The ACE Post

For the past 16 years, the Alliance for Catholic Education has missioned graduates of ACE and other UCCE programs to teach internationally in Santiago, Chile, as part of ACE in Chile (ChACE). Throughout the 18-month program, these master educators grow as teachers and leaders while immersing themselves in an international cultural experience. This includes leadership opportunities, meaningful professional development, and growth in Spanish language fluency. Following a four-month language and school immersion, "ChACErs" spend one academic year teaching English at Saint George's College in Santiago.

Over the next few weeks and months, we will be hearing from members of the most recent ChACE cohort through a series of blog posts. Below is the first installment from Jack Casey, which describes the group's Spanish language classes in Quito, Ecuador. 

The new school year is upon us in most parts of the country and my former students are now returning to schools across this country. A friend recently asked if I had three pieces of advice for teachers as they start up a new (or another) year of teaching. The Professor in me responded gleefully because we love to be asked for advice so below is the advice I gave:

1. Go to your professional conference this year! I know that it’s often hard to get to these conferences, but go! These conferences are a great opportunity to re-engage with the profession, particularly your content area.  Going to these conferences can be what sustains us and energizes us as educators. We can get new ideas, new tricks, and hear from others who are passionate professionals. Make sure to go to your professional conference – be it your regional conference, your state conference or even your national conference – make sure to go once a year and connect with the profession.  
   
   While you’re at the conference make sure to talk with veterans and new teachers alike, both have great ideas. Make sure to let others know where you teach and that you’re a proud teacher – if you’re a Catholic school teacher don’t be shy but announce yourself – if you’re a homeschool teacher share your success stories and favorite methods – if you’re a public school teacher share freely what is working in your community system. Be bold and share widely our colleagues are our colleagues regardless of where they teach – we all teach children and that’s what is important.
   
   
2. Focus on inquiry! All content areas really can connect through inquiry if they’re being taught well. A really great teacher I know has really pushed his students to do inquiry based learning and has had great success. Make sure that students leave your class knowing that they should look at the whole world around them and be asking, “why is that there?” or “why does that work in that way?” or “what is going on when that Gospel was written?” They should be filled with the ability to ask questions and then a confidence that they can, through work, figure out answers to really just about anything.
   
   
3. Read some books! Model for your students that you’re continuing to learn. I know there isn’t a lot of time during the year for reading, but showing that you’re an expert in a field by talking about what you’re reading is so very important. It also lets students know that the expectation for successful adults is that they be reading some things. If you really don't have time for a book how about pointing them to other things you’re reading for instance I’m currently reading national newspapers that I could share with students, but also always reading America Magazine, Notre Dame Magazine, Social Education (the Social Studies Journal) and The Western Historical Quarterly. I regularly throw in things in class that I learned from reading these articles or from the books that I’m reading or even from the podcasts that I regularly listen to such as This American Life or Reply All, or even Serial when it is in session.

For me all of these podcasts, journals / magazines, and a myriad of books make up my intellectual life and are part of who I am. I want my students to know that my thinking and decisions are ever-evolving and I want them to showcase that kind of thinking and evolution of the mind too, so we as the adults in their lives have a responsibility to read and then to talk about it with students when the moments are right.

I’m wishing all of my friends returning to classrooms in the K-20 world a successful start to a new academic year. I hope you’re able to find time to hone your expertise through connecting with colleagues, focusing on inquiry, and modeling that you’re a citizen of the mind.

Brian S Collier, Ph.D. teaches with the Alliance for Catholic Education (ACE) at the University of Notre Dame.  He is @collier_brian on twitter and can be found at: www.brianscollier.com

In order to explain to you what I am most looking forward to about ACE Summer, let me first introduce you to an incredible animal. It’s called the chambered nautilus (above).

A little bizarre for sure, but looks aren’t everything—the inside of this animal’s shell is extraordinary. I’ve adopted the nautilus shell as something of a guiding symbol for my life ever since it was introduced to me in high school. Here’s why: Every year, at our Opening Banquet, the headmaster read “The Chambered Nautilus,” a poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes.

Holmes finds inspiration in the nautilus because it is a model of constant self-improvement. As the nautilus grows, it builds new compartments and closes off the previous ones. In each old compartment, air is trapped, which then buoys up the nautilus as it navigates through coral reefs.

What I love most about the nautilus’ growth is that it is in the shape of a spiral. Linear growth is flat and circular growth is frustratingly unproductive, but spiral growth is perfect. Spiral growth allows for true progress, and yet, no matter how much you grow, you retain the same center.

I’ve found the nautilus to be an apt metaphor for my growth thus far. My first year of teaching has definitely been spent growing into what Holmes calls a “more stately mansion,” for the life I live as a teacher is, in many ways, “nobler” than the life I led as a college student. It is the closest I have ever come to truly living a life for others and for God.

But come June 6, it will be time to return to Notre Dame for some much-needed relaxation and camaraderie. As teachers in ACE 21, we will metaphorically seal off the experience that was our first year of teaching and start to build new internal homes for our improved and enlarged selves. As we do so, the past will become part of what “buoys us up” in the present.

This process, however, takes time. I imagine that time, plain and simple, will be one of the greatest gifts of ACE Summer. Time to reflect on the past, time to imagine and dream for the future, time to reconnect with friends, mentors, family, and even God (in the special way that he is present only at Notre Dame). Time to wander and walk. Time to explore.

