The ACE Post

The first thing I did when I got home for December break was plan. I know the more you plan, the smoother your day goes, allowing you to be prepared for unexpected "surprises". So I committed myself to sitting down and hammering out lesson plans. I lesson planned for the weeks that were to come, upon my return to the West Coast for the second half of the year.

I course planned for the major content areas that I needed to better outline. I planned the (or planned the gist of the) units that were to come in the next few weeks-- I was going to be ready this time. Yet little did I know, the only way in which one can be ready for this job is by beginning to accept the fact that one can and never will be ready for all of the curve balls that are thrown in this teaching game- especially in an elementary classroom.

After laboring to consider and plan the minutia of the rest of my school year, I came back to a classroom that I felt better prepared for. However, within a few very quick minutes  I realized—there are some things you cannot be ready for no matter how much you prepare. I thought to myself, "Well, here goes nothing."

This thought didn't mean that I was resigning myself to just anything this semester, rather, in an instant, I realized that planning can be both extremely helpful, but also trivial in some cases. I came into second semester with much better planning under my belt, which undoubtedly has helped me to navigate the unfathomed and unpredictable situations that are inherent in the worlds of children and education. But I also am telling myself it's ok to take each day as it comes. I can't be ready for everything...and I'm at peace with it.

So, exactly what changes am I making in the classroom this semester? These changes are two-fold: first, I am better planning and preparing for each and every day of school. Secondly, I am embracing the fact that even with all the planning in the world, the beauty of working with children is that there is never a dull or predictable moment.

Where do I see myself making a difference? I ask myself this question on a regular basis. Some days the answer is more clear and obvious than on other day. Some days I feel confident that I am making a difference when I receive compliments from parents or staff on the progress or change they are witnessing in their kids. Unfortunately, for a teacher, those days can feel few and far in between.

Teaching is often noted to be a thankless profession. The toughest days are the ones where you do not outwardly see the difference you are making, but keep working with your students. On those days I ask where I see myself making a difference as an evaluation of my work and as a meditation on the fruits of teaching.

I applied to ACE so that I could make a difference that might not immediately be visible. I remind myself that I want to offer students the help they need in the long run. In some cases the help is more explicit. I see myself making a significant difference when I spend time after school tutoring students to help get them caught up to grade level in math and science to set them up for success in high school and beyond. Although I may be tired after a busy day, seeing gains in those students (big or small) leaves a satisfaction that needs no recognition.

In other cases I see myself making a difference in more subtle ways. This may mean taking fifteen minutes from class one day to entertain questions about college and offer some motivational speeches. In other cases, I see myself making a difference when a student feels rejected from other aspects of his or her life but feels welcome and nurtured in my classroom because I remind the student that I am happy he or she is in my class, and that I will not give up on building his or her progress.

Middle school students are highly sensitive to their environment. Tough financial and family situations can scar young teens and preteens in ways I previously had not contemplated. As tempting as it is to desire it, I will never be able to control the external environment my students face away from school. However, if I can provide them with a safe space and a culture built around success and determination I will have made, in my opinion, the biggest difference achievable.

It would be easy as an ACE teacher to go from the lush Notre Dame campus with its golden dome, its complicated sprinkler system, and its plentiful computer labs and complain about the lacking resources in the school communities in which we work. It would be easy to criticize. It would be easy to cast jealous eyes toward those first-year teachers blessed with more resources.

But complaining is the easy way out and these actions would truly be the most harmful course of action. The most destructive.

Because when they are faced with hardships and absences, the families we serve who are living in poverty do not get to complain until things get better. No. What I have learned during my ACE experience is that sometimes the only answers to poverty, to needs, and to negative situations are action and creativity.

The students I teach in Tucson come from family backgrounds that to me two years ago would have been unimaginable. The school itself has serious needs. But we do not sit around during the day and make observations about what is missing. Complaints do not teach. Complaints do not create. Instead, we work with what we have, we work to help each other, and we don't make a show of it. For the kids, this is how life has always been, and even the fluctuations of an underresourced school are comfort compared to what might lie at home.

