Stand & Deliver Part 1

The first half of Stand and Deliver showed me that Mr. Escalante is a very strong willed and dedicated teacher. He starts off getting a job at Garfield high school in Los Angeles, which turns out to be a vastly underfunded school with a mostly underprivileged immigrant student body. the school is so underfunded that he was brought in to be a computer sciences teacher and was moved into teaching Math 1A aka Basic Math because the school could not afford to have computers. Even worse than that the school's massive underfunding caused a shortage in desks so students had to compete for a place to sit down in class!

When he first arrives to the classroom he finds his students to be uncommitted to education and in some cases completely uninterested in learning. He even has do deal with some of the tougher gang affiliated kids making threats to his personal safety. His first day there is a colossal failure as he failed to reach the students in any way. But the next day he is prepared for them. He starts to use humor to reach them and at first some resist but over time he develops a way of communicating to the kids with their own language while still forcing them to rise to the standard he set for them. He eventually implements a system of embarrassing students who don’t try to succeed thus reversing the social norm they are used to. He uses a few crude tactics to keep these kids engaged in his class but they work and soon he has all his students eager to learn. Mr. Escalante makes it clear that he is a firm believer in the notion that students will only rise to the bar you set for them and because of this, decides to teach them Algebra instead of Basic Math.

Though other teachers have given up on these kids Mr. Escalante pushes forward with his crude yet effective teaching style and gets great results teaching algebra to kids deemed unfit for basic math. He decides, to the chagrin of other teachers, he is going to take it one step further and teach his students calculus in order to prepare them for an AP test and earn them college credit. after some struggle with parents that had their own agendas for their kids, agendas that had no need for better education and no input from the kid themselves, he gets his students into a summer calculus program and begins vigourisly teaching them. What happens next I’ll just have to wait for part two to find out. However if they fallow typical Hollywood formula there will be some tragedy (typically a sad death) and then ultimately success. (In this case the students passing the AP test.)

Brain STORM

I’m a little lost on just what to do on this paper... No real ideas are coming to me yet. I do have a few thoughts which may or may not pertain to my future paper however.

Yes there are good teachers and there are bad teachers but I would say both are very rare. Teachers are humans and humans are never as black and white as the labels good and bad would imply. Humans like to nestle themselves in those happy little grey areas. Those areas were they say oh my I can’t smoke marijuana it’s against the law, but I can speed to work when I'm late despite it being illegal. A teacher is always the same way. Wow, I love how clearly Mr. Redford explains his assignments; I just hate how he doesn’t try to reach the kids who are lagging behind! This wouldn’t make Mr. Redford a bad teacher, but I don't think letting your struggling students fail makes you a good teacher either. It makes you a human teacher and through my experience you can’t ask anyone to be more than human. When you do come a crossed that superhuman great teacher pay attention, they are rare and they have the potential to change your life!

Whats Makes a Good Teacher

To me a good teacher is someone who doesn't feel they know everything! They need to be able to learn and grow right alongside their students. Not everyone will learn the same way so you can’t teach everyone the same way what works well for one student or even class might be a colossal failure for the next. It is important to have a structure and a plan to the way you teach but the walls of that plan should be padded and flexible or you will just have a lot of students smashing their heads against the concert walls of your educational plan while only a few notices the hallway you have for them to walk down. Don’t be too stubborn to take your students suggestions to heart. If everyone is saying hey Mr. Foster I really don't like how we rushed through Shakespeare I really didn't get it. The problem isn’t my students then huh? I would need to step back and say ok hmm how can I better teach these kids Shakespeare because clearly I’m falling short. On a more obvious note it doesn’t hurt to smile and be friendly. People will always respond better to that then sullen and unapproachable.

Audre Lord

Audre Lorde illustrates what her teachers were like with the best tool a writer has to illustrate something, her descriptions. She describes, in good detail, how here first grade teacher looked. I really like the way she describes the teacher as a blonde, not because she was able to see Sister Mary's hair, but based on the observation of Sister Mary having blonde eyebrows. More important to illustrating these teachers then their appearance, Lorde has a way of showing you their personality’s rather than telling you. You get a good sense of the kind of teacher her kindergarten teacher was based on how she treated Audre and how quickly she was willing to give up and drop her. She wanted Audre out of school not for being unable to learn or for being behind the class but for simply misunderstanding the directions given to her. Audre went above and beyond what the assignment asked of her and was condemned rather than commended for this. Audre's mom made a really good choice moving her out of that school and into first grade although from the sounds of it the first grade teacher was more worried about the children’s strict obedience to herself and to god then about educating her students. This however was still an improvement upon the last teacher.