If I grow as a nautilus does, I can trust that the moral compass—the guiding principles at the center of my life—haven’t changed. The center holds.

Of course, as beautiful as this concept it is, it’s not always that easy. Like the nautilus, I sometimes feel like a “child of the wandering sea.” I sometimes ask myself: “What am I doing here in Florida, so far away from any home I have ever known?”

But given time during ACE Summer to reflect and reorient myself, I have faith I will discover that though I have wandered, I have not really wandered away from my spiritual home, but instead circled around it, building “more stately mansions” to house my nobler soul.

For those working in the field of education, help is easy to find. Advice is constantly thrown our way, whether from coworkers, professors, students' parents, administrators, online blogs, scholarly articles, NGOs, professional development speakers . . . the list (for better or worse) goes on and on. Yet since I've entered the classroom, I've learned that perhaps some of the wisest, most practical, and most meaningful advice comes from a group we don't listen to nearly as much as we should: the students themselves.

Consequently, I'd like to share some excellent advice from some excellent individuals: my fourth grade students. The advice is extremely applicable to teachers, but I think you'll find that even if you're not working in the classroom, you'll still be able to glean some important insights. Here are eight (and a half) pieces of advice to get you started:

"Always be prepared." – Carl

It's impossible to be prepared for every possible event with a given school day. But it is possible to always be prepared for the unprepared. In other words, situations are going to arise for which you could not have been prepared, but you can be prepared to stay calm, trust your instincts, and remind yourself that everything will work out.

"Gain [students'] trust by not being so strict." – Liza

I firmly believe that you can be a strong and efficient disciplinarian and classroom manager without being strict, and the best way to achieve this is through conversation. Don't just dole out punishments when students break the rules. Converse with them: find out why they did it, what they can do differently next time, and explain the consequence. They'll gain more respect for you.

"Be a real person." – Alejandra

Be yourself in the classroom. Your students will love and respect you even more than they would otherwise, and you'll be more comfortable in your teaching.

"Don't get frustrated." – Clarissa

When you're teaching fractions and you don't understand why your students do not understand the concept (after all, you've presented it five different ways), check yourself as you become frustrated. Frustration doesn't help you teach or the student learn. This ties directly to Jason's piece of advice: "Patience." Enough said.

"If you need help with a lesson, tell the kids to read while you get help from another teacher." – Natalia

While I certainly had to do this a few times, you should probably keep it to a minimum. The main point is, though, that you cannot be afraid to ask for help. Whether with teaching a concept, managing the classroom, and giving discipline, asking for help is beneficial for both you and the students.

"You have to take your students seriously." – Luke

Students are people too, and their opinions matter. Respect and listen to what your children have to say. Chances are that you'll learn a lot about them and yourself.

"Have fun." – Dorota

In an educational world of instructional minutes, unit planning, learning differentiation, assessment analysis, and professional development, it can be all too easy to overlook another equally important responsibility: make learning fun. There are few jobs that give adults the privilege to spend each day with children. Appreciate and help foster the joy and curiosity of your kids!

"Don't be afraid to fail." – Cassie

You're going to have moments of failure, because you're only human and teaching can be really, really challenging. Learn from these moments but don't dwell on them. They're going to make you a better teacher and person. Plus, they're great teachable moments for your kids, and they'll allow your students to see you as a real person.

"Ask your students for advice!" – Mr. Casey

The end of a race is always bittersweet—especially when it requires the passing of a baton.

Having somehow run some three-quarters of our year of service through, together, our community must now round its final turn. Our lap has had its hurdles, but always, we have sprinted to one another's aid. And as another ACE summer approaches, we are still racing—to make new memories, to leave a lasting impact on our students, to not have to even think of saying goodbye.

Just twelve months ago, we left these starting gates as utter strangers. Now, I can hardly remember having had closer friends. Still, our ministry calls us onward. And for two of us, new races must be run.
Thanks be to God then that this is not just any other race. For I have run not with a community, but a family. And family has no end—family has generations.

Dizzying as it is to reflect upon the challenges, growth, and abundant joy this year has brought, I find profound peace in recalling how we got here. ACE summers might well be considered a pressure cooker of sorts. Following the summons of vocational discernment, ACErs are called to hit the ground running from the moment we step out unto this great unknown.

Not only juggling a full schedule of masters coursework, but the novelty of single-handedly leading a classroom, ACErs must race from day one in order to take full opportunity of every precious moment of spiritual renewal, professional formation, and foundation of community. Such a feat ought to be exhausting. And at many times we certainly did off of pure adrenaline. But more than this, it was love that saw us through.

At the time, I could never fully comprehend how we managed to run so far, so fast. But looking back, the source of our stamina stands clear as day. For even as we first-years struggled to envision exactly what this intentional Christian community would mean, we never ran alone. And in those doubtful moments where the road seemed too long, the responsibilities too great, and God's will obviously seemed to have been misinterpreted, our second-years were there, to humbly lighten our yoke.

Having only just finished a year of service that would irreversibly transform their lives, they had just said their own difficult goodbyes. From Friday to Monday, their role had reversed from teacher back to full-time student. And already missing the graduated members of their own community, they returned to the juggling act of coursework, reconnecting with dear friends, and somehow inviting three brave new ACErs into our fold.

