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In their own words
Sarada Peri

Sarada Peri graduated from Tufts University in 2001 as a political science major. She is a 2001 corps member who taught 9th and 10th grade English and Reading at Marion Abramson Senior High School in New Orleans.

September 5, 2001

"I'm not learning any of this stupid stuff from your stupid self." Thus, the literature book was summarily shoved to the ground, papers flying everywhere, as Samantha Thomas defiantly crossed her arms in front of her and sucked her teeth one more time for full effect. I sigh. "Samantha, that is extremely inappropriate behavior and you will now have to serve a detention after school." I say it like I'm a broken record, although genuinely hoping to enforce my well thought out management plan.

"I'm not coming to your stupid detention with your stupid self. Forget this," her long hair flies after her as she storms out of the classroom.

I've only been teaching for a couple of weeks and there are two major problems, as I've determined. (1) I have no clue what I'm doing and (2) I have no idea what to do with Samantha Thomas. Samantha is in my first period class of 9th grade English for students who had taken but failed the course- affectionately known at Abramson as "repeat offenders." From the first day of school, Samantha simply refuses to cooperate. She talks constantly, has cursed me out multiple times, and refuses to sit through a conference with me without giving the ultimate attitude. She's already started 2 fights in my class and has been suspended once. Samantha puzzles me, to say the least.

Samantha takes care of her 4 siblings after school, works everyday, and has more on her plate than any 16 year-old I've ever known. The last thing on her mind is the 10th grade standardized test LEAP this March. I know she's capable of doing well on these tests, of achieving beyond what she expects, if only I can get her to sit through an entire class period.

December 15, 2001

On days we read a story that she really enjoys, Samantha is fairly calm. At any given moment, however, she can be completely set off and launch into a tirade against anyone in the room. I have been in good touch with her mom, so much so that Mrs. Thompson is #10 on my speed dial and has offered to cut my hair for free at her salon. The class itself continues to struggle along with me. I am overwhelmed with the task of addressing all my students' needs. Each child is at a different level than the next. I make it my first priority to get everybody reading and writing as much as possible and I am using the writing process to individually assist my lower level kids.

In the meantime, I am trying to get Samantha work on improving her reading skills. I have gotten a few young adult novels for her to read and she seems to love the stories about teenagers that she can relate to. Sometimes, I convince her to stay after school for one on one tutoring, which is the ideal working situation for her.

I discover, however, that Samantha's favorite task of the class is completing her morning journal. She writes elaborate and thoughtful answers to the various journal topics posed each day. Piecing together the entries, I learn that her dream is to be a journalist. I am committed to encouraging this goal. I respond in her journal with various suggestions on how she can work towards her objective. She never says a word about my comments, so I assume they go unread, and we continue along in our first period tango. I'm beginning to wonder if she would learn more if she repeats English I yet again with a different teacher next semester.

Today, Samantha and Lisela decided to lead a revolution. It began in the middle of reading "The Gift of the Magi." Samantha was clearly frustrated because she knew that the story was ironic before anyone else did, but simply couldn't explain the irony when she answered the question.

"This class is stupid, you teachers don't teach nothing, you need to go back to where you came from, man I'm sick of this!" etc. I listen fairly calmly and decide against throwing them out of the class. Instead, they must each write a page about what it means to have respect.

After a few more minutes of picketing and striking, the two sit down and begin writing. Samantha finishes as the bell rings and shoves the paper at me as she walks out.

"Respect is when you treat other people the way you want to be treated. Respect is talking to adults the way you talk to your mama or when you pray. Ms. Peri, sometimes I think you don't respect me because you fuss at me in class. Why you always picking on me? Everybody says my attitude is messing me up. I'm really trying to be better. Sometimes I can't control myself. I get so angry, but I don't know why. My life is like a fire that I can't never put out. It just burns and burns and I don't know how to make it stop. I want to pass my classes. I'm sick of failing. You always say I can do it but I'm not sure. Sometimes I just feel dumb. Am I smart? Maybe I'll try more. Maybe I am smart."

I'm shaking as I pack up my things and leave for my next class.

May 1, 2002

I've been blessed enough to have Samantha in my second semester class for English II. She's been a fantastic help. She helped me teach all my rules and systems to the rest of the class, and she always participates when no one else will. She's editing her journals everyday during lunch to work on her grammar. She still talks incessantly, but she hasn't had a single temper tantrum and her writing is getting better and better everyday. The best part is that Samantha passed the 10th grade LEAP on the first try, scoring well above many of her peers. Although she was the only student to have passed the LEAP in my first period, by the end of that first semester, I had begun to see perfectly formatted 5-paragraph essays from other students in the class.

What Samantha and my other students taught me, however, is the most important lesson I ever learned as a teacher. My kids are sick and tired of being the big failures of Abramson. They're tired of repeating classes, tired of getting poor grades, tired of getting into trouble everyday, and definitely tired of those standardized tests that tell them how smart they supposedly aren't. All along, it's been about fighting this constant feeling of failure more than anything else.

Today is the day we did Act 5, Scene 2 of Shakespeare's Othello. The class has been working to get this play down. Samantha volunteered to be Desdemona, and as she lay on the two desks that serve as the makeshift bed, as she struggled through Shakespeare's language to give her last words as the jealous Othello murders her, I marvel at her brilliance, the brilliance of all my students who can perform Shakespeare with the best of them, who make me laugh harder than I ever have in my life, who make me think more, work harder, and want to be a better person.

See, I feel as if I had little to do with Samantha's ultimate success. I come to work everyday and I work hard to create a space for her to grow and I continue to believe in her even when she doesn't seem to believe in herself, but in the end, it is really HER SUCCESS. I was just lucky enough to be a part of it and to learn from it.

This year, 2003, Samantha has had her share of trouble at school. She was expelled and sent back and battled through some more personal problems that continue to affect her academic achievement. I know now that we cannot follow our students all throughout their lives. We can only help them read better or do math better, think a little more, and strive for something greater. But at the end of the day, they will walk out of your room and you can only hope that the success they now believe they can achieve on their own will carry them in all that they do. We cannot hold their hands, but we can make sure their hands securely possess all the tools in the world.

So Samantha's going to be okay.

Note: Some names have been changed in order to protect the privacy of individuals.

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