Yes

"Miss, how is this Theatre class gonna prepare me for college?" "What do you think, Keandre?" "I dunno. You're making us stand in a circle and say 'yes' to each other. What's the got to do with college?" "Good question, Keandre. What do you think?" "I dunno. I'm gonna do my work at college, not talk to people." "Why don't you think you'd talk to people, Keandre?" As a first year teacher, I am being told to ask questions of the students and encourage them to do the thinking and talking. I feel pretentious responding to a question with another question. And I'm sure Keandre thinks I'm really dumb. But, if I did give him the answers on Week #1... there would be nothing left for him to discover himself. I wouldn't be saying "yes" to my student. But to answer your question, why am I having you say "yes" to your classmates? We stand in a circle, and one person makes eye contact with someone else and calls their name. Person #2 responds by saying "yes." Person #1 then moves into their spot. Then Person #2 calls someone else's name, and Person #3 responds by saying "yes" before moving spots. "Yes" I hear you. "Yes" I accept your call. "Yes" you can take my spot. "Yes" we can work together in this class. Because when you go to college Keandre, you will need to say "yes" to new experiences: being open and comfortable to making new friends, taking challenging courses, perhaps moving out of your neighborhood and away from your family. You will need to say "yes" to the work asked of you and present it in front of your peers and professors. Or maybe you will need to say "yes" to the responsibilities of a new job. "Yes" I can earn my own living. "Yes" I can take care of myself. You will need to say "yes" to yourself as you discover what it is your are passionate about and letting your voice can be heard. So I have my students say "Yes" and I know that it's silly. It's artsy and idealistic, and poetic and playful ... weird for my Brooklyn seniors. Maybe I'm the one who needs to hear "Yes." Because if I, as a first year teacher, get lost in thinking about how hard their lives have been, how difficult it is to stay above water in their community, how silly it is to play a circle game with seniors, how much paperwork I have to do ... I would not be saying yes to what I believe in. In their neighborhood, making eye contact is an uncomfortable thing and a source of conflict. In theatre, it is the first step. I believe that theatre has the power to make these kids believe in something, believe in humanity, and believe in themselves.I believe that these kids are capable of being empowered and heard by working together to put on a play. I am optimistic and excited. Taking my hour and seven minute commute each morning to Brooklyn, I look confident and put-together, with my lesson plans in place. But this ingenue has a confession: I am faced with a challenge this year, and I have butterflies. My challenge is much bigger than me and a little word "yes." So the goal is to just keep swimming, keep saying yes when I want to say no, and keep asking the questions. I think I will learn and discover a lot this year along with my students. And hopefully we will find out that this Theatre class doesn't just prepare them for college... but for anything they go on to face in their adult lives, such as riding an hour and seven minutes on the A train each morning to teach a bunch of teenagers a little three-letter word.

Turning a New Leaf

Sometime within the past two years my family has officially become categorized as: 1. runners 2. dog people The latter is hilarious because I, an active member of my family, am still categorized as "not a dog person." Exhibit A: The rest of the clan convinced me to take our new dog Rocky for a run when we first got him in the summer of 2010, which looked like this :

So you can imagine my hesitation to take Rocky along on my run this morning during my 10-day NYC getaway amongst the rolling hills and fresh-cut lawns of Western Mass. But with my parents working, and my teenage brother still asleep like most of his species who haven't seen a single-digit a.m.-hour since school got out three weeks ago, I felt an obligation to our medium-sized brown and black dog. Yes, that's his exact breed. Rocky looked at me with his cute little face with those pleading eyes saying "Please take me with you." I couldn't help but relate. There are times cooped up in my apartment, cooped up at work all day when I look at myself in the mirror with those same eager eyes and beg myself to take myself out to play. We look so cute and innocent, like this:

So out we go. I feel brave. I feel up for the challenge. I feel like I'm doing a good deed taking this rescue dog out for a run all by myself. This ought to clear my name off the bad person list for not liking dogs in the first place. Let alone provide a good workout. At the edge of our driveway though, thoughts of our previous running experiences flood back to my mind...and his. All together our previous runs add up to about 100 yards because Rocky, being a rescue dog, is a bit scared to leave the house without my mother. A bit hesitant to let someone else take him for a run. I drag Rocky, pulling on his leash, afraid I'm choking him or will yank his head off. Is that even possible? Now I'm pleading. I'm begging. And neighbors are staring. I look like I'm stealing this dog. Back on the bad-person list. "Rocky, c'mon!" I beg. "Girl, No!" he begs. "Rocky, let's go!" I demand. "Girl, No!" he demands. "Dog, YES!" I declare. "I am the human here!" A determination comes over me. Rocky and I have known each other for two years now. There is really no excuse for us not to trust each other. No excuse for us to be afraid of each other. No excuse for me to be having an argument with a dog. So I tell him this. I tell him that if he expects to be a part of this running, dog-loving family, he's gonna have to man up and be a runner today and I'm gonna have to woman up and love a dog today. And with determination in my voice, inspired by watching the Olympic Trials last week, something inside us both decides that today will be the day where Jodie and Dog shall run together as one. I drag and tug a little harder. He suddenly gains 30 more pounds and glues his paws to the street. I tug a little harder. One paw up. Two paws up. He inches forward. I start up with a jog. He trots. And it takes us ten minutes to make it down the quarter mile length of our street, but he is staying with me. The moment of truth approaches as we hit the main street. But like the loyal companion he is stereotypically supposed to be, Rocky holds his head high and ignores the little voice in his head and continues trotting with me. We break into a run. Jodie and Dog. Dog and Jodie. He's a bit slower than my normal pace, but I'm also getting in an arm workout pulling him along. We only run two miles together. But I know we've really run to new lengths here. We've made a lot of progress today. I'm more proud of him than I am of myself. A satisfaction felt by mothers and coaches and Dog Whisperers. "Good job, Dog." I say. "Good job, Girl." He says. And Girl and Dog sip and lick their respective waters. Ready to face the rest of the day a little bit braver. Disclaimer: It is strongly advised that you do not get any idea that I have changed and now like dogs after this experience. I will not take other dogs out for runs, nor walk with other dogs, nor pet other dogs, or warm-up to them sitting next to me on a couch, or call them cute as they jump all over me with their slobbery mouths. Rocky would be jealous.

The Journey

iPod in. Sun glasses on. MetroCard in pocket. Iced coffee in hand.

Rolling suitcase gliding through the turnstyle as I maneuver the coffee hand-off/MetroCard swipe seemlessly to the tune of Rihanna's "Only Girl in the World."

After 4 1/2 years I think I have finally mastered, and perhaps grown to appreciate, the commute. For contrary to most things in life, it's NOT about the journey - but about the destination. When a New York Girl is psyched about where she's going, the commute is much more tolerable. Today I wasn't bothered by the smelly homeless man, the crying baby, the kid playing his iPod to club music at 8:30am too loudly, or the overweight man sitting in the seat that could be mine. I wasn't bothered by the bumpiness of the train that splashed my coffee onto my hands or the sudden halt at 72nd St. Or the rush of angry, late commuters who bumped into the girl with the rolling suitcase as they piled into the same car as me, appearing to think "if I can just knock her over then I could take her spot!" I wasn't bothered by the wide Sombrero-wearing Mexican mariacche band that decided it was a good idea to march up and down the subway cars with their guitarras serenading the sleepy, angry commuters with their rendition of La Cucharacha. I wasn't bothered by the beggar trailing behind the band competing for change with his talent of shaking a cup.

Because this morning I wasn't going to my tiring job uptown. No, this morning I'm on my way home for a little vacation spent with my family away from the noise and smell and speed of New York. A little weekend getaway in the green pastures and rolling hills of Western Mass. So as I sit here on the Metro North train north east, I've compiled this list for:

A New York Girl's Guide to Commuting with a Smile:


1. Make sure your iPod is fully charged. This first act alone ensures a peaceful ride uninterrupted by crying babies, mariacche bands and people who think their ride is more important than yours. Update your iPod frequently to include new mood-lifting playlists with empowering titles such as: "Good Morning Sunshine," "Go Get Em Girl," and "Livin for the Weekend."
2. Always bring a beverage according to the time of day: Morning iced coffee, afternoon iced tea, evening bottle of water (time to climb down from your caffeine high).
3. Carry napkins in your bag (for when the beverage inevitably spills).
4. Invest in a good-quality large umbrella that does not fit into your bag. Your rainy days will be considerably sunnier.
5. Have your MetroCard ready at an easily-accessible, safe location such as your coat pocket so you save 2.7 seconds off your commute time.
6. When a train car door is closing DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SQUEEZE THROUGH. Remember: It is better to be late and look amazing than early with your arm chopped off.
7. Look for a seat on the train towards the center of the train car. People tend not to bother you here. If you are close to the door you will be pushed and shoved more times than you expect.
8. If you are sitting but a pregnant woman or an elderly person or a child is standing, offer them your seat. You'll make their day easier and you'll feel like a model citizen.
9. Avoid making eye contact with anyone who gives you a funny feeling.
10. If someone or something smells, casually get up at the next stop and move to the next train car. It is more worth it to give up your seat than deal with unsatisfactory smells during an already unsatisfactory experience.

