Reginald was the first kid I cried over.

I was sitting in the back of my classroom at a South Los Angeles middle school. It was the summer of 2005. I was watching one of my fellow Teach For America teachers – or corps members as we’re known – lead the group of 20 7th graders though a lesson on similes and metaphors. We were here teaching summer school in preparation for our two year commitment with Teach For America. In August we would move to cities through out the country and teach in high-need school districts. We spent all morning teaching students and then all afternoon learning how to get better and raise expectations inside some of the nation’s failing classrooms. For most this was our first step into teaching and the five week institute was an intense preparation for the two year commitment ahead. We spent hours each day talking about curriculum needs, literacy strategies, lesson planning and diversity issues. Then we would return to our Cal State Long Beach dorm rooms and lesson plan through the night with fellow corps members.

I was crying in the back of that classroom because we finally tracked down our special needs student files. Reginald had a learning disorder. I’d spent three weeks as his teacher and this was the first I was learning of it. And he wasn’t the only one. Several students had individualized education plans. I’m not sure how much difference it would have made in such a short amount of time, but the shock of trying so hard to be prepared and yet never feeling ready overwhelmed me at that moment.

What I learned in South LA

I found several things during those five weeks in South L.A. I realized that I wasn’t alone. I was surrounded by hundreds of other corps members, Teach For America staff and veteran South L.A. teachers who were dedicated to helping me be a better teacher. Each person had a drive to help our nation’s children succeed and there was an unbelievable sense that anything was possible. I found a passion inside myself that still drives me today, years later. It’s the memories I have with those 7th graders, and the two year experience teaching high school English in North Las Vegas, NV that pushes me to do more for education reform. I found a sense of life’s purpose in that middle school. And I promised myself that I would give everything I have for kids like Reginald.

We learned as much from our students. In a writing assignment for Teach For America, I observed that “every day my world is changed. These kids teach me more about myself, more about this nation’s expectations, and more about the country’s future then I ever imagined I would learn. And it has only been four weeks. I thought I came to Los Angeles to teach 7th graders, but there’s so much more to being a teacher. You spend time worrying about rules and consequences, kids who fall asleep, kids who miss school because their parents can’t get them there, and kids who’ve never been told by a teacher that they are worth something. I thought I was coming to Teach For America to help close the Achievement Gap, and then I met Reginald. Three weeks into the program I looked at his IEP (Individual Education Plan) and realized teaching is not about big posters and sticker charts. It’s about kids like Reginald, who’ve been labeled a discipline problem, stigmatized because of a learning disorder, and pushed through a system that isn’t willing to change, but thinks a 13-year-old boy should. Every day is a challenge, but I wake up and I board that yellow school bus for kids like Reginald, kids who deserve more than the world has given them.”

Kids are the same everywhere

I’ve since learned that kids in South L.A. aren’t that different from kids in Las Vegas or New York City or New Orleans. Kids are basically looking for the same things. They want someone to care. Someone who isn’t going to ignore the fact that they can’t read, that they come to school hungry, that their parents make minimum wage and don’t have health insurance. They want safe schools, principals who believe in their teachers, and teachers who believe in them. Kids want textbooks that make sense for the world they live in, they want a curriculum that challenges them and prepares them for an ever-changing global economy. They want the choices and opportunities that so many of us take for granted each day. They didn’t choose where they were born, so why should that dictate who they become?

Every morning during that summer my fellow corps members and I boarded school buses and drove from our dorms to the schools we had been assigned. It was probably the only time in those five weeks that we had some rest from the chaos of being new teachers. Many times we would sit near each other and go over lesson plans one last time, talk about assessments or find a home phone number for the kids who just weren’t behaving. But sometimes, we’d all just sit and relax. We’d stare out from those bus windows and think about our own lives. It’s impossible to not be changed by teaching. Most of us will never know what happens to the students we teach. That is because education is an investment. There is no quick fix; the solution to our education crisis is not paved in yellow brick. But I know we can do more. We must do more. We owe it to Reginald.

Shannon Mitchell is a 2009 public relations graduate of the Annenberg School of Journalism at the USC Annenberg School for Communication. This opinion piece is an excerpt from her master’s thesis, “Teach For America: We Have Their Attention, Now Where Do We Go From Here?”