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.

Return to Capitol Hill

After months of grant-writing, arranging, calling, e-mailing, approving, scheduling, and vigorous planning, it finally happened. D.C. 2.0 got off the ground, soared with the eagles, and landed safely, with no major turbulence to report. And by that I mean, I just successfully took a group of my students on an overnight, 500 mile round trip adventure to our nation's capitol for the second year in a row, and not a single student died, was robbed, or became pregnant. That's a pretty big deal.

It all started early last Thursday morning. And I mean EARLY. I was out of bed at 2:30 a.m. After a quick shower and shave (and my routine bowl of cereal, eaten while reading the historical autobiography of John Lewis), I was out the door and en route to Henderson Middle School. While most folks would be groggy at such a ridiculous hour, my mind was crystal clear, and I was eager for the days events to unfold.

The kids began to arrive at about 3:45 a.m. with their pillows and blankets in hand. The bus arrived a few minutes later, and before long, kids were saying goodbye to parents, all of them with excited expressions. It would be the first time several of them would spend a night away from their parents, and while the kids seemed rather enthused about this, the parents were still victims of that paternal and maternal worry.

"Bring back my baby, now, y'hear Mr. Olsen?"

"Yes ma'am, Ms. Rodwell," I responded. "You've got my guarantee on that."

"Don't you let Ricky get into any trouble, coach."

"I'm on it, Mr. Howard. I'll have in him on a tight leash." And so on, and so forth...

At approximately 4:07 a.m., we were on the bus - a bumpy old Activity Bus that maxed out at 55 mph - on our way to Washington, D.C. We were 22 of us total: 15 students, five parent chaperons, me and the bus driver.

Five long hours later, we arrived on Capitol Hill, and our whirlwind tour had begun. We met with representatives from Senator Richard Burr and Kay Hagan's office (the two NC senators), then took a tour of Capitol Hill. Just outside Ted Kennedy's old office, I told my students about how Mr. Olsen used to work on Capitol Hill, and how he had left that job to come and teach them. I got a lot of nods and raised eyebrows. It wasn't until a few minutes later that it seemed like nearly every member of our group came up and asked me the same question: "If you used to work here, then what in the blazin' tarnation are you doing teaching in Vance County?" I tried to tell them that I was happy to be in Vance County, even happier than I had been on Capitol Hill, and then they tried to tell me I had a few screws loose.


From Capitol Hill we went to see the White House, the Jefferson Memorial, and then ended our day with a tour of the Holocaust Museum. I can't tell you how powerful that experience was. I mean, it's really beyond words to describe what it felt like to take a small group of my most eager learners, and walk through the Holocaust with them. Students were magnetized to me, and wouldn't stray more than a few feet. For every picture, video, or artifact we would come across, three or four of them would ask, "What is that, Mr. Olsen?" And then, the most satisfying part came when I wouldn't even have to answer the question, and those same students, or students who simply heard the question, were able to answer. Kristallnacht, Auschwitz, Polish Ghettos, Hitler, Propaganda, The Final Solution - they knew it all, which was a validation of my efforts as a history teacher. At one point, I was literally brought to tears as my students and I stood in one of the train cars used to transport Jews to concentration camps. As I began to explain how they were herded like cattle and crammed into a death box for a 3-day journey, my emotions got the best of me, and my kids showed me a new kind of respect that I had never felt or seen in a classroom.

From there, we ended our very long day and made our way to the motel, a modest establishment in Northern Virginia. Now, to any Tom or Molly, this place would have seemed simply adequate. Nothing to write home about. However, to my kids, this place was magical. Many of them had never spent a night in a hotel, so this was a new experience. The were excited when they saw the waffle bar of the continental breakfast, they were overjoyed when they were told they could make free room to room calls, and they were all aflutter when they saw the vending and ice machines on every floor. I'm not kidding. They thought those ice machines were awesome. "Free ice!" I heard Alfredo yell.


Now, I realized full well the risk I was running doing an overnight trip, and putting a small group of budding pubescent kids into a hotel for a sleepover. The whole scenario is riddled with promiscuous land mines, not to mention credit card charges for broken windows, broken lamps, or flooded bathrooms. That's why I made sure that every room had a parent chaperon in it, so I wasn't too worried about any incidents occurring. Luckily, the worst the kids did that night was stay up late making crank calls to each other.


