The co-founder of Gap, Inc. died today at age 81 after a long fight with cancer. I had no idea who created Gap until I joined Teach for America and read the book about KIPP - "Work Hard, Be Nice."
Gap's success and its founders generosity are a large reason that I have a job today. Don Fisher & his wife have given, to date, ONE HUNDRED MILLION dollars to KIPP and Teach for America. How much is 100 million dollars? i have no idea, can't wrap my mind around a number like that. But its even weirder for me to imagine myself giving that kind of money away. I don't care how much money you have, giving away a chunk like $100 million is the definition of generosity. Thanks, Mr & Mrs Fisher!
Read more here.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB125408495328144473.html?mod=WSJ_hpp_sections_business
And, just for the record, anytime I read about Gap in the news or make a purchase at one of their stores, I can't help but think of the infamous Alison Paige Jarvis. Love that girl.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
1963-2008
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:38-39
neither death nor life will seperate us from the love of God. What a promise. And yet, our hearts still ache...I am thankful for the power of memory and the hope we have in Christ. 
love you, homie.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
i want my mommy
so we have a new friend in our afternoon class. today was her first day - she's just turned four last week, is on the chubby side, and super cute. i met her yesterday, she was all smiles and happiness to be at school. then today, her mom stayed for about fifteen minutes and then left. well, my new friend tried to run out after her mom. i picked her up - oh, strained a muscle or two - and we sat in a chair for a few minutes.
"I want to go home," she said. Over and over and over. I tried to pat her back, soothe her hair, show her my watch and tell her we didn't have that long. "I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home." Oh, girlfriend, so do I. Trust me, so do I. But we're here and we're going to make the most of it.
So for the rest of our time before we went to lunch, I chased my other friend in the class who requires alot of attention while my team-teacher taught the circle time lesson. The student grabbed some tape off the teacher desk and wrapped himself in it while I attempted to ignore him. Then he yelled and kicked until I helped him get it off himself. He tried to bite me - not to hurt, only because he wants attention. But he calmed down and we made it to the cafeteria for lunch soon after.
My new first-day friend was on my lap, refusing to eat. "I want my mommy," she said through tears while gasping for oxygen. Take a deep breath, I would say. "I want my mommy," she would say through a thick Hispanic accent.
Well, ladybug, I want my mommy, too. Literally. I want my mommy to come and whisk me away sometimes and I want to cry, too. But we carry on, with our heads high.
I began to worry about my friend. It had been an hour and she hadn't calmed down. None of my usual tactics were working. So, we went back to the room with my other friend, the one who likes to tape himself around the midsection or take off his shoes and fling them at my head.
So me, the crier, and the sprinter were in the classroom, building towers and castles with blocks just the three of us while the rest were in the cafe. The sprinter talking, the crier crying, me building. The crier all of sudden sprints, literally, sprinting, toward our door which I had propped open. I was frozen in fear. How could I leave the sprinter in the room alone to chase the crier? Could I carry him and still run quickly enough to grab her? I could not carry both of them. My biceps can only take so much. I am not, in fact, Michelle Obama. She continued to run a few more feet away from me. Oh shit, oh shit, I thought as she lunged for the door. (Sorry but sometimes bad words fly around in my head at these moments.)
The crier stopped. She wasn't running for the door afterall. She was reaching in the shopping bag that her mom had dropped off, full of her school supplies. It sat right next to the door. She carried it over to us - this girl is strong! - and plopped down next to me. "Oh, crier, what are you doing with that big bag silly girl?" I asked with a smile.
She reached in and grabbed a packet of play-doh. She was suddenly rambling in spanish, talking 90-to-nothing and thinking I was fluent or something. "Oh crier, lo siento, but I don't speak Spanish very well. Just a little."
She kept on with the Spanish. "English?" I prompted.
She looked at me with her huge brown eyes. "Oh, English." She said quietly. "My daddy bought me this playdoh! My daddy bought me this playdoh." More spanish, very fast.
Oh! Jackpot! A connection. "Crier, we have play doh in our class. Can you make me something with playdoh?" I whipped out some already opened hot pink playdoh.
