Exploring Aravis

Hard on the heels of finding out about my volunteer position, I have been notified that my poster presentation proposal has been accepted.  I’ll be presenting at the Connecticut Counseling Association’s annual conference in April.  This is terrifying.  I applied because Dr. B was really pushing all of us to do it, but as I only just completed my first semester, I didn’t think they’d actually accept it.

Apparently I was wrong.

The good news is that a couple of my classmates’ proposals were also accepting, so I won’t be there alone.  This is way outside of my comfort zone, but I think it will be good for me on several levels.

Here’s hoping, anyway.

More news about volunteering in Hartford.

As classmates continue to sign up, here’s where things stand.  I’m going to be volunteering in Jumoke Academy Honors Science Math and Research Technology (JASMART) on Friday afternoons, and also Jumoke at Milner later when they’ve solidified programs there.  I had to giggle a little when I found out my placement.  Before I returned to college I was terrified of math, and unnerved by science.  As it turned out, I excelled at both.  Of course, now my skills are really rusty.  That’s okay, though, because I won’t be teaching.  I’ll be doing what’s called a Second Step booster program for 6th graders.  The kids attend a Second Step session, and then those who need a little extra attention will come to me and we’ll talk more about what they discussed during the session.  It deals with social-emotional learning, bullying, that sort of thing. This should be fun!  I’m really looking forward to it.

It’s flattering when a professor likes you.  It can also be exhausting.

The same professor (Dr. B) who talked me into submitting an idea for a poster presentation to the CCA caught up with me on campus last night.  She does some work with the Jumoke Academy in Hartford, a charter school for inner city kids.  Jumoke has recently absorbed the Milner Core Knowledge Academy, now Jumoke Academy at Milner, a struggling public school-turned-charter.  Their test scores and overall performance was abysmal, and Jumoke is trying to turn that around.  Dr. B has asked me to volunteer there a couple of days a week next semester, and I have agreed to consider it.  Another classmate, one of the women I befriended, is going to volunteer as well.  We’re meeting with Dr. B and the school’s principal on Friday afternoon.

This should be interesting.  It’s a poor school in a poverty-stricken, dangerous part of the city where violence is just a part of life.  There’s a lot of racial tension, particularly between the Latino and African-American students.  It’s intimidating.  On the other hand, those are the kids who need help the most.  Dr. B thinks I may be a good fit for involving the parents and addressing their concerns, among other things.  She’s also considering a program for mothers and daughters.  My classmate, who is Latina, is going to focus on the Spanish-speaking students and families.  There are many who speak little or no English.  Dr. B is still developing programs and ideas.  When I know what I’m doing, I’ll tell you more about it.

On the surface, I may seem an odd choice.  But did you know that as a child in Dallas, I was very poor and went to an inner-city elementary school in a bad neighborhood for a year and a half before moving to the suburbs?  Well, I did.  Talk about racial tension!  Texas, right after the Civil Rights Movement, with a mix of white, black, and Mexican students.  It was… challenging… entering that world fresh from a life in the North.  I once had a white kid jump me from behind and try to slit my throat.  Luckily the kid was younger, weaker, and used a plastic butter knife to do the job.  Idiot.  It was a deep scratch, but nothing more.  It could have been much worse: I was a damn Yankee.  On my first day of school in Texas, the kid behind me kicked my chair and asked if I liked Mexicans.  It was an odd question, I thought, and responded in the affirmative.  The kid started cackling and gleefully spread the news that I was a Mexican-lover.  And I thought, “So?”  Didn’t make sense to me then, and though I now know where it was coming from, this sort of thing still doesn’t make sense to me.  By the end of my time in Texas I was – and excuse me for the terminology because these are their words, not mine – a nigger-loving, chink-loving (I had Japanese and Korean friends) Yankee.  These words were always spat at me with hatred, and I was called a traitor to my race by some of my classmates.

To all of which I say: Shut the fuck up.

I more or less said it then, too, and got my ass kicked on a fairly regular basis as a result.  Whatever.

Anyway, I can’t possibly know what the kids at Milner are feeling and  experiencing, but I’m not entirely clueless, either.  These kids already have a lot working against them, and I’d like to help turn things around.  It’s not as big of a stretch from working with these kids to working with inmates as you might think.  These kids are coming from the same backgrounds, and some may be headed for the system if things don’t change.  Places like Jumoke and Milner can help prevent that from happening.

If all goes as planned, next semester should be stimulating and thought-provoking.

One final left on Thursday.  Some ladies have invited me to join their study group at school tomorrow, and I’m going to go.  Hey, I can be social.  Sometimes.  On rare occasions.  Truly.

It’s probably a good idea.  My other classes ended on Tuesday and I’ve already mentally entered vacation mode.  This is not particularly conducive to studying.  Motivation is elusive.

Like William Wallace, once again I find myself yelling “FREEDOM!”

Soon, my friends.  Soon.

Shall I just pretend I didn’t go missing for a couple of weeks?  Yes, I shall.

I am in my final weeks of this semester.  In fact, last night was the last time 2 of my classes met.  Tomorrow I have my last official Ethics class; its final exam is next week.  Then I’m off until Jan. 21!  Party at your place! (Because mine is a mess and I have no immediate plans to change this state of affairs)

Since last Wednesday I have written:

• 8 pg paper for Professional Ethics
• 8 essays for my Foundations of Clinical Mental Health Counseling final exam
• 6 Powerpoint slides for a group presentation in my Foundations class
• 28 page transcript of a counseling session I conducted, complete with every sound uttered and an analysis of skills used after each thing I said for my Skills and Techniques class (the following bullet points were all for this class, too)
• 6 sessions worth of progress notes on counseling sessions I conducted
• Termination summary upon the termination of my counseling relationship with my classmate/client
• An essay on my experiences with my client during that transcribed session, and my experience as a counselor over the semester as a whole

My printer is threatening to strike.  Only the promise that it can take a month off after tonight has calmed it, though I think I still hear it muttering from time to time.

Also:
Gave my section of that group presentation in class.  When we turned it over for  Q&A, wouldn’t you know that I was the only one they asked any questions?  Luckily, I was able to respond.  I reported on anger management therapy, in case you were wondering.  It’s kind of funny because, though I have a slow fuse, I have a nasty temper once it’s aroused.  Physician, heal thyself.

Oh, and I applied to the Connecticut Counseling Association to give a poster presentation at their annual conference in April.  The presentation would be on the benefits of animal therapy in prisons.

To say that I’m ready for winter break would be an understatement.  That being said, it was an excellent semester.  I’ve made a lot of friends, had a good time, and got to compare my Foundations prof/advisor to a Nazi to his face.

A good time was had by all.