Despite every opportunity to cling onto the past, to resist the tide of change, and move forward in blissful denial, they instead prioritized our own well-being. They did not push, nor set expectations, but rather, welcomed us to join in the authorship of the untold adventures that lay ahead. And it was their intentional acts of service and ever-present inclusion that formed the bedrock on which our community now stands.

All of us have since come to appreciate exactly what it is to be a part not of an ACE community, but an ACE family; for the latter requires far more than passing off the baton after two years of service. Each and every one of the ACErs who graduated from our community last year has remained an active member in the race of our site's on-going ministry. Though now scattered across the country, they have made a point of visiting on multiple occasions, and whole-heartedly continued the legacy of this family's expansion.

Recognizing the sincerity of this selfless love, I welcome the growth of another ACE summer's beginning. For as we pass the starting gates anew, our dear friends will never truly have left us. Rather, it is the inspiration of their continually enacted love that will lead us to welcome our family's newest members with open arms.

Our dear friends will return to share in still more memories, to offer up their honest experience, and to minister from afar to this next generation of ACErs. We too must then strive to humbly exemplify all that an ACE family might become. We must share our short-comings as honestly as our successes, be forever inviting, but never expecting, and challenge ourselves to growth we ask of others.

The race we run together does not pass the baton from mentor to mentee. For each individual's experience in teaching is shared and supported across generations. And as the next leg approaches, there truly is no end in sight—only the welcoming of a new beginning.

6:52 AM: Already on my merry way to school, I'm getting my daily dose of perspective from the combination of NPR on the radio and the Florida sunrise on the horizon. 

7:41 AM: Stealing a moment of peace in the Tampa Catholic Chapel—Fr. Hendry is saying Daily Mass. He's got a great Scottish accent, and I love seeing my students here. Afterward, I chat with Barrett, one of my juniors who has his sights set on ND. (Needless to say, I'm totally psyched for him.)

8:00 AM: First bell. Let the games begin! #Homeroom. Today I'm playing DJ and exposing them to Tracy Chapman's "Crossroads," but really, all they want to hear is "Baba Yetu." (Not that I blame them, it's an amazing song).

9:28 AM: Midway through second period, Evan, one of my students, shares the amazing story of his grandfather who escaped from a work camp in Communist Cuba by cutting off his own toes. We're reading Of Mice and Men, and talking about whether any of the characters have a real chance of achieving the so-called "American Dream." He's told me before that his favorite quote is "Sometimes, you can't see the window through the glass." I wonder if there's a connection...

11:55 AM: Lunchtime! A much-appreciated break from the teaching grind to eat with my compadres in the English Department. Spotlight on this legend: Pat Bindert. I hardly know where to start, but let's just say when I gave everyone in our department the cooking spice which best captured their personality for Christmas, she got a single vanilla bean. Wizened, pure, and paradoxical—a flavor which is both exotic and familiar, universally recognized as wonderful. She's taught at many different kinds of schools, and she is an endless source of wisdom, guidance, and inspiration for me.

2:17 PM: It's the last period of the day, and because my American Literature class is currently studying Transcendentalism, we are outside, discussing examples of modern-day Thoreaus. We finish with an exercise in nonconformity. Inspired by one of Mr. Keating's antics in The Dead Poet's Society, I challenge them to express their true self in the way they walk around the picnic tables. Hesitancy soon gives way to confidence. The result is simultaneously hilarious, strangely moving, and really cool to watch.

3:00 PM: Last bell! The class day is over, and I get my daily visit from a junior football star named Treyvon. I'm pretty sure he started coming by because of a rumor he heard that I always have chocolate in my room, but now it's just a tradition. I ask him for a quote for this blog post: "Tell them Ray Lewis is my hero because his leadership and work ethic inspire everyone to be greater than they are." Perfect. Love it.

3:41 PM: After-school tutoring is over and it's time for lacrosse practice! Tryouts are this week, and I've been working with the brand new recruits. They take me right back to my own freshman year of high school, when I was "in their cleats," awkwardly trying to figure out how to fail with grace. Important life lesson, that one.

6:07 PM: We finish with a bit of conditioning and all come in for the breakdown: "Heads, Hearts, Get Together! TC LAX fights forever! Go Crusaders!" The moment is perfect, and I know it's going to be a great season.

6:40 PM: Tonight, the TC basketball team is hosting "Faculty Appreciation Night," so I change quickly and head to the gym. I chat with my buddy Tony, a pillar of the TC community who has been at the school for 30+ years and sells tickets at every sports game. He's the real deal. Then, I find a spot with several other faculty members (including Mike and Vincent, two other ACE teachers at TC!) to watch the game. Two of my boys are on the team and several of my girls are cheerleaders or dancers.

To other spectators, our squad may appear as just a row of numbers. Not to us. It's incredible how fast each one of them has become so, so much more than a number to all of us in the faculty section. I often wonder if our students have any idea how much we care or how proud we are...

8:32 PM: I finally pull into our driveway. Home. We have a quick community pow-wow over ice-cream, and then it's straight to the shower.

11:54 PM: At this point, I've been deep in planning mode for a while. I've designed a Frankenstein test, planned lessons for my writing class tomorrow, submitted online reflections for our Educational Psychology class, and graded a batch of quizzes. I'm completely exhausted. Time to make my lunch, pack my bag for tomorrow, and head to bed. I call my sister for a quick check-in, but then its lights out. Until tomorrow.

"Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all." –Helen Keller

You've got five years.

Five years to revamp your instructional practice and standards.

Five years to dramatically raise your enrollment.

