Return to the Reservation

It was mid-March 1976.  My father had just graduated from law school at the University of Utah, and my mother was eight months pregnant with their second child.  They had set out early that morning from Salt Lake City with the humble belongings of a young, poor couple: dinnerware (a wedding gift), clothes (of the thrift store variety), and enough books to strain the rear shocks of their '71 Chevy Vega, which they named "Kermit" on account of it being green.  Their most prized possession, an incorrigible little 2-year old named Robert Wade, was tucked tightly into his carseat, and given toys to distract him from the long hours and desolation of Southeastern Utah.

They drove all day and into the night, making frequent stops for little Wade and to check on the health of the car.  When they finally arrived in Gallup, New Mexico that evening, the sun had already fallen, and the small town (known by the natives as the "Indian Capital of the World" because so many tribes share its space) was aglow with street lights and illuminated bar signs.


My mother had lump in her throat as my father pulled onto historic Route 66 and drove through the heart of town.  To her left and to her right she saw the ugliness of Gallup.  Drunks stumbled in and out of bars and down the sidewalks.  Homeless men lay in the street gutters and paid no mind to passing cars.  It was an alien and unfamiliar sight for her.  She had grown up in the cozy bubble of Cache Valley, within the larger bubble of the state of Utah.  By steady increments peppered over a lifetime, she had grown accustomed to a world of vigilant church-goers and affable neighbors that would bring you a cheese and potato casserole if you fell ill.  She was the kind of woman who had only seen alcohol consumed in movies, and who, by her own admission, had never uttered a single swear word.

My father's skin was a bit thicker, his mind more resolute on living and working among the Indians.  While some of that could be attributed to his more PG-13 upbringing with siblings who enjoyed tormenting one another and a mother who frequently referred to her kids as "little shits," much of my father's obstinate confidence that night came from the fact that he had lived there before.  Two years as a Mormon Missionary on the Navajo Reservation put ice in his veins and assurance in his heart.  It helped him to see past the drunkards in the street, the raggedness of the town, and, with the exception of their puttering automobile, the profound absence of the color green.

My mother made it about half a mile into town before she burst into tears.

I spent the last week in Gallup for a conference hosted by Teach For America for school leaders in rural regions, and the trip gave me an excuse to do a little family history.  I had always known that my family had lived on the Navajo Reservation before I was born, and I had always known that my oldest sister, Mandy, was born there.  But that's about the extent of it.  I didn't know...

• That my family lived in Fort Defiance, Arizona, and that each day my dad drove 15 minutes south to Window Rock where the Navajo Tribal Headquarters were located.
• That my sister Mandy could not be born in Fort Defiance or Window Rock for lack of western medicine, and was instead born just outside of Gallup in a Christian-run hospital in Rehoboth, NM.
• That my sister Mandy was pale and bald.  The only other baby in the hospital that day was a premature Native with long, black hair.
• That my family only lived on the Reservation for 9 months.
• That they lived in a small government-built house with aluminum siding.
• That it was a phone call and a job offer from the late Congressman Gunn McKay to my dad that pulled my family from the Reservation and to Washington, DC.
• How hard it was on my mother, or how happy she was when that phone call came.

Throughout my week on the Reservation, I asked myself, "Could I live here?  Could I do what my dad did?  Could I bring my wife and family to this place and live and work?"  There is certainly work to be had.  Teach For America is placing as many teachers and alumni as they can on Navajo land, and the demand is still not met.  The Indian school systems are desperate for committed educators to fill the vacancies that seem to have a revolving door attached to them.  But so are school systems in L.A.  And D.C.  And Oakland.  And New York.  And North Carolina.

Could we live and work on the Res?  Probably.  Will we?  Probably not.  Celeste and I fielded a lot of questions while we were in Utah earlier this month about where we'll go after I finish my doctorate at UNC.  We really don't know.  We talk about returning to the West and probably will, but right now our future is as wide open as the endless horizon of the New Mexican desert.

TFA put us up in El Rancho Hotel & Motel, aka"Home of the Movie Stars", where many of the big names in Hollywood would stay when filming westerns.  The interior is a mixture of a rustic Southwest lodge, Indian Art, and Hollywood headshots signed by the big names that stayed there, including John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, and Humphrey Bogart.

Old school.

A Navajo silversmith.

The County Courthouse

Zuni Indian Dance.  The city of Gallup hosts nightly Indian dances in the summer.