The next morning we woke up early, had a decent continental breakfast (decent in my opinion, "crazy cool awesome" in my kids'), then boarded the bus and headed back to D.C. Day 2 consisted of a lot more walking and sightseeing, including a trip to the National Mall, Washington Monument, WWII Memorial, Lincoln Memorial, Vietnam War Memorial, the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum, and the National Archives. At each step along the way, I was able to gather my kids like a mother hen (or father hen?), and teach them, show them, and explain to them the significance of each site, which is something I couldn't do last year with a group of 80. With 15 students, I was a tour guide, not a zookeeper.

And the kids? They loved it. They soaked it up. They were so mature and scholarly, but they were still just kids. Eighth graders are great because they're just old enough to appreciate something like democracy, but still young enough to be entranced by a merry-go-round. They loved seeing tall buildings, they loved asking questions that made them sound smart, and they loved stopping at souvenir stands or to watch street performers. For several of them who had never been beyond the borders of North Carolina, this wasn't only a trip to the Nation's Capital, but to an entirely new world they had only heard about or seen in books.


Finally, at about 3:30 on Friday, it was time to go. We left the National Archives where we had just seen the The Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and the Constitution, and walked back to the bus. It was an exhausting two days, with round the clock meetings, sightseeing, and miles of walking. When we finally boarded the bus to go home, most of our participants (including the chaperons) passed out within minutes like they had drunk a bottle of chloroform. Perhaps I drove them a little too hard. I like to think I was just an ambitious tour guide.

The sun soon fell, and before long, we were ALL sleeping on the activity bus, a rickety old coach that didn't provide the most quiet or comfortable setting for sleep, but that didn't seem to matter. After what felt like only minutes, I awoke to the slowing of the bus. I lifted my head and peered out the window to see us exiting the Interstate, hang a left on Andrews Avenue, then arrive at Henderson Middle School. It was nearly 9:30 p.m. The parking lot was full of cars with parents eagerly awaiting the safe return of their children. The kids - who were so happy to be away from home the night before - seemed just as excited to see their parents again.

I gave hugs, shook hands, and waved goodbye as students dragged their suitcases - now bulging with overpriced souvenirs and D.C. memorabilia - to their cars and disappeared in the back seats. The bus pulled away as well, and soon there was only one car left in the parking lot. I approached the passengers door, opened it, and got in. Then Celeste drove me home and put me to bed.

Welcome to Paradise - The DR

We knew we were in for a good week when we looked out of our airplane window, and saw that picture above. Maybe it's cause we didn't grow up near the coast, but there's something magical about the ocean, especially when it looks like that. The aqua green-blue colors, against the sandy beaches and palm and coconut trees...it's paradise.

Last Thursday morning, Celeste and I drove in the darkness of the early morning down to the Raleigh-Durham airport, where we boarded a plane bound for the Caribbean. Several hours later we landed in the city of Puerto Plata, which is on the northern coast of the Dominican Republic. We were greeted by a comfortable heat wave and a lively 4-piece mariachi band, singing their hearts out, enthusiastically welcoming us to their country, and, of course, asking for tips. Any doubts we may have had about a sweet Spring Break pretty much evaporated right then and there.

We drove about a half hour along the coast until we arrived at our all-inclusive resort that, while it couldn't hold a candle to the resort we stayed in during our honeymoon in Cancun, was very comfortable. Sure, it didn't have a mini-golf course or free bikini waxes, but it's hard to complain when pina coladas are abundant and free and unlimited bacon doesn't cost you a dime. These are the beauties of an all-inclusive vacation.


The first full day there we decided to hit the town and get a taste for the Dominican culture, even though we were encouraged by our resort staff not to leave unless it was on an "official tour." Hogwash. We knew the language, and wanted some adventure. So we walked a half mile to the entrance of the hotel, and found a bunch of locals sitting on their motorcycles. Before we knew it we had been "Amigo!"-ed by about five guys at once, all desperate for our 100-peso-business, and were on the back of one of their tiny motos - all three of us. At first we were a little nervous (I'm not a heavyweight yet, but I'm getting there), but we made it to the city safely, and on the way, we discovered that pretty much everybody gets around that way in the DR.