"Sure," she said. "I'll make you a ball." Um, wow?
It was the strangest, awesomest thing in the world. I don't know what triggered her moment of joy in the classroom, why it occurred to her to get playdoh, but she didn't cry another tear all day. Sure, she was sad at times and asked for her mommy, but I do that everyday too. She participated with the class for the rest of the day - i didn't see her much because i was with the sprinter, but at dismissal I was standing outside with another group when she and her mom walked up to me. I didn't see them but I suddenly felt a body hugging my knees tightly. I looked down and there were her dark brown eyes smiling up at me.
"Oh, crier, I love hugs. Thank you. Did you tell mommy you had a great day at school today? Will you see me tomorrow?"
She hugged tighter and nodded her head, smiling at me as if we were best friends. That, right there, is what makes all of the madness seem worth it.
Hope you had a blessed hump day!
"I want to go home," she said. Over and over and over. I tried to pat her back, soothe her hair, show her my watch and tell her we didn't have that long. "I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home." Oh, girlfriend, so do I. Trust me, so do I. But we're here and we're going to make the most of it.
So for the rest of our time before we went to lunch, I chased my other friend in the class who requires alot of attention while my team-teacher taught the circle time lesson. The student grabbed some tape off the teacher desk and wrapped himself in it while I attempted to ignore him. Then he yelled and kicked until I helped him get it off himself. He tried to bite me - not to hurt, only because he wants attention. But he calmed down and we made it to the cafeteria for lunch soon after.
My new first-day friend was on my lap, refusing to eat. "I want my mommy," she said through tears while gasping for oxygen. Take a deep breath, I would say. "I want my mommy," she would say through a thick Hispanic accent.
Well, ladybug, I want my mommy, too. Literally. I want my mommy to come and whisk me away sometimes and I want to cry, too. But we carry on, with our heads high.
I began to worry about my friend. It had been an hour and she hadn't calmed down. None of my usual tactics were working. So, we went back to the room with my other friend, the one who likes to tape himself around the midsection or take off his shoes and fling them at my head.
So me, the crier, and the sprinter were in the classroom, building towers and castles with blocks just the three of us while the rest were in the cafe. The sprinter talking, the crier crying, me building. The crier all of sudden sprints, literally, sprinting, toward our door which I had propped open. I was frozen in fear. How could I leave the sprinter in the room alone to chase the crier? Could I carry him and still run quickly enough to grab her? I could not carry both of them. My biceps can only take so much. I am not, in fact, Michelle Obama. She continued to run a few more feet away from me. Oh shit, oh shit, I thought as she lunged for the door. (Sorry but sometimes bad words fly around in my head at these moments.)
The crier stopped. She wasn't running for the door afterall. She was reaching in the shopping bag that her mom had dropped off, full of her school supplies. It sat right next to the door. She carried it over to us - this girl is strong! - and plopped down next to me. "Oh, crier, what are you doing with that big bag silly girl?" I asked with a smile.
She reached in and grabbed a packet of play-doh. She was suddenly rambling in spanish, talking 90-to-nothing and thinking I was fluent or something. "Oh crier, lo siento, but I don't speak Spanish very well. Just a little."
She kept on with the Spanish. "English?" I prompted.
She looked at me with her huge brown eyes. "Oh, English." She said quietly. "My daddy bought me this playdoh! My daddy bought me this playdoh." More spanish, very fast.
Oh! Jackpot! A connection. "Crier, we have play doh in our class. Can you make me something with playdoh?" I whipped out some already opened hot pink playdoh.
"Sure," she said. "I'll make you a ball." Um, wow?
It was the strangest, awesomest thing in the world. I don't know what triggered her moment of joy in the classroom, why it occurred to her to get playdoh, but she didn't cry another tear all day. Sure, she was sad at times and asked for her mommy, but I do that everyday too. She participated with the class for the rest of the day - i didn't see her much because i was with the sprinter, but at dismissal I was standing outside with another group when she and her mom walked up to me. I didn't see them but I suddenly felt a body hugging my knees tightly. I looked down and there were her dark brown eyes smiling up at me.