Five years to right this sinking ship—or we will be forced to shut your doors.

Countless Catholic schools faced this ultimatum while struggling to stay afloat amidst an economic downturn that ravaged our nation. It placed a still greater strain upon families prioritizing the sizable cost of a private, faith-based education for their children.

For one small, family-oriented, and diverse Catholic K-8 school in particular, such conditions were issued four years prior to my own arrival. Despite these conditions, though, not all schools—indeed not all students—have been so lucky.

It would be an oversimplification to propose that the Alliance for Catholic Education singlehandedly saved the school I now consider a second family. But the loving labors of ACE Teachers have made an incalculable impact towards the continuity of this community. And as AmeriCorps members, we have indeed gotten great things done.

Long before I ever stepped foot in my classroom, greeted my smiling students, and considered myself an educator, AmeriCorps safeguarded the possibility for my predecessors and fellow staff to afford my students the educational choice that they fundamentally deserve. Our school stands as a safe-haven for many, welcoming students from all walks of life.

By means I still cannot fully conceptualize, they endured and continue to work selflessly towards the re-imagination of our school's circumstance. But it just so happened that a five-year ultimatum came as our school's first ACE teacher arrived in 2010.

She elected to continue serving her position to date, and was joined two years later by my own predecessor—for the first time in far too long a time, our school had a certified instructor of science. Suddenly, my coworkers could more intentionally focus their freely given energy to their subjects of passion and expertise. Suddenly, our school had even more energetic young role models serving our students. Suddenly, we were back in the black and things were finally looking up.

While I have only enjoyed the privilege of participating in this most recent year of transformation, the vigor with which our community has rebounded could not have been foreseen. Classrooms, once struggling to get by with textbooks outdated some twenty years now, boast unprecedented integration of state-of-the-art technology. Our enrollment has achieved its greatest numbers in memory, with waiting lists for next year growing every day. And for the first time in decades, families from our neighborhood are choosing to send their students to the small, family-oriented, and still diverse Catholic School that was always right there, waiting across the street.

I, and the ACE Teachers who served before me, are but individual participants in this on-going story of grit and revitalization. But through the relationships forged, students inspired, traditions re-imagined, and hours clocked, AmeriCorps has catalyzed a change that will support our students far beyond our classroom walls.

Every single day, I remind myself to stop to look into the smiling faces of my students, and thank Heaven: for the opportunity to call them my family; for the funding that makes it possible to serve them through the trying uncertainties of adolescence; for the opportunity to spark their imaginations and aspirations in ways a textbook never could; and to proudly support these bright young women and men who will undoubtedly continue our mission—challenging the limitations of circumstance, actualizing equal opportunity, and re-imagining this nation.

We had five years to right this ship.

Give us five more, and just see what we get done.

Anyone who knows the story of the glittering Jay Gatsby and his obsession with an unattainable, idealized love knows that the cautionary tale is a comment on the so-called “American Dream.” So when my English III Honors class started reading Fitzgerald’s classic this week, I introduced the concept of an “American Dream” with a series of prompts:

Stand up if one of your goals is to “be rich.”

Stand up if you want to be married.

Stand up if you want to have children.

Stand up if you want to own your own house one day.

Stand up if you want to live in the suburb.

The list went on, and their responses were fascinating. Only boys stood up to affirm their desire to be rich, and then all but two of those boys sat down when I asked about being married. Interestingly, every single person stood up to affirm that it was important that they own their own house someday.

But then I read the two most important prompts of all:

Stand up if you feel empowered to reach all your goals and live your dreams.

Every single student stood up. I’m not sure why, but I have to admit I was surprised. Then:

Stay standing if you feel that where you’ve come from, or something about your background, is a barrier to your success which you will have to overcome.

One brave young black woman stayed standing. I thanked her for her honesty.

I left school that day optimistic, because I live in a country where youth, at least those in my classroom in Tampa, feel empowered to achieve their dreams. But I also left with a renewed awareness that for many youth in this country, the journey to achieving those dreams will be a long, difficult, and (at least for the one young woman in my classroom) potentially lonely road. 

The Oscar-winning song “Glory,” written by Common, John Legend, and Che Smith, took Tampa Catholic High School by storm this week—students begged to listen to it, and when it played, they would sing along. It’s a catchy song, but that’s not why they got so into it. The song is an empowering, optimistic tribute to the promise of future “glory,” and you can feel it as you listen. 

AmeriCorps embodies this American optimism. At this moment, 75,000 AmeriCorps members are serving communities across the country, innovating and building a better America. Lila Watson, an Australian Aboriginal woman, once said to mission workers:

“If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us walk together.”

AmeriCorps members do not come “to help” in any patronizing way—they come to stand with those they aim to serve because we are all part of the promise of America. At a time in history when it is perhaps easier to become jaded and cynical, they see and work toward a better future.

I am proud to be one of them. 

"We are the Universe becoming conscious of itself. We are the stewards of Creation. And we are restless."

These are the admittedly flowery lines with which I chose to open my personal statement in application to the Alliance for Catholic Education, now a head-spinning thirteen months ago. Granted the opportunity of their rediscovery during our program's recent December retreat, I can find no more holistic way to articulate my profound affection for the sciences and far greater passion for their communication.

Many a scientific reductionist will smugly tell you that Psychology, to which they reduce the complexity of the human person, simplifies to Biology, which simplifies to Chemistry, and then to Physics, and finally Math. And they are right in saying that no fact, no theory, indeed nothing in science stands in isolation. Rather, the whole of existence exists as an interwoven fabric to be explored across multiple layers of complexity.