The first week of school, a new student, Nick, appeared with no supplies. He had no backpack, no pencils, no paper, no folders, nothing. When I asked Nick if he would be able to bring in the supplies by the end of the week, he shrugged and nodded, obviously nervous in his new school. He ended up missing Thursday and Friday that first week and I truly worried he would not come back.

Friday after school a student named Gabby, one of the most popular girls in class, appeared at the door of my classroom, her head hung low, her father in tow. Having known Gabby for a year, I was nervous about where the conversation would go.

She smiled a little, hung her head lower, and slid behind her dad. He took something from her hands.

"Gabby put this together for the new student. She was worried he would not be able to get the supplies." He handed me a backpack, fully stocked.

This is not a situation where one well-off student saw the struggles of one who was less fortunate. Gabby's father was between jobs and her mom works part time. When I asked Gabby later about the backpack, she said that some of the contents were her old supplies, a lunchbox and pencil bag, while others she had used her own money saved from her summer birthday to purchase. Then, she asked me not to tell Nick that she had purchased the supplies.

Each day with my middle schoolers is an absolute rollercoaster. It is easy to get bogged down. And yes, it is easy to whine and complain. On those days, though, I think of Gabby. She could have complained about what her family did not have, but instead she gave what they did have. That, to me, is what ACE is about. That is what gives me hope for these kids.

What does it mean to be a teacher in the Alliance for Catholic Education?

This is a simple question that poses a helpful challenge for those thinking about applying to ACE Teaching Fellows—and even for those who are in formation now. Many who have completed their ACE commitment say, “It’s the hardest thing I have ever done, but also the most fulfilling.”

Let us explore this question by reflecting on a Gospel passage from Matthew 4:18 -22.

Jesus was walking by the Sea of Galilee when he offered an invitation to Simon (who becomes Peter) and his brother Andrew, as well as two other brothers, James and John, calling them to leave their boats and become fishers of people. Notice the invitation is personal. Jesus calls his first followers by name and describes their relationships and their profession.

They are two sets of brothers who work as fishermen. James and John are working with their father. They leave what they know and are comfortable with to follow this person to do something that is unknown to them.

ACE teachers are called to move to a new area of the country, live in community, and teach students. They are sent together, but they may not know the other members of their community. They don’t know all that is entailed in teaching. They have to get to know their students. This is a call to live in the unknown—clearly a challenge for students who have enjoyed the familiar, comfortable and successful aspects of their lives as undergraduates.

A first-year ACE teacher was sent to teach in the South. He was disappointed to learn that most of the students did not care about Math, and it did not take long for him to feel like a failure. He reached out to his students’ parents, asking that they encourage their sons and daughters to do their homework. But most of the parents did not respond either. He began to ask himself, “What am I doing?”

It is important to realize that this ACE teacher and all of his colleagues are like the brothers that Jesus called to leave their nets and follow him. They went into the unknown, and teachers do as well. Responding to the call of Jesus means taking on the attitude of Jesus—namely, a readiness to give everything and a driving concern for the other. This attitude accepts students where they are and motivates a teacher to encourage and inspire.

The follower of Jesus is called to put aside one’s feelings, to show love and compassion toward all students. Jesus’ call to follow him as an ACE teacher invites one to become Christ the Teacher, ready to confront the unknown in every classroom, every day.

Let us pray that many generous men and women will answer the personal invitation to serve children as an ACE teacher, prepared for loving encounters with the unknown. Everyday acts of responsiveness and trust are truly instructive, making God known, loved and served—bringing hope in each moment and a future of fulfillment.

Father Joe Carey, CSC, our ACE chaplain, writes regularly about our commitment to follow Christ in faith and hope. His blog posts focus on connecting our lives as Catholic educators to the call of Christ the Teacher.

I was thinking about it last week, and I figured that I have lived four separate lives/realities in 2013. From January to April, I was an ambitious undergraduate psychological researcher with the discipline to stay in on weekends (despite being 21) and the fortitude to compose a thesis while everyone else seemed to be shooting the breeze. Then I turned in my thesis, and from mid-April to June, I was the young and vivacious college senior who had little care and concern for any fruitful ventures, because my post-grad career had been "figured out" and all duties had been fulfilled- for a time.