Pyramid Peak.  We hiked to its summit on the last day of the conference.  For some of the participants, it was there first experience with a mountain.

Top 11 of 2011

2011 was an interesting year. If I had to sum it up in one word, it'd be...UNEXPECTED(ING). For example, I didn't expect to abandon plans to attend law school again. Celeste didn't expect to teach a third year, and she didn't expect she'd leave her school and find a new one. I certainly didn't expect to stay in education - that surprised even me. I didn't expect (and I don't think anyone did) that the USU football team would have a winning season and go to a bowl game. I didn't expect Mission Impossible 4 would be so disappointing, or the Sherlock Holmes sequel to be so...uh...appointing. And while the world around us seems to be expecting (sisters Sarah, Bonnie, and Jen), we are....(drum roll, please)....UN-expecting. (And I'm not expecting a dog any time soon, either).

So with that as a tantalizing backdrop, I reveal to you the Top 11 of 2011, the 4th part in an ongoing series of blog entries highlighting the biggest and the best stories (in no particular order) from our lives over the past twelve months. Enjoy.

1. Mamma Britt Comes to North Carolina

When Cindy Britt turned 38 last year, her husband (who poses as a paleontologist but secretly works for Obama's re-election campaign) decided to get her the greatest birthday present of all time - a trip to visit her favorite daughter and son-in-law in North Carolina. The week was filled with magic and wonder. For starters, we ate at Cookout, a glorious experience on its own. Then we took Cindy on a tour of fancy Henderson and our luxurious schools. Then we spent the weekend at the Emerald Isle Coast lazying it up on the beach in the hot summer sun, and topped it all off with a Durham Bulls game. I can't wait till Obama is re-elected so Brooks will get that "victory bonus" and send Cindy out again.

2. Meeting a Hero

In February, I attended Teach For America's 20-year Anniversary Summit in Washington, D.C. It was a star-studded event. That is, if you consider political, educational, and social leaders "stars." During the 3-day summit, I met and heard from some very famous and influential people (TFA founder Wendy Kopp, Michelle Rhee from "Waiting for Superman," author Malcolm Gladwell, and U.S. Secretary of Education Arne Duncan). But the highlight of the summit came on day two when I had the opportunity to listen to, then MEET John Lewis.

That name may not ring a lot of bells - John Lewis is a current member of the U.S House of Representatives. But what makes him a hero of mine is not what he's done as a politician, but what he did as a young activist in the Civil Rights Movement. He participated in sit-ins and Freedom Rides, he spoke at the March on Washington and helped to start SNCC, the student arm of the movement. He was a close personal friend of Dr. King, and is probably the most underrated contributor to racial equality from those turbulent years in American history. On top of all that, he's the author of one of my all-time favorite books, Walking With the Wind.

3. No-go Lawyer, Yes-go Principal

In 2009, I turned down the opportunity to go to law school to pursue a wild experiment in public service with Teach for America. In 2011, that wild experiment was supposed to come to an end, and return me to my previously chosen path of becoming a lawyer/bigshot. But the fates wouldn't allow it, and in 2011, with the same law schools offering me admission (and a few new ones as well), I turned away from the path of law once again to pursue a master's degree in school administration. I am currently in my first year of something called the Northeast Leadership Academy, which is basically like a special fellowship program within N.C. State's College of Education that puts emerging education leaders on the fast-track to becoming principals.

So how's it going so far, one semester into this new wild experiment? When people ask me if I like the program, I tell them "No....I LOVE it." And I do.

4. The Strange New World of HENDERSON COLLEGIATE

After two years of teaching in Vance County, Celeste and I were well-accustomed to breaking up fights, dishing out failing grades, and recognizing the all-too-familiar aroma of reefer. And while I'm still in the midst of the aforementioned elements, Celeste has entered a strange new world of teaching where students greet you with a handshake, tell you what year they graduate from high school, and where they plan on attending college. Celeste took a new teaching position this year at Henderson Collegiate, a charter school in the same town we've been working in for two years.

Henderson Collegiate is amazing. It's just a great school. Celeste is also amazing. Therefore, the marriage between the two has been, well, amazing. Celeste's kids ADORE her. Seriously. They ache for her approval. They get giddy if they're assigned after-school tutoring. When she asks a question, virtually every student puts their hands in the air. You heard me. Hands. Two of them. It's like it's American Idol in there and Celeste is David Archuleta.