Yet one must not forget the glaring omission of our reductionists. For as Christians, we hold that only the loving Providence of our Creator could have authored such elegant interconnectedness into existence. To deepen our understanding of the Creator, and thereby our relationship with Him, we might then unravel the mysteries of His masterpiece.

Allow me to rephrase my point in relation to my classroom:

"Faith and reason are like two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of Truth."
– Pope Saint John Paul II

These are the words that greeted my students to science class with Mr. Wilde on our August bulletin board. They have since served in reverberating echo of my application's personal statement. To the best of my ability, my daily instruction seeks to communicate scientifically validated truths in accord with our diocesan standards.

But the reason I teach is to touch lives, not fill minds. Memorization of facts and skills of data analysis pale in comparison to the repercussions of scientific inquiry complimented by spiritual development. And so I strive day in and out to gradually convince my bright young students of the deeper truths behind our covered content—to even begin to comprehend just how dizzyingly complicated, how humblingly dependent, and how irrefutably connected we are—as humans—to the whole of Creation, and thereby our Creator.

I relish the opportunities to explain to my students that the iron in their blood once destroyed stars, that the atoms in their bodies might once have been a part of Mother Theresa or Martin Luther King Jr., and that genetically, the odds of each of us existing as our exact selves have been calculated at close to one in 10^(2,685,000), essentially zero.

I want my students to dare to trust that if they seek, they will indeed find, to recognize that they are a part of something bigger than themselves, and to believe that they can ripple intentional change into this world.

It hasn't happened overnight. And the unearthing of my personal statement's opening lines came as a desperately needed reassurance of my efforts. But what were once cracks of fleeting, almost embarrassed curiosity have increased in near exponential fashion.

My 7th graders, who often act far too cool for school, frequently, if not subtly, drop science and math vocabulary into the jokes they love to make in front of me. Hardly a day now goes by where my 5th and 6th graders do not stop me at lunch with surprisingly insightful questions they have connected to the day's subject matter.

"How can the first cell really have been alive if there was nothing for it to eat?"

"If the Universe is already so huge, and it's still expanding, why do we think it even ends?"

"So technically, all of the atoms that were in Jesus' human body are still
somewhere on Earth, right?"

And one 8th grader tearfully stopped me after class to thank me, saying she doesn't feel small and alone anymore when she looks up at the stars. I wish that I had one, picture-perfect story to communicate how my passion for scientific inquiry infused with spiritual discovery has impacted the lives of my students, but such precious glimpses of reassurance come more often than I could ever have hoped for.

And so, I trust in the slow work of our God, in whom all things are made possible.

If I were to tell you that my first ever coaching experience amounted to only a single goal throughout an entire soccer season, you might question whether the effort was even worth making. I would be the first to tell you, though, that there's no doubt in my mind that its worth can't even be measured.

It’s no secret that ACE Teachers are almost always called on to do more than teach. Throughout my first ACE summer, I was delighted to listen to the second-years’ stories of roles they were thrown into shortly after they began teaching; in fact, helping out with after-school clubs, tutoring students, and sporting the title of “coach” seemed very appealing.

That was, of course, before I actually started teaching.

The first several weeks (months) for a first-year teacher are tough and, at times, somewhat overwhelming. Taking on work in addition to the preparation necessary for daily classroom routines seemed out of the question and, at times, literally impossible. You might imagine my dismay when Coach (the long-time P.E. teacher and athletic director at my school) pounced on me before school even started:

"Middle school girls' soccer."

This combination of words was one with which I never thought I would associate myself, yet there I was on the soccer field in early October. Walking onto the field for our first practice was as intimidating, if not more so, than stepping in front of my students' parents for the first time. But initial anxieties faded away quickly.

Could it be so?

I actually found myself to be less stressed after the practices. Rather than working in my classroom until dinner, I was once again experiencing fresh air while getting to know some of the most good-natured young ladies I've ever met. I wouldn't have traded my fourth graders for the world, but it was refreshing to work with an older group of students who, most of the time, actually understood my jokes. Not only did they gain my respect, but I gained theirs as well, and in doing so I became more than just the fourth grade teacher to them and their classmates.

This was, undoubtedly, a pivotal mindset shift.

We only scored one goal the entire season, but working with the team brought me a sense of belonging to the entire student body, not just those whom I taught. Such a belonging can be hard to come by, but as teacher, I teach not just my fourth grade students but all of the students whose lives intersect with mine within the hallways of my school. Coaching—and the various extracurricular activities that would follow—gave me the amazing chance to delve deeper into those intersections, to form relationships with students whom I would otherwise not get the chance to teach and, more importantly, learn from.

This post is dedicated to all of the girls on the 2013 Sacred Heart soccer team. They each overcame their own struggles to have an extraordinary season. I'll always admire their perseverance, spirit, and effort, and am thankful that they reminded me of the importance of sometimes being a goof.

Even for an English teacher, metaphors can be difficult when trying to explain what it's like to be a first-year ACE teacher. But let's give it a shot:

Being a first-year ACE teacher is like running an ultramarathon in a superhero costume that doesn't quite fit yet.

