In their own words
Santiago Vazquez

Santiago Vazquez graduated from Wesleyan University in 1993. He is a 1999 Los Angeles Corps Member and he taught first grade at Jane Addams Elementary School in Long Beach, CA for two years, after which he taught second grade in Prince Georges County, MD. Currently, he directs an after school program in Cypress Hills, Brooklyn called Kid's Clubhouse.

September 5, 1999.

I'm one week into my first year of teaching, and for the most part, things are running smoothly. Still, I marvel at the responsibility that greets me every day. Twenty wide-eyed six year-olds depend on me for everything from learning their alphabet to bathroom breaks. But most importantly, it's up to me to give them the foundation to attain a quality education. As I grade and reflect on the year's running records, writing, and phonemic awareness assessments, and math timed tests for my first grade students I feel serious concern for the most underachieving of my students, who is languishing in every subject. His name is Jose Santos. He can write his first name but the N is backwards. He can match only seven letters to their sounds. He can correctly spell a grand total of two words, and fewer than 10 percent of his one-digit addition problems are correct. When he turned in his worksheet today, more than half of it was blank. In most areas, he is at least one full grade level behind his peers, some of whom can complete math equations and word problems, read Dr. Seuss and comprehend it, and write about how much fun their summers were. But what concerns me most is Jose's lack of motivation. He prefers poking his neighbors to engaging them in centers. He rarely brings in his homework. I can see that he knows what he's doing when we work on adding beans together, but later, when I come back to track his independent progress, nothing has been done.

When I'm not teaching, I bore my friends with constant accounts of Jose. I start to joke that, as a teacher, I get paid to worry. It's no laughing matter, however, that Jose's behavioral choices in the classroom often land him in timeout, where more precious instructional time whittles away. How on earth will I be able to get Jose ready for the SAT-9 in June? To compete, he'll have to read complex passages and answer related comprehension questions. He'll have to fill in the missing figures in patterns. He'll need to tell time and use logic to identify answers. At times, I think there's no way to get there from here. No way. But I know it's up to me to find a way. I get paid to worry, alright — to worry about Jose.

January 16, 2000.

For three months now, and with the consent of Jose's mom and dad, I've been staying after school with him for two hours daily. We practice writing high-frequency words. He's up to about fifty. We practice strategies for problem-solving, and then he tests for them. We power through boxes of flash cards. We play rhyming games. It's intense, so we take breaks — reading breaks.

At night, Jose's mom and dad, who by now have become friends of mine, help reinforce what he learned in class each day. I send customized work packets home with him everyday. When Jose's mom comes by to pick him up, which is becoming later and later, I explain the packets to her so she can push him, too.

My colleagues on the grade level staff hassle me because I never have the time to join them for an evening out, but more importantly, they respect what I'm trying to do with my class, and with Jose in particular. More important than that, Jose and his parents tell me that they respect what I'm trying to accomplish. But what's most important isn't what I'm trying to accomplish, it's what Jose's trying to accomplish. The progress we've made over the last few months has led to major improvements in his behavior and his motivation. His heart is set on passing the test, on moving on to the second grade. But we've still got a ways to go.

Jose finally has a grip on most of the basics, and while he's been working really, really hard, he's still miles way from SAT-9 test readiness. I worry that when he sits down to take the test just a few months from now, Jose will feel overwhelmed in spite of his best efforts. What if he fails? He'll think he's doomed to fail no matter how hard he works, so why bother? I still get paid to worry.

Sept. 13, 2000

It's a new year, and all of our hard work has paid off. Jose is in the second grade, having scored in the top fiftieth percentile on the SAT-9 test last June. Meanwhile, the rest of the class moved on to second grade, too. Four of my students received awards from the state for scoring in the top tenth percentile. Most of them performed very well on open-ended math tests, reading benchmarks, and writing prompts, also. They are all impressive writers, readers, and mathematicians.

But it's a new school year now, and there's a fresh batch of wide-eyed first graders. Now, I've got little Alicia on my mind. As I reflect on my new group of first graders and what we'll accomplish this year, I'm already worried about how she'll perform. She's roughly where Jose was at this point last year. I'm hopeful that seeing Jose will provide me with the inspiration necessary to help Alicia. Besides, since I don't get to hang out with Jose nearly as much as I used to, I miss him. So today, I decided to stop by his house to say hello to him, his sister, and his parents.

When I pull up to Jose's house, his sister spots me out on the curb and runs inside to announce my arrival. I walk in and see that Jose has positioned himself at the living room table to do his homework. He looks so busy that I'm compelled to whisper my regards to his parents. Jose still hasn't looked up from his books, so I have to walk right up and sit beside him to command his attention.

Finally, he says, "Oh! Hi, teacher. You're just in time to help me. This book is just like the one I need to read to Ms. Boyd tomorrow so I can pass the reading test for second grade."

A smile spontaneously forms on my face that erupts into delirious laughter. I give Jose a big hug and the whole family starts laughing, too.

Alicia will be just fine, I think to myself, because Jose is just fine.

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

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