Teach for America corp member Martin Byrne discovers his true potential with the help of 40 Cleveland students.
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“When you join Teach for America, you teach for America!” – Wesley Byrne If a college student asked me for advice about graduation and finding a job, I wouldn’t give it. I would wish them well and send them on their way. Honestly, college students don’t need career advice. What they need is a challenge they cannot possibly achieve. That might sound harsh, but it’s how I feel. If I could travel back in time to give myself advice, I wouldn’t. Perhaps I could avoid some discomfort or challenge that plagued my former self, but I’ve gained a new appreciation for anguish, loss, and helplessness during my stint with Teach For America (TFA). To quote Louis CK, “[People] are ignoring how much good there is in being present for the hardest parts of your life.”
The last four years of my life were summarized on a single piece of paper. The weight of all my experiences, reduced to a diploma.
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I couldn’t agree more, not only because I am a huge fan of Louie, but also because anguish, loss, and helplessness have become an enormous component of my life. Two years ago, I was a senior at Penn State University. I had gained strong standing in a well-funded theater group and had a consistent cast of friends. For the most part, I was happy. Then graduation rolled around, and I went through some of the most depressing weeks of my life. I already had a job with TFA, so my future was secure. I had a bachelor’s degree. The world was my oyster. Yet I dreaded going outside on a warm sunny day and couldn’t remove my eyes from Facebook and YouTube. Things got worse when I travelled to Cleveland. Thrown into a mix of highly successful and capable individuals, I struggled to stand out in any way. I avoided socializing. I hid in my room, never made eye contact, and generally didn’t know what I was doing. The last four years of my life were summarized on a single piece of paper. The weight of all my experiences, reduced to a diploma.
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A school hired me two days before the school year began, which was bad. I had a co-teacher, which was good, and forty students, which was bad. I struggled with behavior management, stayed up late just to create shoddy lessons for the next day, and hated going to work. I yelled at second graders, something I never thought I would do. I never believed quitting would solve my problems until my co-teacher quit. I taught 40 eight-year-olds, had a sore throat, no money, an enormous amount of work, and a growing void where my sense of self-worth used to be. I could continue to list my post-college woes, but I’ve never truly felt that they make a compelling story. Though teaching 40 kids alone was pretty dramatic at the time, I think what’s more interesting is how those experiences have changed me. Two specific experiences come to mind when I think about how I have changed. The first experience was an instance of child abuse I witnessed firsthand. I saw a father slap his child on the face. The child was a student of mine. I had been having problems controlling him in class. We had already gone through two behavior contracts with the parents with the possibility of expulsion on the newest one. During dismissal one day, he was wandering around the room on his knees. He threatened to punch another student who stood in his way, though he didn’t. His father walked in on the scene. I gestured to his son in a way that said, “you see what I’m dealing with? How can I control your son?” As a parent, the father needed to show that he was trying to raise his son. The only way he thought or knew to do that was through physical violence. That was a horrifying experience. I needed every ounce of my self-control to report the abuse in a professional manner to administration. I wept over the phone to my mom when I told her about it. This experience showed me how powerless I truly am. It changed me because I knew afterwards that there were certain things I would never be able to change.
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My naiveté has been dashed upon the rocks of reality, and out of this crucible I have found an indomitable fount of giving.
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The other experience is quite the opposite. Once every month, my school would get together in the gym for a community celebration. This particular month, we had each grade do a sack race. After the sack race, someone yelled that the teachers should do the race. With forty pairs of second grade eyes on me, I hopped up and down that basketball court like my life depended on it. With a final hoot and leap of strength, I barely crossed the finish line in first place. My students cheered. I walked down my line giving high fives. One of the students decided to grab my hand, pull himself up, and give me a hug. Before I knew it, I was in the middle of a group hug with forty second graders. Love saturated our classroom for the rest of the day, and the students talked about my victory for days. This experience taught me that tough times don’t last, tough people do. These experiences, and many others I’ve had, have strengthened me by breaking me down. My naiveté has been dashed upon the rocks of reality, and out of this crucible I have found an indomitable fount of giving. Every time I thought I had given my all, my reserves of energy and purpose revived with time. I have always managed to suit up and show up and can think of no happier belief than the idea that I can recover from professional disaster. If that is not a mark of success, I don’t know what is.
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If you’re a college student and are reading this, you might be wondering if Teach for America would be beneficial for you. For myself, despite all the suffering that went on (and continues to go on) in my life, I’m thankful for the experience TFA has given me. I would never rob myself of the opportunities I’ve had to fail on an epic scale. I just wish someone had said to me, “Do not run from your inevitable failure; embrace it. Welcome failure with open arms, and let it break your heart. Run into failure head on and feel each scintillating blow of its crippling pain. Through it you will learn your true potential, and that you’re made of tougher stuff than you knew.”
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Image credit: Tiger Girl/flickr
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Loved this article!! Good luck on your next adventure as a tfa alum!
Damn. Well said, Martin. Bless you for all your efforts. Many young people will grow up and thank you silently for not having given up.