From mid-June to the start of August, I was a wide-eyed graduate student, teacher-in-training with no context for understanding what I would be getting myself into from mid-August to now. And now, here I am— still young, still vivacious, still wide-eyed but with more experiences under my belt (at least 4 months' worth), more context, more duties, little to no frozen yogurt meals, and a schedule where very little concerns me or is solely about me.

This shift in roles has brought with it a major paradigm shift. It has me sitting in my living room at home in South Bend, IN where I have written many a piece of writing but feeling and thinking very differently about the world as I know it now in comparison to the world as I knew it last January or April. With every new set of experiences, it feels as though there is a new life, a new world, a new paradigm being discovered. The 4 past "me's" have come with their individual challenges and successes, roles and responsibilities. The ones coming up no doubt will also bring with them the same. These periods in life or, as I grew up calling them in church, "seasons" are God's way of growing and changing us. And I feel that in every season I have grown, sometimes (seemingly) more substantially than others, but certainly, change has been made— spiritually, academically, professionally, socially, economically, emotionally... and in the words of Sam Cooke, "...I know a change gon' come."

During Advent and Christmas, we are reminded of how Mary enters into salvation history. The Gospel of Luke 1:39-45 provides an account of the Annunciation. The angel Gabriel came to Mary and announced that she had found favor with God and would become the mother of Jesus. Mary responds to this invitation:

 Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.

We know Mary’s “yes” is important and brings about the birth of Christ. But Mary did not know what this would mean—that eventually she would stand at the foot of the cross. Our ACE teachers are excited to be accepted into each new cohort for formation, but they say “yes” without knowing where they will be sent to teach and live in community.  

Let me tell you how this worked out for one teacher.

This teacher learned about ACE as a freshman at Notre Dame and discerned this program as her post-graduation goal. She was elated when she was accepted, but she did not know where she would be assigned until late March. I can remember seeing her face when she saw that she was assigned to teach in the one place where she did not want to go. It was too far from home. She was angry and thought ACE owed her an assignment that would make her happy. After much discussion and prayer, she reluctantly said “yes” to ACE.

This teacher went to her assignment and began working very hard. She discovered that she loved her school, her principal, and her students. She learned an important lesson. She thought she should get to do what she wanted, but it was not to be. The driving force was to fill a need that a particular Catholic school faced.

Mary reminds us that we are called to do God’s will and that is not necessarily what we want for our lives. Doing God’s will is the constant invitation to which teachers must be receptive. This means everything—all of the hard work—is about the students. If you want to be Christ the Teacher for others, you need to love your students, to give completely for them every day, just as Mary gave completely.

Let us pray that we can look to Mary’s guidance, her “yes” to God’s will, her acceptance of the invitation to be the mother of Jesus.

As we complete this semester and discover in Advent the essential role Mary plays in bringing Christ to the world, let us remember our role in bringing Christ to others.

Father Joe Carey, our ACE chaplain whose monthly blog posts have reflected on teachers' experiences illuminating the Church’s recently completed Year of Faith, will continue to write about our commitment to follow Christ in faith and hope. His focus remains connecting our lives as Catholic educators to the call of Christ the Teacher.

"I am not angry with you, and I am happy you are here."

These are words I have found myself repeating throughout the beginning of the school year. Since those first weeks I have had students who have failed to submit assignments on time or participate in classroom activities, simply not always making the good choices I know they are capable of making. Middle school is a constant reminder of this challenge as students are at an age where it is natural to push boundaries.

As a first year teacher I have had to learn that it is important to move beyond a day's troubles and begin the following day anew. A lesson learned is that Christ is in each one of our students and though it may be tough at times to see Him, we must continue to serve blindly until we continue to see His work. The students I work with come from varying backgrounds and as a result may have different needs to be met each day. Remaining a constant figure in students' lives is critical for those that come from a background of instability.