Ed. Narrative Final Draft

How I Learned I Couldn't Skip College

The sudden impact to the back of my head was hard and unsuspected. It immediately took me off of my feet and I crashed down onto my knees. Eyes already filling with water, my hand went to the spot I was struck and there it met with a warm stickiness that was matting down my hair. Knowing full well what was now running down my fingertips I still felt compelled to look at my hand, to see, if just maybe, I was wrong. Through the dizzying blur that my vision had become I could see bright crimson red smears covering the hand, it was blood, my blood. My vision dimmed and tunneled, and it felt like I was spinning. I went from my knees down to all fours as my head throbbed uncontrollably. Tiny red droplets began to slip past my ears and tumble towards the ground below.  I watched them break against the floor in front of me as I tried to piece together what had just happened. The answer, I later realized, was I got hit in the head with a hammer. The part I don’t like to admit is, at the time I was working construction and the hammer that tried to cave in my skull was my own. And even more embarrassing is the fact that this was not the moment that taught me I needed to go back to school. Hell, worse yet, this moment didn’t even get me out of construction. Sometimes I’m a slow learner I guess, or maybe it was the whack to the brain that set me back? Either way, to understand how I learned I couldn’t skip college we will need to back this story up a little.

The Year is 2005 and I am the king poo of turd mountain. Why am I so damn awesome you ask? Well for no other reason than the simple fact that I am a graduating high school senior. And as any graduating senior knows, no creature on earth is cooler or smarter then you. I had it all figured out I was going to be a writer and based on the wealth I had pictured making with this dream job, I was going to be a damn good one. So screw college right? I mean you don’t need a degree to publish awesome literature. Besides all of my favorite script writes never went to college. I was taught all through school that I could be anything I wanted to be. So I proudly wore my big goofy cap and gown with an even bigger and goofier smile and was handed my high school diploma. Ah the relief the hard part was over, time to just sit back and become the super famous and insanely rich author I was meant to be.

As it turned out my parents weren’t fond of this sit back and wait plan of mine. So less than a year after graduation I found myself pounding nails at my father’s construction company for ten bucks an hour. The work was hard and painful. Blisters and splinters so big they would run the entire length of your thumb were a daily occurrence, smashed fingers and small cuts an hourly. But I persevered; I mean why not, I was just making some money while I waited for that super famous and insanely rich author thing to happen. Months began to fall off of the calendar, I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with a hammer, and a few more months drifted away. At this point I had been doing this making some money while I waited thing for almost a year.

 We were currently building this odd little house in Indianola and were just about done. All we had left to do was put up the roof. This roof however consisted of a series of twenty-five foot beams, each weighing approximately five hundred pounds. No problems right? All my partner and I had to do was carry each beam up a sixteen-foot ladder, him with his end, me on the other side of the house with my end. Once we reached the top it was my job to hoist the beam onto my shoulder, hold it steady with one hand, and nail the beam in place with the other. His job was to keep the beam level and take the brunt of the weight while I did this. This had been working nicely, a little over halfway done and no injuries! I was exhausted, sweating bullets, and I could feel a bruise forming on my shoulder from the weight of the beams. Still you can’t complain on day with no drawn blood. Then the inevitable finally happened, he dropped his end. I didn’t see it coming; I was in the middle of positioning the beam on my shoulder with my back turned toward him and suddenly everything was out of control. There was immense pressure followed by a loud pop, a lot of banging and crashing, and finally a tremendous amount of pain in my wrist.  My hand had somehow caught under the beam as it fell and was forced strait backwards to a degree that I hope it will never bend to again. The popping I heard, as the doctor later informed me, was the sound of nearly every single ligament in my wrist snapping.  I was put in a wrist brace for a month and was told it would be a month and a half before I could go back to work. During that time my brain must have recovered from the wallop I had given it because I never went back there and I’ve never regretted it.