5. La Republica Dominicana - En Vivo!

This trip was amazing, both for the fact that the DR is an incredible place to visit, and because we had gone three months without a day off from school. It was as good as morphine to wash away the pains that come from life in the education trenches.

While staying at an all-inclusive resort is nice, our favorite moments from the trip came when we adventured away from the all you can eat bacon and virgin pina coladas. Whether it was taking a motorcycle taxi to downtown Puerto Penasco, riding ATVs through the jungle, or cliff jumping down the 27 Charcos de Damajagua, we always came away with a smile.

6. Welcome to Wake Forest

After two years of living in the quiet rural town of Oxford, NC, this summer we moved to Wake Forest to be closer to N.C. State for my graduate program. Wake Forest, a suburb of Raleigh, is a GREAT place to live. Just the other day I told Celeste while driving through the historic district, "I heart Wake Forest."

Wake Forest itself was a big improvement, but moving from a tiny apartment to a cute little house has probably been the single biggest factor in the improvement in our quality of life over the last twelve months. The house itself isn't much, but it's a beautiful thing to have neighbors, a lawn to tend, and to not have the smell of stale cigarettes seep through the drywall every time you use the dryer.

7. The Unlikely Success of Aggie Football

We watched or listened to every single Aggie football game this season. And while six of those games ended in classic Aggie heartbreak, seven of them went in our favor, and that is something for us USU fans to celebrate.

The Aggies first winning football season also allowed me to go to the Famous Idaho Potato Bowl. The game itself didn't end well, but it was worth it to see my family, including my new niece Sadie and my sister Josie, who had recently returned from her mission in Oakland, California. Sitting next to Josie at the bowl game was hilarious. About halfway through the game she confessed to me that she had absolutely no idea what was going on, and that she just cheered or booed when the rest of us did. It's funny how different we are in that way. By that point in the game I had already suffered three minor heart attacks, and had lost several clumps of hair.

8. Divorcing Dessert

Ten days into 2011, I came to a very simple conclusion: I consume too much sugar. Like, way too much. Like, unless someone is there to stop me, I will "accidentally" eat an entire plate of brownies by myself. It's ridiculous, but not surprising, as I was raised by two well-known sugar addicts.

So, in an effort to curb my dependence on the white gold, I issued myself a challenge: no candy or dessert for rest of the year (except for a single piece of birthday cake). As of today, I have yet to indulge on a single Skittle or slice of pie, but that will all change tonight when I break my confectionary fast. CAN'T WAIT!!!

9. Summer in the Wild West

We had a great trip out west over the summer. We spent time in Utah, Oregon, and Washington. It was filled with wakeboarding (my favorite), family reunions, rock climbing, and anxious hours of being a passenger in a car piloted by this man:

The best part of the trip was definitely the Oregon Coast. After a few hiccups with a mighty hailstorm and a few bouts of car-sickness, the Britt family descended upon the overcast beaches of the Pacific Northwest like ants on a discarded Twinkie. We tested our hand at cheerleading, played in the sand dunes, and even raced crabs in the low tide. But let's be honest, folks. 90% of the trip was dedicated to and focused upon Lynlee, our princess niece who exceeds the traditional definition of "cute" or "adorable". She is angelically precious, and precociously hilarious, and unquestionably in charge.

10. Autumn in Appalachia

"I want to see mountains again, mountains Gandalf!" Now there's something we and little Bilbo Baggins have in common (that and the feet). Mountains are one of the things we miss the most about Utah. But luckily, the Appalachians aren't far, and for Halloween this year, we took a trip with our good friends Pat and Sarah O'Shea to see them. And not only did we see them, but we saw them at the peak of the fall colors, and that was a truly picturesque experience. There was something magical about being there, like the mountains were speaking to our souls.

11. A New York Christmas

A tradition now two years running, we spent Christmas with our New York family this year instead of going to Utah (only because we're going out there in March for Josie's wedding. Huzzah!) Dan and Jeanne Cooper, Celeste's uncle and aunt, could easily win awards for hospitality. We ate like kings, slept like babies, and were spoiled like an only grandchild.