This means that for the 8 hours each day I see them, I will consistently encourage their positive behavior and curb their negative behavior. Encouraging them means applauding their effort, showcasing schoolwork, and showing up to basketball and volleyball games. For most students a verbal reprimand or detention is enough to curb negative behavior. However, some students prove exceptional. For one student this may mean continually reminding him to stop clicking his pen. For another, giving her an extra day to turn in an assignment because she could not focus on her work at home is required. For the exceptional, having a personal conversation reminding him that he is cared for and welcomed in your classroom will have a greater impact than a traditional consequence ever could. Though they may feel rejected in other areas of their lives we must care for and nurture each student that enters a classroom. A medical doctor has a moral obligation to provide care for those that enter his or her practice, so too must a teacher have a moral obligation to provide a safe space and education for all those that enter his or her classroom.

Contrary to what I expected, becoming a teacher has been a process of learning how to lose control. Maybe it would be better to say that it has been a process of learning about all of the things I cannot control. Parents, weather, electricity, the internet, the stomach flu. These are things I cannot control. And, as much as I would like to, I cannot control the motivations of middle schoolers.

When my 6th, 7th, and 8th grade students come into my class, I hope that they learn two things. First, I want them to learn to love reading and writing. Second, I want them to learn that in all of the chaos of life, the one thing they can control is how hard they work.

In my first year there was a little boy who, at age 12, had given up. He was pleasant, clever, and infuriating because he entirely shut down the minute I asked him to read or write.

We struggled. I spent whole mornings crouched at his desk. I met late in the evening with his parents after they got off work. They wondered what the problem was. They tried tutoring. They considered putting him through cognitive testing. He asked to move to the back of the room because he did not like people watching him while he wrote. He brought in a cracked-screen iPad and slowly typed his assignments. He tried pens. He tried pencils. He tried picture books.

He did something else, too. Each day, he walked at the end of the line to go outside for closing prayer. Before he left, he ran back to wherever I was standing and gave me a high-five while I said, "Good work! Good day!" even though they were not always good days. On days when he forgot, he ran back inside after dismissal, which was against the rules, insisting on a high-five.

It was strange and endearing and I had no idea why it was happening.

Then, there was a turn. By March his reading test scores jumped from a 3rd grade level to a 7th grade level. After summer vacation, he returned to school earning a report card filled with A's and B's, a sight he had never experienced before.

What happened? He learned to work. He learned that all of the people who said he could not achieve were not the authority on his life. He told me that in previous schools he could slip by without work by just being one of those kids that failed. But even on those bad days, we worked: new solutions, new tricks, new books, new strategies, but always the same high-fives.

Kids and adolescents, especially those in poverty, have such little control over what happens in their lives. But it is these little things, words of encouragement, exercises in persistence, and a belief in capability that can transform young minds and transform our culture.

One of the things I like the most about teaching is that no two days are alike. Different experiences will always present themselves and I will never know what they will be. This is what a typical day might look like:

5:30 Wake up. I briefly reminisce about college when waking up at 8:00 seemed early. I shower, eat, and quickly check newspaper headlines online.

6:30 My half hour commute begins. I turn on my iPod and hope that I don't pass any students on the road; if I do, I hope they do not videotape me singing alone in my car; if they do, I hope they don't post it on YouTube.

7:00 I arrive at school, having seen zero dolphins in the bay on the drive over. Entering the teacher's lounge, I sign in and check my mailbox: no coverage. Off to my classroom to set up my board and line up everything I will need for the day.

8:00 The homeroom bell rings and students shuffle into my room for the first time of the day.

8:25 Classes begin. First on the list is physics, in which I keep the class engaged with our discussion on centripetal force by spinning a bucket of water around and around without spilling. They ask if it would still work with more water in the bucket, so I respond the only way possible: I fill up the bucket with more water.

9:15 Planning period. Time to write a chemistry quiz I will be giving later in the week on trends in the periodic table.

10:05 Chemistry time. Students will be graphing data on the atomic radius of each of the first 54 elements on the periodic table and determine why the data increases and decreases at various points in the table.

11:45 Lunch time!

1:25 More chemistry.

2:15 Physical science begins and we wrap up our unit on conservation of energy by creating children's books that focus on communicating the energy transfer present in everyday life.

3:00 The last bell rings. A few students stop by for tutoring and we chat about class topics from that day for about fifteen minutes. Then play practice starts. We are working on A Christmas Carol and today involves a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Present. After one run through, I kindly remind my cast that, no, our blocking does not involve twerking.

