Be Honest

And Other Advice from Students Across the Country

Nínive Calegari, Nínive Calegari

• Publisher: The New Press
• Year: 2009
• ISBN:
  9781595586865
• Topic: Bildung
• Subtopic: Essays im Bildungswesen

Students speak up about American education in this book from 826 National, the celebrated tutoring center founded by Dave Eggers and Nínive Calegari. This unique volume collects personal essays, letters, and stories by dozens of high school students who were given the chance to speak their minds about their own education. From letters to their teachers to essays and vignettes inspired by the works of James Baldwin and Sherman Alexie, this collection of student writing contains startling insights for educators, parents, and anyone invested in our future. Be Honest includes writing from students across the country, of every ethnic group and financial bracket: A girl from an immigrant family is put in an ESL class even though her English is fluent; an African American boy talks about the social pressures that prevent him from asking his teacher for help; and a privileged private school student describes his transition to public school—and reports that he was able to learn more with the increased freedom it brought. The newest book from 826 National, the celebrated organization founded by Dave Eggers and Nínive Calegari, coauthors of the bestselling Teachers Have It Easy —is a much-needed addition to the current national conversation about our schools. "826 helps young people learn that language can be play, that work can be joyful, and that they themselves can be the inventors and caretakers of their world. I have seen it with my own eyes." —Michael Chabon, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

1

“Thanks for Teaching Me How to Steer”: Letters to Educators

In this chapter students wrote letters to teachers who had an impact on their lives. Through these letters we learn how meaningful the relationships between students and effective teachers can be. We also learn how much respect and gratitude students have for their teachers’ passions, their kindness, and even their quirks. Most students wrote about teachers who helped them, and a small handful wrote about teachers who failed them. There is so much to learn about the attributes and connections that kids need in their experiences with teachers every day.

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You Interrupted My Dinner

Julia Peck, age 16
Washington, D.C.

Dear Mr. Hughes,

You started changing my life the night you interrupted my dinner in 2006. It wasn’t any fault of yours, actually. My dad had spent the day observing classes at Deal Junior High School, and he set down his fork to make an announcement.

“Today, I saw the best English class I’d probably ever seen in my life,” he said. My ears perked up. “He was amazing. He was reading to the class, and he’d fire off questions and they’d be answered immediately. It was interesting, engaging. I really hope you get this guy, Julia. His name’s Mr. Hughes.”

I pictured you in my head. Great. A drill sergeant. A no-nonsense approach to education, the kind my father would approve of.

But only a few months later, I sat, incredulous and a bit terrified, as you took down a Viking helmet from a shelf and placed it on your head, grinning. It was the first day of school.

“Dilemmas,” you announced. You removed the ridiculous hat and held it out in front of you. With your hand between the horns attached to the headpiece, you showed us how a character is caught between two doomed situations: either way they turn, they are figuratively gored by a horn.

Before we’d even opened a book, we could already relate to your message. We’d just been thrust into the terrifying middle school world—where grade populations were suddenly in the three digits, girls whispered insults about third parties into each other’s ears, boys struggled to find an acceptable balance between carefree childhood and the pursuit of manliness, freedom hadn’t yet come but school was no longer a home, and we strove for attention more than ever but now moved between seven impersonal classes—but suddenly, in your class, things were easy.

We were awkward and self-conscious. You didn’t seem to take yourself seriously.

We were scared of being wrong. You forced us to speak up and take the question marks out of our voices.

We were used to being closeted and babied. You spoke freely about the facts of life and things we would later face. We read and discussed great literature; before we had maybe been trusted with a Shel Silverstein poem, at most. In Room 215, we were adults, and for that I give you my first thank-you.

But as you guided us to face the coming of adulthood in all of its gritty, stressful glory, you kept the time we spent in your classroom light and unpredictable. In fact, the only thing we knew for certain as we walked into your room each morning was that, at 9:32, one of us would cover an eye and growl, “Arggggh,” per your request.

The day could become a discussion of what death does to love as we read “Annabel Lee,” or nature versus nurture as we examined why some students excel in school while others struggle. As the year progressed, it became clear to me that you aimed not only to provide us with a solid foundation in literature but also a basic training for life. You understood that at this pivotal time in our lives, we needed to learn English and so much more.

The most glaringly obvious example of your philosophy was our “Seven Habits of Highly Effective Teens” project. Modeled after the genius self-help book of the same title, you asked us to name and give examples of seven attributes of the ideal teenage student, effectively forcing us to lay down the stepping-stones that would support us for years to come. School was suddenly not about learning things important to the teacher’s life but about preparing for our own. Thank you.