I've certainly never run what's called an "ultramarathon," but there's a legendary and dynamite teacher at Tampa Catholic named Mr. Matthews who runs them fairly regularly, and he's given me the run-down. An "ultramarathon" is a 100-mile race that usually takes around twenty-four hours to complete. It is with extreme humility that I even dare to compare my experience in ACE with his, but there are perhaps several interesting similarities:

1. There's not really any way to train for it.

Before Mr. Matthews ran his first ultramarathon, he said the farthest he'd run was around sixty miles. That's only a bit more than half the total distance. ACE was the same: two quick months of education classes, six weeks of mornings spent in a public summer school classroom, and off you go! There's a limit to how much you can prep for your first days as a teacher—at some point you just have to do it, armed only with a full heart, enthusiasm for your subject material, and a reliable support network.

2. It's a wild ride, with precious moments of runner's high and other (longer) moments of pure exhaustion.

It may be a cliché, but once you're in it, each day is truly an adventure. There are moments of pure ecstatic joy when you are channeling the very spirit of Steinbeck, and other moments of complete exhaustion when you might as well be trying to nail Jell-O to the wall.

Mile Three is an entirely different experience than Mile Fifty-Eight, and Mile Seventy-Nine brings with it a whole host of new joys and challenges. I can hardly remember my first day of teaching any more (though I do remember not being able to eat or sleep for a several days from nervous terror), but the view from February is an entirely different vista, with new fears, thrills, and burdens.

3. You may feel alone, but really, you're not.

As you can imagine, Mr. Matthews talked about the unique experience of being "alone with your thoughts" for 100 miles. But although physically alone, a runner apparently draws on all the people who wander into his or her mind's eye for strength and motivation.

This feeling comes in teaching, as well—sometimes I feel like it's just "little me," in a classroom in Florida, hundreds of miles away from anything or anyone familiar. But it's not. The greatest gift of ACE is community. Even though I met some of my community members mere months ago, I lean on them like family. They are, along with my students, reminders of God's presence, and I am never truly alone.

But what about that superhero costume I mentioned in the beginning? I said it didn't quite fit yet. It's too large—a first-year teacher has to grow into his or her role as "superhero." You're dressed, doing your best, and maybe you've fooled some people, but it's not really you yet.

Not that it's insincere in any way, it's just a little ramshackle, like when you look in the mirror some mornings, see yourself in "teacher clothes," and feel a bit ridiculous. But you're growing, and eventually the costume you wear will be an authentic representation of who and what you are in your classroom—an everyday hero.

In the end, neither an ultramarathon nor your first year as an ACE teacher is about winning. Massive challenges like these are instead about becoming your best self. While the finish line is always in sight at the end of a race, and the end of my first year of teaching is within grasp in June, it has never been about that. As Thomas Merton said, "There is no being Christian. There is only becoming Christian." What is true of living Christianity is equally true about first-year teaching.

To all my students: even though I am writing this on a dark bus on the way home from a lacrosse tournament, and you are singing "Livin' on a Prayer" at the top of your lungs and sounding mildly ridiculous, I run for you.

Interested in participating in this year's ACE Marathon in Denver on May 17th, 2015? Click here to register or pledge your support for the ACE runners!

"Mr. Wilde, I just left a note on your desk."

"Alright, is it something I can help you with now, or should I wait to read
it later?"

"It doesn't matter when, but promise me you'll read it."

Sensing something awry in his tone, I immediately retrieved his hastily scribbled words. Those words would bring my end-of-day routine to a screeching halt and irreversibly alter the way in which I understood my vocation as a first-year teacher.

From what little I knew about his circumstances at this point in the initial month of our relationship, this student had already earned a position among my nightly prayers' intentions. Many outside spectators would presume that this young man didn't have a care in the world. Gregarious and exuberant as they come, mere mention of the name of our school's star basketball player will bring a smile to the face of any staff member at our school.

But this warm-hearted student had learned to default to this powerfully convincing guise in concealment of freshly opened emotional wounds. Even as his grades steadily slipped and his academic focus deteriorated towards non-existence, he took on more extracurriculars to delay the inevitable—going home.

His parents' marriage was over. With legal rights to custody uncertain and hotly contested, his sense of security was in free-fall.

Just the day before, I had asked him to hang back past the dismissal bell. He sat in what seemed like numbness as I struggled to delicately phrase my concerns for his well-being. He listened, politely nodded, and avoided eye contact as I offered to simply sit back and listen should he ever ask. Mere seconds after his departure, I had already deemed my attempt a blundering failure.

But with the next day's note, the floodgates opened, and his note's desperate words remain etched into my memory.

"Please help me. I just keep bottling all this up, but I can't do it anymore. I'm scared. Please help."

My mind raced as my heart dropped and I stammered to dismiss my homeroom. It was my turn to sit and listen. Our conversation would break my heart, but I no longer felt helpless. Confounding as it was to comprehend, [tweetable]he had somehow chosen me, his newest teacher, with whom to be most vulnerably honest[/tweetable]—to admit to the pain he had not allowed himself to feel. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe, and he felt heard.

Through our innumerable check-ins since and in cooperation with my coworkers and his mother, he has gradually regained his footing. And after long months of frustrations, his renewed academic efforts have finally yielded fruit.

Just yesterday, he strolled to the board, fighting back tears through an infectious smile.

"Mr. Wilde, can I say something to the class?"

Try as I might, I could never do justice to the words that followed. But even when he had given up, he explained, we had refused to give up on him.

