If son #2 is Joe College, then kid #1 is Joe College-Grad. Instead of going to graduate school, and immersing himself in the work-study-get-ahead-kill mode of some of his high achieving peers, or trying to get a job and failing, like many of his other pals, he choose Teach for America(TFA). It didn't hurt that this path leads him to New York City, where he now lives in Harlem, part of the gentrification of this previously gritty part of town. It also doesn't hurt that he is paid the beginning salary of a New York teacher, or that TFA assumes the interest on his loans during his two year stint. It's all good. There's a doorman...
Except....Joe #1 walks across Harlem to the #6-IND train, which takes him into the depths of the Bronx, where he then catches a bus that takes him into the neighborhood where Amadou Dialo met his end at the hands of the New York police. The school, PS 107, is a troubled school, with significant staff turnover and less than wonderful test scores. Surrounding it are some elderly housing projects. None of this dampens his enthusiasm for the first graders he meets tomorrow.
"I'm going to teach them to read," he announces. "They will read every day, I will send books home, I'll visit their apartments, I'll talk with their parents. I'll read to them in class. They'll have a great start to their education." We talk over the noise of the airplanes and wind blowing through his cell phone as he suns himself on his Harlem rooftop. I try to restrain myself, telling him only once to take the bus to the subway rather than walking across Harlem at 5:30 in the morning. He tells me he's bought some neckties. "Gotta look serious, Mom." I am so proud.
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