5:00 Play practice ends. Time to head home. Out comes the iPod and the car singing I use to decompress.

6:00 Normally, I would go for a run, but since day light savings time, it has become too dark to run outside. Oh well...there goes my "healthy phase" and my attempt to run a 5K. Why is it so easy to stop exercising?

7:00 Dinner. The community gathers around the table to feast on chicken tacos and to share stories from the day. Normally, the meal ends with my stomach hurting from too much food or too much laughter.

8:00 I settle in for some grading and lesson planning.

9:30 An hour to prepare for play rehearsal tomorrow. We are moving into the scenes involving the Ghost of Christmas Future and I have to find a good way to transition from a light-hearted to bleak tone.

10:30 Time to read. A great way to clear my head and tire the eyes so I'm ready to sleep.

11:00 Bedtime. I set the alarm. In six hours, it begins again.

The power of a calm tone and a level head is unspeakable. It is so important that as teachers, we respond with kindness instead of disgrace toward our students, and to one another as human beings. It is even more important that we respond with calmness and a controlled demeanor because that speaks volumes for our students on how to handle tough situations, adversity, extreme emotions, and other unfavorable things that may come their way. As adults we model in everything we do. The biggest eye opener since starting this profession has been finding out that controlling the sometimes inevitable and overwhelming chaos of the first year teacher's classroom (and life) is easier done with calm composure than with raising a voice or losing one's cool.

I have never been one to raise my voice unless I am incredibly excited or telling an animated story, but when I step into the classroom, the most gentle side of myself can be seen. I have found that in getting kids to 'buy into' this whole thing that we're pushing for them (that is, their education and general well-being), the adage 'you catch more flies with honey than vinegar' absolutely holds true. And even more so when they see the potential for you to use vinegar, but that you instead choose to use honey. I believe that it is in the human spirit to be most responsive to kindness and caring, compassion and love.

My kids who sometimes expect me to yell at them for a mistake or a poor choice are instead met with a calm reiteration of my expectations for them, and my everlasting and sincere belief that they can and will do better. I take this approach to everything in my classroom: from my students lining up shabbily to them completing work haphazardly or being unkind toward neighbors. I have been able to control the atmosphere of my classroom environment by making clear what the expectations are, but more importantly modeling how my kids can respond in tough, tense, overwhelming situations. With this practice, I have gained a great level of respect and rapport with my kids and a healthy understanding of the roles and boundaries of my classroom-- and I didn't even have to be louder than them to get their attention with this one! It has been truly fascinating to see the positive student response.

I arrived to McAllen eager to work and take on a full load. I was assigned to teach six classes in three different content areas. I teach 6, 7, 8 science, 6 and 7 math, and 8th grade morality. I managed to turn down a couple of coaching positions as I settled into the routine of lesson planning and the workload. At times it feels like a heavy load and it pains me to admit that I have let it affect my personal balance. It is too easy to get caught up in work and allow your personal commitments to fall by the wayside. If it isn't lesson planning, grading, a sports game, a school event, parent conferences, it is something else. It can be easy to get too invested in your students. It can be easy to let a student's frustrations become your own. It can be easy to bring work home, both physical and emotional.

Living in community has kept me sane. Having housemates that I can talk to daily keeps me energized when I get home feeling tired. My community members, although they may not realize it, are my pillars to lean on. Community means caring for each other when needed. It means they are ready and willing to go out dancing, go to the beach, eat dinner, and ultimately confide in. We are in this together. We are serving the same mission together.

Separation of my work and personal lives has arisen from the need to leave work at work. It has arisen from the need to care for personal relationships, leaving the excuse of "I had a long day at work" behind so that I could fully enjoy and take advantage of my mission.

In the classroom, my students would describe me as rigid and classy. One student once told me, "You're cool, but you know when not to be. You're tough on us which is good." They like to joke that when I go home I probably drink a cup of tea and read a novel. According to my eighth grade students, such action is expected of someone "classy" like me. They would have a field day if they knew how quickly I trade the slacks and tie for flip flops and a tank.