Such are life's most precious lessons. Amidst the curriculum, beyond the content, what we learn in school is how to be human with one another. And [tweetable]if my students remember nothing else, let it be that they felt seen. That they were heard. That they are loved.[/tweetable]

When I was first told that I would be given the opportunity to teach seventh grade students this year, my initial reaction was utter shock and dismay. I had known from the moment I applied to be an ACE Teacher that I never wanted to teach middle school, and I was content with my eleventh and twelfth graders last year.

Yet, a week before the first day of school, I had no choice but to accept that this year, I'd be teaching fifty-seven seventh grade students.

The first month of this school year seemed as if it was my first month of teaching—ever. I struggled with the transition between teaching eleventh grade English and teaching seventh grade literature. I couldn't remember my seventh graders' names because I saw them every other day. Giving directions consumed half of my class time—I never accounted for the number of questions young middle school students would ask. I felt a perpetual nervous feeling in my stomach as I prepared to teach my seventh graders.

But, somewhere between late August and early October, I fell in love with each and every one of them. While I had struggled all of last year to rid my eleventh graders of their jaded spirits, I suddenly found myself in front of fifty-seven eager, energized, and innocent seventh grade students.

Sure, Jose raised his hand in the middle of my lesson and said, "Ms. Ramos you don't have an earring!" and, after I grabbed my ear, responded "You have two!" Yes, Miguel only volunteered to read if he could do it in his Mickey Mouse voice. And, still, Robert told the other students to "shut up" when talking during my lesson. But, when I looked upon these moments with love, patience, and a few more hours of sleep, I had no choice but to smile.

In a new light, Christ made himself known to me through this particular group of students. Here are just a few of the many moments that I saw Christ in my 7th grade students:

• When reading The Outsiders, my students asked me if I was ever bullied like Ponyboy was by the Socs. I felt comfortable sharing with them that the most studious student is not always the most popular person in the classroom. Immediately, Miguel raised his hand and I was naturally caught off guard when he asked me, "But, where are those students now, Ms. Ramos? You went to Notre Dame. You're here teaching us at Saint Joe. Can they say that?"

• When interviewing a few of my 7th grade girls for a video for our school's Week of the Woman, they advised all of the high school girls not to forget who they were before all of the pressures of boys and school. They told them that they had the opportunities to do great things so they shouldn't waste those opportunities simply for the sake of boys.
  
  
• A student realized that he had forgotten to answer the questions on the back of his homework sheet. He came up to me, tears already forming in his eyes. I told him everything would be okay, and he responded, "But, Ms. Ramos, I tried so hard. I try hard every time and my grades never show it. Now, it's going to be another bad grade." I asked him to trust me, and he has ever since.
  
  
• When reading The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, I asked my students if they could relate to Bruno when he was forced to move from his home in Berlin. Many of my students raised their hand and shared their stories of when they were forced to leave their homes in Mexico because of all of the violence. So, every day without fail, my students pray for peace in Mexico. They ask that God protect their families and their homes that they left behind.

I so often associate Christ with his love and his painful sacrifice for all of us that I forget to revel in His moments of joy, playfulness, and youth. This year, I finally realized that Christ was once a young teenager as well. He was not born a fully grown man; He grew in stages. Once I could understand that, I was able to see Him in my seventh graders too.

6:12 a.m. After dragging myself out of bed and showering, I silently take my seat at the kitchen table with my bowl of cereal and sliced banana to catch up on NPR. If she’s not there already, my housemate Mary joins me with her Greek yogurt and prayer card.

Every morning we sit in the same seats across from each other. We eat in silence, not saying a word—it’s too early for either of us to engage in conversation. Her presence is enough, though: a reminder that [tweetable]as challenging as my day may be, I have my housemates to support me when I get home.[/tweetable]

7:50 a.m. Sacred Heart begins each day with an assembly in the parish center/cafeteria. I head straight there from overseeing the car drop-off line, a job that gives me the unique opportunity to interact with students of all grades. What’s the best way to get a kindergartner to go straight into the school building from his vehicle without stopping, you ask? If you think of a strategy, let me know.

Assembly often includes special presentations, but always entails a daily reading and responsorial psalm, the Pledge of Allegiance (when was the last time you said it?), and our school mission statement. Finally, once each class is in a Spirit of Excellence line, Sister Mary Ann leads us in Sacred Heart’s core beliefs (complete with hand motions!).

8:45 a.m. By this time, the 4th Grade Explorers are well into their daily math lesson. This week we have been practicing our strategies for solving multi-digit multiplication problems (i.e. 37 x 64). Each math lesson usually includes direct instruction, individual practice, group work, and pair-shares.

In a classroom of 30 students, one-on-one attention can be tough; often it’s while students are practicing the content of the lesson—either individually or in groups—that I get a chance to meet with struggling students. I’ve found through pair-shares, though, that fellow students can be the best teachers, as can be heard from students working through the traditional method of multiplication.

9:15 a.m. We always begin religion class with some form of prayer, and usually students share special intentions they have before we begin. This practice not only gives students the opportunity to express themselves and voice their concerns, but it also provides me with a window into their lives outside of school.

The neatest part of this practice is when students pray for a peer’s intention days after the petition was originally voiced. While I never know what the intentions will include, the most common ones involve friends and family.

Bonus! 10 a.m. On Wednesdays we have our all-school masses, and by this time they are just about wrapping up. When you’re an ACE teacher, you often find yourself filling random roles within the school, despite a lack of qualifications.