After a few days in upstate New York we headed south and endured two exhausting days in the city, spending time sightseeing and hanging out with my cousin Danny. It was a great time, but sometimes I wonder how I could have idolized the Big Apple like I did when I lived there as a brash and naive 18-year old. After the claustrophobia of Times Square and a subway car decorated with homeless people and scented with urine potpourri, we were both very happy to return to the Tar Heel State.

Staying on the Education Carousel

To be clear: we never meant to become teachers. And to be even more clear: we never meant to stay teachers.

That said, fighting against the will of God or pushing back against the call of destiny is as futile as foolish as backing a gimp donkey at Churchill Downs. The events of the last month are added proof that no plans are concrete until they're concrete, and that all things are subject to the cosmic omniscient will of a Higher Power.

Let me start by saying that I always intended to go to law school. I just seemed destined for it. Growing up, I was very interested in history and politics, and law completes that triangle for many people, including all of my role models: my dad, Abraham Lincoln, and Rod Blagojevich. So going to law school seemed like the natural vehicle of choice to allow me to pursue my passion for civil and human rights. That said, I don’t know that I ever wanted to be a lawyer per se, but rather I wanted to obtain the tools with which I could launch a lifelong fulfilling career in public service. It was never about being a lawyer, but rather having the education and the qualifications to serve my community, my state, or my country beyond the basics of voting and respecting traffic laws.

Then, of course, there came a detour in the form of Teach For America in 2009. I always saw it as a noble form of service that would broaden my experience and help me get into (and save for) law school. Things seemed right on track two years later when the law school application process had begun anew. Teaching was fine, but I was to be a lawyer. I was my father's son, and I meant to follow his path into the legal realm of dusty thick volumes of code, courtrooms, and deposition protocol.

Everything was going according to plan. Then, in mid-February, I was recruited to apply for a competitive principal program at N.C. State University. It's called the Northeast Leadership Academy (NELA), and it puts emerging leaders on the fast track to principalships in the rural counties of North Carolina. It included a full-tuition scholarship, education conferences with travel and lodging, books, and a brand new Macbook. In the arena of the intangibles, it offered a great deal more than that - the opportunity to be a community leader, an agent of social change, and a catalyst for an educational Renaissance in the poverty-stricken Piedmont. But despite all its bells and whistles, I didn't really think much of it at first. Still, just like I did with Teach For America two years ago, I decided to apply as a backup plan. It felt nice to be recruited, and I figured it couldn't hurt to indulge them with an application.

I teetered back and forth between law school and the Master's of School Administration quite a bit over the ensuing months. Each had clear benefits and risks. Each had merits and weaknesses. And, perhaps most importantly, both would allow me to become a valiant public servant. The question was which, if any, was better.

Then, on May 1st, the pendulum really took a swing in the M.S.A. direction. A flurry of events occurred in succession just before that fateful day. I had a dream. I talked with a friend who just graduated from law school, who told me horror stories about thousands of law school graduates having nowhere to work. Then came an e-mail from another friend saying that the job he thought he’d have after law school just got cut, and now he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. More importantly, as Celeste and I prayed about what to do, NELA just kept making more and more sense. The reasons against law school started to pile up, and quickly, like the feverish pounding of keys in a Rachmaninoff piece. Then, as if to provide a peaceful postlude and a fitting conclusion to an especially intense composition, on May 1st, I received notification from the people at N.C. State. Sure enough, I was offered a seat as one of twenty NELA Fellows. By that point, the decision was easy. The choice was clear. Our hearts and minds were at peace with our destiny. We were meant to be teachers.

Shortly after our big decision, some other big things happened in our worlds of education. Celeste took a new job at a charter school called Henderson Collegiate. She was also recruited (yeah, we're kind of a big deal out here), and was offered a post as the new 5th grade science teacher. She's thrilled. You have to see this school to understand why. After two years of fighting kids to do their homework or just sit down in a desk like a normal human, she's going to a college prep charter school where the kids are as eager to learn as they are to eat cupcakes. They're not rich, they're not priveliged, they're not especially gifted - they're just committed to their education and to success, which is a rare trait in Henderson, North Carolina.

To top it all off, just last week, Celeste and I "graduated" from Teach For America. We're now officially alumni - not corps members. Our school year is not yet over, but our commitment to Teach For America is now complete. We had a beautiful little ceremony at Duke University, and I was asked to speak. Celeste is pictured below with her diploma. Fun stuff.

So cheers to education. Now y'all be good and come and visit us out here in North Carolina.