During my first ACE Summer, I heard the phrase “Intentional Christian Community” again and again. I wrote about it, discussed it, and thought extensively of what it would be like to live in a house filled with other young teachers in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. I was excited to not be alone. I was excited to have a real house. I was excited to be among others who would pray with me and help me know all of the faces the Catholic faith can have.

There was one word, though, that I did not fully grasp until I arrived in Tucson. That word is “intentional.” No matter where we were from, all of us were used to roommates and siblings, but an ACE community is something else entirely and it does require work.

I will never forget the day I first arrived in Tucson. I left early in the morning in my little yellow Mini Cooper and trekked the 15 hours from Fort Worth all by myself. Near the Tucson city limits, I pulled into a truck stop and called my parents. I was nervous, I said, because I had no idea what was going to happen. At every other major transition in my life, I had a much clearer idea of what lay on the other side.

As I approached our house: nestled in the foothills of the mountains with no streetlights to be found, I grew more nervous. Every driveway was equally dark and mysterious, and none of them yet looked like home.

I had to make four U-turns, but eventually I found our house and everyone was waiting eagerly in the warm light to go get hamburgers. What meant so much was that they had chosen to wait, even though I was so late arriving.

That is what the past year and a half have been. In the midst of days filled with complete uncertainty (what do I do when a kids pants rip clear down the middle?), the ACE Tucson house is always there filled with light and 6 or 7 other teachers and learners.

The seven of us operate on wildly different schedules and on any night there are about 40 tasks each of us could be doing, but we still gather for community dinner four nights each week to eat, pray, and share stories. That is where community becomes intentional and where it means the most.  A year and a half later, our tan house on Tortolita is a happy place to return.

Everyone has their habits, good and bad. I, for instance, tend to take too many ice cubes from the freezer and leave my shoes in a myriad of strange locations around the house. What I learned early on, though, is that these little inconveniences do not matter. I know that my housemates are doing God’s work every day with their students. I know many days that work is not easy. And so again we must be intentional to accept the little quirks and the little habits and to love more for them, as we are each children and servants of God.

In class I tell my sixth graders again and again that all of their actions are choices: the way they sit in a chair, the way they speak to adults, whether or not they finally remember to wear a belt to school. Living in an intentional community has reminded me that all of attitudes, actions, and words are choices as well, and that the most powerful way to use these choices is to accept all of the funny little ways that people can be, to appreciate every laughing voice and listening ear, and to try to ease the burden of others with each choice I make.

It is right where I need to be: on one side of a climactic showdown in a spaghetti western.  I stand at the front of the room, giving my best possible Clint Eastwood stare, while every imaginable worst case scenario runs through my mind, begging me to cry out in fear and run from the room.  Forty-six eyes stare right back at me.  They wait.  They beckon.  I didn’t know eyes could talk, but these seem to be taunting me: “Go ahead.  Your move.”  I can almost hear a Sergio Leone score fluttering in the air.  Eternity passes in five minutes.

BANG!

The bell rings, signaling the end of passing period, and a classroom of twenty-three high school students flinches.  The first day of school can now carry on.

I never expected to be facing down a room of high school students because I never planned on becoming a teacher.  In my senior year of college, my days were filled with the construction of a robot that was supposed to kick a football for our senior design project.  My nights were filled with producing a student-run musical theatre company.  I am fairly confident in my math skills and robots plus tap shoes should not equal Catholic educator.   But as I went through the grind of career fairs and emails and cover letters and resumes and first-round interviews and thank you emails and second-round interviews and site visits, I couldn’t help but think that none of these companies was where I needed to be.

ACE had a different feel.  After a pastoral staff member from ACE visited my classroom one day, I began browsing the website.  I read about college graduates going out to teach across the country and knew this was it.  This is what I had been missing!  A place where I could talk all day about science and still rehearse at night for theatre.  But even more than that, I realized what all those other interviews had been missing: a calling.  A vocation.  Use whatever word you like, but after months of searching, I finally felt that I could do something that makes a difference.  And every day I get a chance to make a difference by sharing my experiences with my students.