We quickly discovered that as lush and paradisaical the country's landscape is, the truth is that the DR is a nation crippled by poverty. On our commute into the heart of the city, we saw thatch-roofed huts that passed for homes, and houses sided with nothing but rusted tin. Tiny shacks passed as homes and businesses, usually simple fruit stands selling coconuts or pineapples to support a family. The city itself was nice, but there were plenty of beggars and stray dogs to pull on our sympathy strings.

The next day we decided to take another adventure - this time on our own set of wheels. We signed up for an ATV tour of the countryside. The machines were a little smokey, but plenty of fun. We rode through bamboo forests, small villages, shaded jungle, until we finally reached our final destination of a beautiful sprawling coastline. It was pretty sweet. I kept on imagining that Bagera or Sher Khan were going to jump out at me, but our tour guide assured us that the only dangerous creatures indigenous to the DR were the women. (Zing!)

After some R&R (and by R&R I mean drinking smoothies, swimming in the ocean, and scaring people with my outrageously pale skin), we decided to embark on one last adventure before leaving the DR. Our final excursion led us back into the mountains and remote countryside south of Puerto Plata, where we discovered the unrivaled natural wonder of "27 Charos de Damajagua" - otherwise known as 27 Waterfalls. This place was incredible. I've never seen anything like it.

We met up at base camp with a fellow named Augusto - best guide ever, by the way - and started making our way up a mountain. After hiking for about five or ten minutes, we came to a crystal clear pool of water sitting below a beautiful waterfall. Following Augusto's lead, we jumped into the water (a little cold at first - I think I squeaked like a girl after jumping in) and swam toward the waterfall. Once we got there, we began climbing to the top of it clinging to rocks and, occasionaly, Augusto's outstretched arm. From there we swam through a calm stream of this green water until we got to another waterfall. Again, we climbed, and again found ourselves in another pool of beautiful green water.


This process continued for about an hour or so. Sometimes we would be climbing the face of a rock, sometimes we'd be swimming, sometimes we'd be hiking, or pulling ourselves up a rock on a rope or makeshift ladder. But all methods led us to the same place, which was the natural spring waterfall from whence all this natural beauty spewed. Using a rope, we climbed to the top of the waterfall and did our first cliff jump of the day.

From there, we started making our way down. But we were no longer forced to climb ropes or rocks. No, as much fun as the way up was, coming down was even better. It was one big cliff jump after another into beautiful clear pools of water. In some cases, jumps were replaced by descending down natural waterslides. Either way, we just kept splashing our way down the mountain, whooping, screaming, and laughing, until we finally made it back down to the original pool and waterfall at the base of the mountain. It was amazing.

Okay, this video is a little weird, but it gives you taste of the 27 Charcos. Just embrace it.

So...where to next?

Channel One News Presents...

An excerpt from an up and coming novel by Jackson Olsen

From behind her black-rimmed glasses, she peered with evil eyes onto her subjects before her. She deemed them deplorable.

"Work, you pitiful scoundrels," she yelled at the helpless children. "This isn't summer camp, and we ain't makin' no boondoggles."

"But Ms. Olsen," a student bravely protested, with trembling hand raised, "how are we supposed to copy the entire textbook in one hour. It's impossible!"

"Really?" She responded, disdain boiling in her throat like hot soup. "Really? Whatev." She put her hands in front of her, making a "W" sign with her thumbs and index fingers, then turned her back to her class and started computing their failing grades, chuckling lowly beneath her breath.

"The plan is coming together," she thought silently. "It's only a matter of time..."

DC 2.0 - Applications

As many of you may remember, last year I took a large group of students of mine to Washington, D.C. on a field trip (see 5/2/10 post). It was a crazy experiment in the laboratory of my first year as a teacher. Eighty raucous and hormone-hyped teenagers can be crazy enough in the classroom, but put them in a big city and allow them to bring candy and cell phones, and you just bought yourself front-row tickets to the circus. That's how it felt, anyway. Don't get me wrong - I loved that trip and I'm glad I did it. The smiles of the kids faces as we approached the 25-foot statue of Abraham Lincoln, or the look of wonder in their eyes as they peered toward the top of the Washington Monument, the tallest building they had ever seen, made the trip worth every annoyance.