Instead of going back I used my recovery time to land a job at the local video store. I quickly took advantage of some newly acquired job perks and gorged myself on countless free movies.  I vigorously explored every genre new and old; I revisited old favorites and devoured new treasures.  After at least a year of spending significant amounts of my life watching both the amazing and the awful I came to realize all of my favorites had one thing in common. They weren’t all explosions and quick cuts; they were all built around great and creative writing.  After this realization I found myself getting increasingly more and more envious of the writers. What greater feeling could a writer have then to see their words come to life on screen? My envy grew into a spark that got me writing again. Just small things at first, a short story, a poem, but it slowly built. Then it happened, one of my shorts inspired a screenplay idea and I ran with it! I don’t think I slept for a month as I did my best to teach myself proper formatting, and poured my words out onto the screen. Ninety-eight pages later I had a screenplay of my very own! Now what? Set it on a shelf to gather dust while you work a dead end job a few more years? I don’t think that’s the right answer so I’m really unsure of why that’s what I chose to do.  However I do know that choice led to a total drop in my self-confidence and some battles with depression. Until finally my girlfriend gave me a big push in the right direction and I realized I needed college so I could have the confidence, skills, and connections I need to pursue my dreams. So with a little paper work and a lot more pushing from my girlfriend I got myself into school. Now I’m working toward a goal and even if it doesn’t work at least I tried something this time and who knows maybe ill end up that super famous and incredibly rich author I mentioned earlier, although I would be just as happy to make any living doing something I love, writing.

Rough Draft

How I Learned I Couldn't Skip College

By Josh Foster

The sudden impact to the back of my head was hard and unsuspected. It immediately took me off of my feet and I crashed down onto my knees. Eyes already filling with water, my hand went to the spot I was struck and there it met with a warm stickiness that was matting down my hair. Knowing full well what was now running down my fingertips I still felt compelled to look at my hand, to see if just maybe I was wrong. Through the dizzying blur that my vision had become I could see bright crimson red smears covering the hand, blood, and my blood. My vision dimed and tunneled, the house began to spin around me, and I went from my knees down to all fours as my head throbbed uncontrollably. Tiny red droplets began to slip past my ears and tumble towards the ground below.  I watched them break as they splashed down in front of me, wondering to myself what just happened. The answer, I later realized, was I got hit in the head with a hammer. The part I don’t like to admit is, at the time I was working construction and the hammer that tried to cave in my skull was my own. And even more embarrassing is the fact that this was not the moment that taught me I needed to go back to school. Hell, worse yet, this wasn’t even the moment that taught me to get out of construction. Sometimes I’m a slow learner I guess, or maybe it was the whack to the brain that set me back? Ether way, to understand how I learned I couldn’t skip college we will need to back this story up a little.

The Year is 2005 and I am the king poo of turd mountain. Why am I so damn awesome you ask? Well for no other reason then the simple fact that I am a graduating high school senior. And as any graduating senior knows, no creature on earth is cooler or smarter then you. At this point I had it all figured out I was going to be writer and based on the wealth I had pictured making with this dream job, I was going to be a damn good one. So screw college right? I mean you don’t have to have a degree to publish awesome literature and all of my favorite script writes didn’t go to college either. Besides I was taught all through school that I could be anything I wanted to be. So I proudly wore my big goofy cap and gown with an even bigger and goofier smile and was handed my high school diploma. Ah the relief the hard part was over, time to just sit back and become the super famous and insanely rich author I was meant to be.