Now, in my second year in ACE, there are no more spaghetti western showdowns.  I still feel like Clint Eastwood at times, but it is less The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly and more Gran Torino: I try to act tough but deep down I can’t help but smile.  I just want my students to succeed.  I just want to leave the world in a better place and education is one way that I can do that.  I still stand at the front of the room and look around at my students, but the eyes no longer taunt me.  Instead, they ask: “What are we going to do today?”  I breathe a sigh of relief because, at this moment, I am right where I need to be.  

After almost 15 years of being desperately focused on my own education, I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and felt like all I had done in that time was coming to a bleak end. As a junior at the University of Notre Dame, I watched as my friends and peers snatched up internships and offers for paid summer research positions at various institutions. I didn't know what I wanted to do in my impending future, but I knew what I didn't want to do.

The ACE program seemed like a new and unexplored option: an opportunity to try something that I thought I may be able to do effectively and be passionate about. For that reason, I decided one day in the basement of Haggar Hall (the Psychology department at the university) that this was the direction I wanted my life to go in, at least for this transient period in my life. If I had the chance to be in a classroom and to interact with children every day, I would do everything I could to seize that opportunity. With that decision on that day, I committed to the application process and shortly after, I was able to commit to three years with the ACE program through my acceptance into the ACE internship that would precede my two years of teaching service.

Fast forward to one and a half years later: I am now a 21-year old, self-contained 3rd grade teacher in charge of 19 Oakland, California kiddies. I struggle immensely- but I love the students I teach without reservation. I attend my students' cross country meets, cantor at the school's weekly masses, and work to manage a school newspaper. I wouldn't change it or backtrack in any way.

I chose to do the ACE program because of the proverbial "desire to give back." In this short amount of time that has been my teaching career (about 2 months), I have given a lot of myself but gotten so much more from the people and community that surround my placement in Oakland. Now, I wake up and stick with this because it is so formative to the person that I am looking to become, and I have 19 children who form and shape who I am becoming as well.

"Please take a seat and stare at the Virgin Mary for five minutes. I would like to
remind you that if you so much as look away from the statue sitting in front of you, I will add five minutes to your detention. If you laugh, talk to your peer, or ask me a question I will add five minutes to your detention. It is now 3:15. You may begin." I sat quietly staring at the statue of the Immaculate Conception as my teacher took a seat next to it. Soccer practice would start at 3:45, so I knew I could not stay long. My best friend was sitting next to me sharing in penance for having collaborated in class disruption.

Two minutes pass. Three minutes. Four. My teacher got a sly grin on his face sensing that we were now able to endure five minutes without a flinch. "Two muffins are sitting in an oven. One says to the other, 'boy, it's hot in here!' The other says, 'AAAAH, a talking muffin.'" That was it. We lost it. Once our laughter subsided and we gathered ourselves, my teacher coldy said, "Five more minutes." As the year progressed, I found myself attending detention with less frequency.

The teacher who assigned my detention was Bishop Machebeuf High School's first ACE teacher. He was fresh out of college and had been placed at my school with the mission of teaching high school social studies. An ACE teacher agrees to teach, live in community, and develop personal spirituality over the course of two years through the ACE Teaching Fellows program. My fifteen year-old self could hardly comprehend the reasons one would choose to take this path voluntarily. It was an odd choice in our eyes. This teacher was replaced with two other ACE teachers after serving his two years with us. Although neither of the two newer teachers taught me in the classroom, one taught me on the soccer pitch. For a young student with big ambitions to attend my dream school, The University of Notre Dame, having ACE teachers helped make concrete the perception of a Notre Dame student and graduate. They served as models for reaching higher education and pushed us to learn and grow. They told tales of college, of study-abroad experiences, of football games, and of their own dreams. They were not afraid to reprimand us and were eager to greet us with a smile and earnest "good job" after having aced a test or making a game-winning save. Many days the simple fact that they were young made a world of difference. That, in itself, made school and practice more enjoyable.

ACE teachers did not look like us, they did not talk like us, and they did not think like us. However, for this young Hispanic with very few role models that had reached such high levels of education and world experience, they provided me with an image of success and service to others. I applied for ACE with the hopes of educating young students sharing similar backgrounds and to be a concrete role model of ambition and success.