Jumping off my First Cliff

The South Bronx "hub" .

Everything I owned was packed into my Ford Escort hatchback.  Many signs and confirmations over the years had brought me to that August of '95.  My friend Jill, in a spirit of adventure, offered to drive across the country with me.  She insisted on buying a car jack, but I knew that we wouldn't get a flat.  Sometimes my faith is small in the little things of life, but I knew that I was way too stressed by the circumstances ahead of me for God to let a flat tire happen.

The trip itself was fun, if rushed.  We drove across the top of the US, and stayed with friends I had accumulated over my 28 years--a friend from PBC, a friend from my Teen World Outreach days, a friend from my summer in Kentucky.  We drove into NYC on a hot August day and spent our first night at the YMCA near Times Square.  

I was quickly reminded of the harshness of the city.  When I went downstairs to buy a sandwich from the cafe in the same building the teenager at the register insisted that I had to pay extra for tomatoes on my BLT.  "The menu says it right here," she said.  She was right.  The sandwich section the BLT was located in did state that there was a surcharge for tomatoes.  But it was a BLT!  I argued and won, the first of many times assertiveness was required for respect in Gotham.

Here I was in my new city, with no job and only $500 to my name.  I had known on some level, since age 13 that I was destined for this place, but even so it was tough to sit in on "mandatory" new teacher training not knowing where or if I'd have a job.  One speaker had everyone in the place who did NOT have a job raise their hand.  2/3 of the 1,000-or-so-member audience raised their hand.  It was daunting.

But then a union rep got up and announced a raffle for some off-Broadway tickets of "Scrooge."  Something inside me jumped, and I knew that I knew that I knew that I would win.  The play was in November, and if I won I knew it would be God's way of telling me that He would provide the job that would keep me there that long.  My name was called among the 1,000 or so I sat beside, and His assurance swept over me.

The actual finding of a job was simpler than I thought.  I was told by the Central Board to call the districts I was interested in working for and set up appointments to go see them.  I had eyes only for the South Bronx.  District 7 gave me a list of schools and principals.  "Call down the list until you find a principal in.  Let us know when you find someone YOU think you can work with."  The second principal on the list answered, and asked me to come into an interview that day.  After an hour conversation, the job was mine.

It's the small things in life which challenge my faith.  Moving to New York City jobless, friendless, poor was easy.  It was so big, such a leap of faith that God had to catch me--there was no other option.  I think we all need to jump off cliffs once in awhile.  To build our faith, and to keep life fresh.  Just be sure God told you to jump before you leap.  And if God told you to jump, don't let fear (or lack of a job) hold you back.

Mott Haven by Dusk

By Jim.henderson (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It was my second year of teaching. Fatima's brothers were late. They should have been at school 15 minutes ago, to pick up their little 7-year old sister.

I didn't mind waiting with her, but it was getting dark, and certain janitors kicked us out at 5:00, so that they didn't have to be responsible for teachers in the building.

No one answered when I called the house. I figured the boys must be on their way, and so Fatima and I set out for the projects she called home.

We crossed St. Ann’s Avenue and cut across St. Mary's Park. I shivered. And not from the cold. St. Mary's Park was this massive park across the street from the school, which in another neighborhood would have been a school's treasure. But this was Mott Haven, Fort Apache, the precinct known for the highest homicidal rate in the country . The teachers knew St. Mary’s Park only as a place where rape, murders and drug deals happened regularly.

But Fatima was leading, and I was not so young as to not know whom was protecting whom. Fatima’s face was known in this neighborhood. Mine was not. I followed her.

The older boys outside of the projects scowled at me when they called out to Fatima. Fatima hollered back at them, and we took the elevator up, while I wondered if they would have something to say to me when I returned alone.

Fatima’s brothers were at home, caught up in some activity I’ve long forgotten. They didn’t seem surprised to see her, nor did they offer any explanation or word of thanks.

I hugged my 2nd grade student, and exited the building, starting the trek to the subway, chiding myself for breaking so many rules. A white teacher with a black student. A teacher alone with a student. Leaving the dark school with a kid whom I only hoped would have someone to look after her when I got her home. Thinking myself invincible in a barrio where most white New Yorkers will never venture.

I wonder how Fatima experienced that night. Was she worried about why her brothers were late? Did she realize that she was the one providing safe passage that night, or did she generalize that adults are always the safekeepers? Was she excited for her teacher to see where she lived, or was she embarrassed that no one came for her? Was the park a place with fond memories of the BIG ROCK, or did she know the rumors?

Does she remember our walk at all?

“In the South Bronx, where does the trail lead? From the house, around the apartments, past a metal gate, under a dry cleaning line, with a sunrise walking beside. To a store on the way to school. Where does the trail lead? Through St. Mary’s Park, past the gigantic colorful rock, beside big dogs, bulldogs. To PS 27, the school that is 100 years old. In the South Bronx, the trail leads out of PS 27x, past the ice cream truck with it’s “Ding-a-ling-ling,” past the smell of garlic on pizza, to a house over the hill. In the South Bronx, the trail leads home.” –Class 2-304