As it turned out my parents weren’t so fond of this sit back and wait idea I had developed and less then a year after graduation I found myself pounding nails at my fathers construction company for ten bucks an hour. The work was hard and painful. Blisters and splinters so big they would run the entire length of your thumb were a daily occurrence, smashed fingers and small cuts an hourly. But I persevered, I mean why not, I was just making some money while I waited for that super famous and insanely rich author thing to happen. Months began to fall off of the calendar, I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with a hammer, and a few more months drifted away. I had been at this making some money while I waited thing for almost a year now and we were now building this odd little house in Indianola.  We were rounding the last week on the house and all we had left to do was put up the roof. This roof however consisted of a series of twenty-five foot beams, each weighing approximately five hundred pounds. No problems right all a partner and myself had to do was carry each beam up a sixteen-foot ladder, him with his end, me on the other side of the house with my end. Once we reached the top it was my job to hoist the beam onto my shoulder, hold it steady with one hand, and nail the beam in place with the other. His job was to keep the beam level and take the brunt of the weight while I did this. This had been working nicely, we were a little over halfway done and no injuries. I was exhausted, sweating bullets, and I could feel a bruise forming on my shoulder in the spot I would rest the beam as I nailed. Still you can’t complain on day with no drawn blood. Then the inevitable finally happened, he dropped his end. I didn’t even see it coming; I was in the middle of positioning the beam on my shoulder with my back turned toward him and suddenly everything was out of control. There was immense pressure followed by a loud pop, a lot a banging and crashing, and finally a tremendous amount of pain in my wrist.  My hand had somehow caught under the beam as it fell and was forced strait backwards to a degree I hope it will never bend again for the remainder of my days. The popping I heard, as the doctor later informed me, was the sound of nearly every single ligament in my wrist snapping.  I was put in a wrist brace for a month and was told it would a month and a half before I could go back to work. During that time my brain must have finely recovered from the wallop I gave it because I never went back and I’ve never regretted it.

Instead of going back I used my recovery time to land myself a job at the local video store. I quickly took advantage of some newly acquired job perks and gorged myself on countless free movies.  I vigorously explored every genre new and old, I revisited old favorites and devoured new treasures.  After at least a year of spending significant amounts of my life watching both the amazing and the awful I came to realize all of my favorites had one thing in common. They weren’t all explosions and quick cuts; they were all built around great and creative writing.  After this realization I found myself getting increasingly more and more envious of the writers. What greater feeling could a writer have then to see their words come to life on screen? My envy grew into a spark that got me writing again. Just small things at first, a short story, a poem, but it slowly built. Then it happened one of my shorts sparked a screenplay Idea and I ran with it! I don’t think I slept for a month as I did my best to teach myself proper formatting, and poured my words out onto the screen. Ninety-eight pages later I had a screenplay of my very own! Now what? Set it on a shelf to gather dust while you work a dead end job a few more years? I don’t think that’s the right answer so I’m really unsure of why that’s what I chose to do.  I do, however, know that choice led to a total drop in my self-confidence and some battles with depression. Until finally my girlfriend gave me a big push in the right direction and I realized I needed college so I could have the confidence, skills, and connections I need to pursue my dreams. So with a little paper work and a lot more pushing from my girlfriend I got myself into college. Now I’m working toward a goal and even if it doesn’t work at least I tried something this time and who knows maybe ill end up that super famous and incredibly rich author I mentioned earlier, although I would be just as happy to make any living doing something I love, writing.

Rough 1st Revised

The sudden impact to the back of my head was hard and unsuspected. It immediately took me off of my feet and I crashed down onto my knees. Eyes already filling with water, my hand went to the spot I was struck and there it met with a warm stickiness that was matting down my hair. Knowing full well what was now running down my fingertips I still felt compelled to look at my hand, to see if just maybe I was wrong. Through the dizzying blur that my vision had become I could see bright crimson red smears covering the hand, blood, and my blood. My vision dimed and tunneled, the house began to spin around me, and I went from my knees down to all fours as my head throbbed uncontrollably. Tiny red droplets began to slip past my ears and tumble towards the ground below.  I watched them break as they splashed down in front of me, wondering to myself what just happened. The answer, as it turned out, was I got hit in the head with a hammer. The part I don’t like to admit is, at the time I was working construction and the hammer that tried to cave in my skull was my own. And even more embarrassing is the fact that this was not the moment that taught me I needed to go back to school. Hell, worse yet, this wasn’t even the moment that taught me to get out of construction. Sometimes I’m a slow learner I guess, or maybe it was the whack to the brain that set me back? Ether way, to understand how I learned I couldn’t skip college we will need to back this story up a little.

My topic lends itself naturally to suspense, drama, and comedy, all of this falls into the entertainment purpose. Because of this, to entertain the audience with my narrative was the direction I was already headed in, and the one I wish to stick too.  So I reworked my opening paragraph a little added more detail in parts that felt a little cloudy and added a pinch more humor. It now feels better polished to me as well as a little clearer.