And reading was no longer just what nerds did when they felt antisocial; to read was to submerge oneself into another world and resurface with new lessons and outlooks on life. You challenged us to find a literary work that didn’t have a theme. Tons of stuff, I thought. Disney and comic books and dumb kid stories.

Then you passed out the model book report showcasing the format we’d follow all year. “‘The Three Little Pigs,’ by an unknown author, is a story about hard work for a secure future.”

I had already concluded you were fairly crazy, so I was tempted not to believe that The Three Little Pigs was actually supposed to mean so much. But the more we discussed it, the more mind-blowing it became: authors are telling us much more than a story. I have never forgotten that day, and most likely never will. Thank you.

The rest of the school year went flying by. You laughed at your own jokes, you laughed at us laughing at you laughing at your own jokes. You wore pirate eye patches occasionally; you read poetry with such emotion that I thought you had written it. We deciphered those poems together, all twenty of us. We sang in front of the class, all twenty of us, one at a time, as you had demanded. Sang our Treasure Island–inspired ballads to the tune of the Gilligan’s Island theme song, and when you promised no one would make fun of us, no one did. We traveled through time with The Glory Field and The Devil’s Arithmetic and imagined ourselves in lives so different from our own. It was then that I learned true empathy, as I wrote a journal entry for Chayas, the protagonist of The Devil’s Arithmetic, as if I were her and realized she wasn’t the jerk I thought she was; I would’ve done the same thing she did.

On the last day of school, you handed out copies of William Ernest Henley’s “Invictus.” When I got home that day, I propped up the sheet between my desk and the wall, and it wasn’t long until I had memorized it. “I am the master of my fate,” the last lines read. “I am the captain of my soul.” I knew that, Mr. Hughes. But the question was: once you are captain, how do you know where to go? And that’s where my final thank-you comes in: thank you for helping teach me how to steer.

Sincerely,

Julia Peck

Julia Peck is a high school sophomore in Washington, D.C., and is the daughter of a government employee and a French teacher. She is a debater, runner, soccer player, dancer, journalist, novelist, and human rights advocate with absolutely no idea what she wants to be when she grows (further) up, and she likes it that way. Her addiction to traveling to fascinating places has led her to pursue fluency in two other languages, and she can always be found with a camera around her neck. She devours books like she devours Thai food, and has a penchant for reggae music. After high school and college, she hopes to find herself somehow helping people both at home and overseas and promoting worldwide peace and understanding. She also tends to avoid lofty goals.

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Like a Chess Game

Ha Truong, age 18
Washington, D.C.

Dear Mr. Tan,

How have you been? Time has gone by so fast, and I still cannot believe that it has been six years since the last class reunion. I don’t think you will be able to recognize me now, as I have grown ultrahuge from the small boy I used to be in your fourth-grade English and math classes.

Those were the best classes I have ever taken, even up until now. I don’t think I could have passed fourth grade, especially English class, if it weren’t for all the help I received from you. I hope this letter can express fully my thankfulness and respect.

It was not easy for me to walk into your class the first day because, before the fourth grade, I did not know any English words whatsoever. I was actually really nervous because there was no one that I could communicate with because of the language difficulty—or at least I thought so. I actually thought that there was going to be a test at the beginning to see how much we had learned in third grade so that we could be rearranged according to our knowledge.

It is very funny to me now that I got stressed out over silly stuff. When you walked into class, I think the first words you said were “Good morning,” but I did not know those words back then. It is incredible how you just took a glance around at all of us and knew that I wasn’t able to understand anything, not even the schedule on the board.

I really admired your patience after that day, because I think you had to repeat yourself six or seven times just to get an answer to the question where I was from. I felt relieved to find out later that there was a translator for me in class. It was so great for me that you had a mechanical dictionary; the best memory I have is writing down my questions and you being able to respond. Thank you for letting me borrow it for the first few weeks. It was a lifesaver for me.

It was wonderful that I got to introduce myself a few weeks later, after I learned how from the dictionary. It made me feel much more welcome in class as everybody was cheering and clapping. I think that was the boost I needed to do well in class. And the postcards you forced everybody to draw every day helped out a lot, too. I felt so lucky that I was not a very creative artist because, for every new word I did not know how to draw the meaning immediately (I had a very hard time coming up with ideas), I remembered those words really well by thinking hard about a picture that would represent them. The best part was that you actually hung everybody’s work around the classroom, so I think our class was more like a museum than a normal forty-five-student class.