For me this means conducting the choir, which translates into showing up to Mass on Wednesday with no prior knowledge of any of the music and moving my hands the best I can to the notes (Which hand do I use? Depends on which isn’t tired!). Fortunately, Mrs. Gibson is a stellar music teacher, and I just let my hands follow her lead on the piano. Apparently I’m a pretty good actor (as far as looking like I know how to conduct), but I’m quick to note that all the credit for the choir’s beautiful sounds actually goes to Mrs. Gibson, the musicians (some students, some staff), and the 3rd – 5th grade singers.

12:54 p.m. Recess. If there’s any part of the day during which a teacher has to be ready for anything, it’s now (i.e. What happens if a squirrel falls on one of your student’s heads?). I’ve discovered that real-life recess isn’t completely different from my favorite childhood cartoon, Recess.

While Sacred Heart may not have a middle school student named King Bob, my class’ recess does consist of various groups. You have the taggers, gymnasts, football players, drawers, swingers, and those I’ve affectionately dubbed “the imaginators.” I’ve even managed to get exclusive information on the imaginary world the four imaginators enter once recess begins.

2:16 p.m. Most of the afternoon is spent on Social Studies and science. This can be a tricky time of the day for a teacher: some students seem a bit lethargic after eating and exerting energy at recess, while others are amped from the food and fresh air. With the end of the day so near, this is also a very quick-paced time.

Yet, as always, instruction must go on! So I begin pulling out all of my ACE-certified teacher strategies: call-and-repeats (Scholars?!?!?), verbal attention grabbers (GASP! Look how cool this is…), bodily-kinesthetic movement (“I need every to get up, walk in a circle, and then sit down.”), and perhaps even some unexpected accents. Consequently, it is often at this time of the day that I am reminded [tweetable]I’ll pull out any stop to keep my students learning.[/tweetable] (My apologies for the singing…)

6:17 p.m. When I finally get home, I’m usually mentally exhausted and chances of getting any work finished before our 7 o’clock community dinner are slim. Fortunately, this is where community members (aka friends who have also spent the day managing and bestowing knowledge upon mobs of students) are quite beneficial in helping to blow off some steam.

For example: a given evening might include Kaleen preparing community dinner in the kitchen while Ealish reads nearby. Jordan, Alex, and I have just watched the end of the Bond movie Sky Fall. Rather than simply watch something else while we wait for dinner, we go into Bond mode ourselves: Alex and I with the community Nerf guns, Jordan with the inflatable parrot. The next twenty minutes include hardwood-floor slides, behind-the-couch dodges, and sneak-attacks that scare Ealish and almost take out Mary, who has just gotten back from her run.

I’d share sounds from this situation, but some things you just have to experience for yourself…

Picture the five people you spend the most time with.

Maybe you made a deliberate choice to seek them out, maybe they're family, or maybe they've just become part of your daily life, almost by accident. Motivational speaker Jim Rohn famously said that "we become the 'average' of those five people." This is, of course, not a new idea: Ralph Waldo Emerson was on to the same thing when he said: "Show me a man's friends, and I will tell you who he is."

The people we choose to spend time with have a massive effect on our way of thinking, our choices, our values, and our self-esteem. For some of us, this news is comforting; for others, maybe it's more than a little scary.

But wherever you stand at the moment, massive turning points like the end of your college years and your first foray into the "real world" are a chance to make a very deliberate choice about who those "five people" will be.

During my senior year, a very wise person told a very lost me to stop looking for "a job," or even "a career." Instead, he advised that I focus on identifying truly great people —leaders, heroes, and game-changers, as well as more ordinary people with principles. Once I had done that, he advised that I then do whatever it took to be near them, to work with them, to let them make me better.

That was great advice. Here's why: you've probably heard that the US Department of Labor reported that 65% of current schoolchildren will have jobs that don't exist yet. That's how fast the world is changing. What this means is that your connections with people who are riding the wave of innovation will be far more important than any job experience or specialized skills. Apart from broad categories like "problem-solving" and "critical thinking," no one has any idea what skills will be important in twenty years.

So I chose ACE.

My "five people" now include three brave and talented housemates, the rest of the ACE 21 cohort (all similarly brave and talented), key members of the ACE faculty and pastoral team, my fellow teachers at Tampa Catholic, and last but certainly not least, 130 unpredictable, challenging, and deeply inspiring high-school students.

I chose this kind of life on purpose. I deliberately chose not to have a nine-to-five job because I'd rather pursue a 24/7 vocation. I wanted a life which, by design, surrounds me with the best people I could find—the everyday heroes, the hopeful pioneers imagining education anew, and young people who wrestle, every day, with a world that is challenging and confusing, but also ultimately full of truth and grace. Throughout my process of discernment, I cared less about what they were doing, and more about how they were doing it, because that had everything to do with who they were.

Brother John Paige, CSC, said that "the acquisition of knowledge and competence help build values, attitudes and behaviors that lead to the transformation of the person, who then becomes an agent for transformation in the world." Education, by nature, focuses on people, especially in Catholic schools.

When I chose ACE, I didn't know that I wanted to be a teacher. I knew I wanted to be an ACE teacher. I sought out the greatest people I could find, and found them in ACE.

My only advice to people making the same decision now is this: Be deliberate. Ask questions about who you will be working with and working for before worrying about what it is you will be doing. The people you surround yourself with are the people you will become.