Eventually, the real substitute (Mrs. Squawk) walked in, and let me sit at the teacher's table.

Now, the kids are definitely a part of the experience that I won't forget. It was a bit startling to see that one of the girls in the class looked like she could be one of my old classmates back in high school. Geez, they grow up way too fast, I wrote. The class as a whole wasn't too wild. It was apparent, though, that each and every one of them longed for attention. Perhaps they didn't get enough at home (which goes back to the intern placement lady's statement). A funny observation that I made was that these kids absolutely loved to sharpen their pencils. It was an excuse to move around, I suppose. Watching them reminded me of myself back in the day... which brings up another side note... there was one rather chubby Vietnamese boy who looked a lot like me. One Vietnamese boy in an otherwise all-Black class... reminds me of my days in the African-American Student Union.  In any matter, he was a coincidental-yet-eerie observation. However, one child that I will not forget was the token troublemaker of the class. We'll call him "Bill".

Bill is a taller child, about 4'5"-4'8". He was rather dark-skinned, and sported dreadlocks. When I first approached the classroom, he was standing outside, perhaps because of disciplinary action. In any matter, he never ceased to disrupt the class (which was rather easy, as a disruption was like a spark in a room drenched in gunpowder and gasoline). I thought he craved attention, but after thinking about it afterwards, I came to realize that he might be an angry child inside. The class was asked to write an exciting story around the time of my arrival, so many were finishing up their epics about haunted houses, traveling, and whatnot. However, Bill's story was much different. It wasn't his poor handwriting or poorer grammar, but rather the plot that disturbed me. In one page, he wrote about being abducted while walking to the corner store. The simple, honest writing gave me chills down my spine, as I glanced over at this young man. He's much more than he seems, I thought. Mrs. Squawk thought otherwise, as she would relentlessly scold and yell at Bill. As the other kids moved onto other assignments, Bill just put on headphones and read an off-topic book. For the rest of the time, most of my observations were comparing Bill to the other kids, who all seemed rather cheerful. When Miss Smith finally arrived, I expected some humanistic treating of the children. Alas, I was again disappointed. Mrs. Squawk reported all the happenings to Miss Smith, with an emphasis on Bill. After Mrs. Squawk left the classroom, I handed Bill's paper to Miss Smith, explaining to her my concerns for this young man. "I'll look into it to see if it's true," she said. My ass, I thought to myself. This kid's got no future at this rate.

My first observation went relatively well, but it was rather heartbreaking. I'm more determined than ever to become a teacher. The education system is too weak to help these kids, and is rather corrupt. Society needs to be reshaped, if not broken down and rebuilt. Perhaps I'll never see the day that my own teachings will affect the world, but I know I'll make a dent big enough to save a couple of kids or two from Bill's fate.


And besides, I've got a knack for destroying things.