Oh and finally,
11. Know thy destination.

Sometimes it feels like we'll never get there. But when we know that where we're going in life will be worth it, the arduous journey is that much easier to endure. Tough times don't last, but tough people do.

The Breakdown

Today was just one of those days. I had to do the work of two people today and the kids just drove me crazy. If they weren't crying about hurt fingers or itchy eyes, they were fighting over books and spots at the breakfast table, or too busy caring about Tyshawn calling them a name than my improvised lessons in Math. Then we ended the day with a birthday party that brought more screaming and more crying as chips were fought over, juice was spilled, and games of musical chairs were not won. Why do I work at this school?

On my way home, zoning out from the chaos around me on 96th Street, almost near the safety of the solitude and serenity of my teal-painted bedroom, a woman grabs my arm and says "You need to help me." I am startled and frightened to be grabbed by a stranger, yet I notice right away that this woman truly is in need - she's in her 60's and dressed in what I quickly decide are normal clothes for a woman who can afford rent on the Upper West Side. "I'm going to faint, you need to help me," she pleads, still grabbing my arm. Now invested, I say, "Ok, calm down, I'll help. What do you need?" "I need to get home." "Ok, I'll get you a cab," I say, and then spend what feels like ten whole minutes trying to flag down a cab. Hundreds of people walk by. Don't they see me frantically trying to help this woman? Don't they see her nearly collapsing on the sidewalk. It's rush hour. No one is paying attention to me - including the cabs. Why did this woman have to pick me? The girl who was already having a rough day and so desperately wanting to get home. But I can't leave this woman now. Two different cab drivers refuse me. I ask a man getting in a cab if he can sacrifice it for this woman who is a stranger even to me. (I definitely sound crazy, and if I were that man, I might have ignored me, too.) Finally I convince the fourth cab to take this woman home ten blocks away and guide her over the cab and close the door. Did that really just happen? Why do I live in New York?

I get to my apartment building and open the elevator door to find the scariest dog in my building - the one who doesn't have pupils in his eyes - coming right at me, growling, and it's owner screaming "Close the door!" as if it is my fault her unleashed dog was about to bite my leg off. This is the icing on the cake that sets into motion my flood of tears. Why is this my life?!

I call my boyfriend, crying, and he tells me to "Relax, calm down, take a deep breath" --- as if those weren't the exact same words I told 20 Kindergartners and a fainting woman all day long. Why couldn't I tell myself this?! Sometimes when you've spent the whole day being patient and strong for other people, it is hard to be patient and strong for yourself.

I have tons of homework and chores to do. But I put that all aside, switch my iPod to the playlist called "Weekend," ...and I run...

I run away from my problems. Away from this stressful, emotional day. Away from myself. From the girl who is literally crying over spilled milk and scary dogs. Am I the five year old? I run and I run. Distancing myself from her. Mile one. Mile two. I am looking for something. Or someone. Someone who is not so selfish or weak as to cry over petty problems. Where is that girl who hiked a mountain in Arizona with her mom just last week? Where is that girl who made audiences laugh and feel as The Velveteen Rabbit? Where is that girl who told her graduating high school class to persevere through life's hard times?

Mile three. Mile four. I ignore the cramp in my side and the ache in my knees. I'm determined to find her. That girl didn't cry over a hard day, did she?

And somewhere, between breathing in the fresh air of this absurdly warm March day and running past a dog who looks exactly like the one dog she has actually grown to like (yes, that's you, Rocky)... I find her. There she is charging up that hill. There she is breathing through the pain. There she is smiling as she catches a glimpse of the setting sun over the Hudson River. There she is remembering this is just one day of many, and yes, she can do this.

I hope that woman got home ok and has someone there to look after her. And I hope my Kindergarten kids grow up to care about more passionate things than their spots at the breakfast table. And I hope the white-eyed dog (or its owner) doesn't bite anyone.

And I hope that the next time you are having a bad day you can find your run through Riverside Park. We shouldn't be so hard on ourselves. We already have everything that we need to face life's challenges - whether they are big or small. But I suppose sometimes it takes breaking down a little bit to grow up.