It was not just English class—your math class was amazing, too. I was extremely bad at understanding the questions. I remember how the word “twice” made me fail the first test. I was lucky because you asked me to stay after school for help. I still cannot believe you taught only three of us until 6 PM every day for a whole week. It was the only time I had to do extra work, but I was not tired at all because of the way you made the math equation seem like a game. I remember you said to imagine equations like a chess game, and it was amazing how much easier it became for me. It’s too bad that I cannot remember this method now whenever I face a tough problem, but it was so useful that I went from a 58 percent in your class to an 80 percent.

Once again, thank you for everything.

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Ha Truong is a high school senior in Washington, D.C., but was born in Hanoi, Vietnam. His proudest accomplishment is to graduate from high school with a decent GPA. He loves spending time with friends and helping them with their homework, especially with math after school. He will be attending a university next year and intends to do his best, as he’s done in high school.

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Hmmmmm, Yeah, Life Is Good

Sergio Hernandez, age 17
Ann Arbor

Dear Mr. Long,

This might be unexpected, but it’s kind of cool that throughout the four years I’ve been here, I always knew where I could find you. I could always talk to you about things that no one else would know about. You know, I remember the first time we met. I was a freshman. I didn’t know what was going on, and all of a sudden I had to go to an office of some sort. I later found out that it was for a teachercounseling program. That’s when you came up to me and introduced yourself, and that meant you were my counseling teacher.

From there on, I found out you played chess—one of the games I never thought I would play a lot. I had played before, in eighth grade, but I came here, and you taught me many things about the game. You changed a lot of things in my life in a big way, even though this was the first time I’d had you as a teacher. Like showing and opening the doors to this game for me. I learned that in order to go through a normal day, you have to plan what’s going to happen, and then most of the time you can control the outcome of your situations. In the game, you have to plan moves through and also make sacrifices; and in my life, I have been in situations where I had to sacrifice things. It also kept me out of trouble. I stayed home and practiced chess by myself instead of being out in the streets, getting in trouble and lying to my mother about where I was.

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To this day I still play, and I have learned a lot since I came here. I would play all day, while some people can’t stand even hearing the word “chess.” But education is the key to success, and this game showed me that it is worth graduating—if I’ve gotten this far, I might as well finish. Another thing that chess changed over time, as I played and grew up playing, was my mind. I used to be ignorant and did not care about anyone or anything. I used to say to myself, Man, you don’t need this class, but now I see that I have to pass most of the classes schools give me, whether I like it or not. At the end of the day it’s for my own good, and I’ll feel better knowing I’m passing.

When I had you as a teacher, I remember you would call my name while we got to work on our own in class. You would talk to me personally about why my grades were so low, and how you could help me raise them. I would tell you that I was trying, and that the grades would improve, and you would give me a funny look meaning that you were not playing any games. Kind of reminded me of my mother when she would get mad at me. You also wanted me to graduate, and, in the nicest way, I could tell you didn’t want to see me attend as a senior again. I am glad that we crossed paths and became good friends instead of being just student and teacher. All of this was accomplished with your help, and I am glad that I had someone to count on who showed me that I am not alone.

Thanks to you, I will be the first person in my family to graduate. To me and my family it will be a great honor for me to accept the diploma in front of all of my classmates I’ve known since I started school. I learned that life isn’t simple, and that it’s not just going to school every day. There are consequences, like when you make a bad move in chess. One move can cost you the game, and wrong moves with real events can cost you your life. You were a big part of this important realization in my life, and I thank you for that. This comes from the heart. I was on a road walking blindfolded, not knowing what I was doing. But now I can see, and I’m sticking with all my classes. I will fight to fulfill my dreams and make everyone who depends on me proud—most of all, my mother. I’ll make her happy when I walk on Graduation Day, and I want her to be proud enough to say, “Yeah, that’s my son up there. Hmmmmm, yeah, life is good.”

Sergio Hernandez is a high school senior in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Though he likes having fun and joking around sometimes, he thinks school is important because it keeps him out of trouble and opens the door for a better future. He loves playing basketball and is a passionate fan and defender of Kobe Bryant. He is known in school for having an extensive collection of Jordans and encourages his peers to refrain from “stepping on his J’s.” The person he respects mor...