This year is going to be different, though. This year is going to be better.


Why? Because I'm a seasoned vet, in part. But also because at the beginning of the school year, I applied for a grant for an overnight field trip to D.C. through Fidelity Investments. It was around Christmas time that I was notified that my grant had been approved to the tune of about $1,700. Holla!!!

With $1,700 dollars in my pocket, I'm going to make this year's trip EPIC - way better than last year's. We're doing everything we did in 2010, but we're adding the Holocaust Museum, the U.S. Capitol, the Charters of Freedom, and if things go right, a guided tour of the White House! And on top of all that, we're staying in a motel. That might not sound like much for you and me, but it's got my kids so excited they can't walk straight.

"Like a real motel, Mr. Olsen? Like with a pool and a maid and stuff?"

"Yes, Jakwan, a maid..." I can understand his confusion. Most motels in Henderson have an hourly rate and have about as much drug traffic as Amsterdam.

The only downfall to this whole trip (yes, there is one), is that because it's an overnight trip, and because we're limited on funds, I can't take a big group like I did last year. In fact, according to my math, I only have enough money to cover 15 students.

So what did I do to narrow the field to the elite candidates? I made applications - long applications, with lots of tough questions to help me weed out the chaff. The applications were due on Friday, and Celeste and I have spent the weekend reviewing them. If you ever need a good laugh, just come hang out with my kids. Here's a little sample of what they're capable of:

Question #1 - What would you bring to this trip that is unique or special about you?

"I will bring candy and a portable dvd player." -S.J.
"Just quietness and I stay up late sometimes." -J.A.
"I'm a one-man party." -T.J.
"I am smart so I can use my smartness." -J.W.
"My mentallity of course." -V.H.
"I don't snore. I am a uplifting person. I follow directions and obey rules. Also my feet don't stink." -A.R.
"I would say my bible, to make sure I'm safe and so that in my free time I can read the word of the Lord." -D.P.
"I will bring clothes, toothbrush, tooth paste, towel, rags, and socks." -B.T.

Question #2 - We might meet some important politicians. What would you ask them if you had the chance?

"If I meet a bodyguard I would ask for tips on being a better bodyguard." -S.J.
"I would ask them for their autograph." -J.A.
"I would ask many good questions, like 'When was this building built?'" -M.A.

Question #3 - We'll be walking a lot. What will you owe me if you start complaining?

"I will owe you a 750 typed essay on how I messed up the trip." -S.J
"I will owe you $5 and 30 sentences saying I will not complain." -J.A.
"Pushups. Like up to 50." -R.V.
"I would gladly run the rest of the way or carry your things." -A.M.
"I would owe you about 20 or 30 jumpjacks." -L.R.
"If I start complaining I owe you my Ipod." -C.L.
"I won't complain. Walking was the only transportation before bikes and horses were invented." -D.P.

These kids are priceless, and I cannot WAIT for this trip.

Spring Sports

With Spring upon us, schedules around here have become pretty hectic. Both Jackson and I are coaching a sport this season with Jackson returning to baseball for his second season for HMS and I am embarking on a new adventure as an assistant coach to my high school track team. Practice is every day after school, and we now never get home until after 6:00. That may not sound too late, but it makes me exhausted.

For those of you who know me well, are aware that I am nowhere near qualified to be a track coach, but don't tell my athletes. For all they know I was a champ at regionals, when in all honesty the last time I ran track was in middle school. I vaguely remember trailing behind all the other kids while running the 800 and 1600, awkwardly jumping the triple jump and being too chicken to try to high jump. Luckily, I was a swimmer in high school, and some of the workouts follow similar routines, and since I coach the medium and long distance runners the real trick is just making them run. A lot. The other assistant coach (shout-out to Claire!) and I mostly just make stuff up, and since the head coach hasn't said anything to the contrary, we must be doing okay.



Jackson's first game is on Tuesday. They are hoping for improvement from last year's record - I believe they only won one game... It kind of reminds me of Aggie football, they have the opportunity to double or triple their wins and the fans will have something to brag about. I'll take some pictures/video and hopefully have something to post in the coming weeks.

Our team doesn't have a meet until mid-March (we can use all the time we can get!), but I'll keep you posted.