"Oh, crier, I love hugs. Thank you. Did you tell mommy you had a great day at school today? Will you see me tomorrow?"
She hugged tighter and nodded her head, smiling at me as if we were best friends. That, right there, is what makes all of the madness seem worth it.
Hope you had a blessed hump day!
Monday, September 21, 2009
countdown to the capitol
It's exactly one month until I will be back within the borders of D.C. - back in the presence of some of the greatest people in the world. (you know who you are - joe& jill biden, i'm not talking to you. but i appreciate your readership.) i'll be back to a city of freedom, excitement, leaves that change colors, and scarves. oh scarves. The metro and the monuments are marvelous, but really... I just can't wait to spend time with a handful of people there. Love you much.
One month. As hard as this life is, as much as I throw myself full of tears on my bed or into the arms of my mom sometimes, begging God to reveal some wisdom as to why I'm in this position right now, shoved between a rock and a hard place. (more like a boulder and a concrete wall.) Much as I pray constantly to make it through the next day with an ounce of joy... all of it seems less daunting thinking about the plane ride and the people. I literally breathe easier thinking about a three day weekend sure to be filled with laughter and ridiculousness and goodness.
This was in the church bulletin on Sunday. Wonderful.
"The purpose of Christianity is not to avoid difficulty, but to produce a character adequate to meet it when it comes. It does not make life easy; rather it tries to make us great enough for life." -James Christensen
One month. As hard as this life is, as much as I throw myself full of tears on my bed or into the arms of my mom sometimes, begging God to reveal some wisdom as to why I'm in this position right now, shoved between a rock and a hard place. (more like a boulder and a concrete wall.) Much as I pray constantly to make it through the next day with an ounce of joy... all of it seems less daunting thinking about the plane ride and the people. I literally breathe easier thinking about a three day weekend sure to be filled with laughter and ridiculousness and goodness.
This was in the church bulletin on Sunday. Wonderful.
"The purpose of Christianity is not to avoid difficulty, but to produce a character adequate to meet it when it comes. It does not make life easy; rather it tries to make us great enough for life." -James Christensen
Sunday, September 13, 2009
my middle name is awkward
courtney awkward robinson. that name is a lot more appropriate than ann.
but seriously, if you know me well enough to read this, you know me well enough to know i can be very awkward. (sometimes intentionally, i'll admit.)
i don't accept compliments well. ha. that's the understatement of the month.
you like my shoes? oh thanks. quick change of subject. my principal told me i looked nice the other day and i completely lost my train of thought. took me an extra thirty seconds to remember why i was in her office. what? oh, no, my hair looks horrible today. i mean thanks. run away.
last week towards the beginning of my afternoon class we were playing with blocks at different tables in our classroom. i was kneeling to be eye-level with a small group. "miss roberson?" one of our students asked.
"yes, olivia?" (name changed)
"you're beautiful."
i hadn't been looking at her when i said "yes, olivia" because i was picking up blocks from under the table. i picked my head up and found her eyes on mine. i thought for sure i was losing my mind and she'd really probably asked me the color of the block she was holding or something.
"what, olivia?" i asked quietly.
"you're beautiful, miss roberson."
i smiled and literally blinked back a tear. "oh, olivia." i crossed to her side of the table and gave her a quick hug. "i think you're beautiful, too."
three year olds. their honesty is admirable. how am i, at twenty three, unable to express my gratitude, love, or admiration for those around me? when was the last time i looked someone in the eye and truly told them how i'd felt?
i later thought about what a gift olivia has. the ability, without shame or nervousness, to express her feelings. over building blocks! during an everyday activity, she completely made my day. what a gift. we should all take a page out of olivia's book.
i think you're beautiful! love, courtney a. rob
but seriously, if you know me well enough to read this, you know me well enough to know i can be very awkward. (sometimes intentionally, i'll admit.)
i don't accept compliments well. ha. that's the understatement of the month.
you like my shoes? oh thanks. quick change of subject. my principal told me i looked nice the other day and i completely lost my train of thought. took me an extra thirty seconds to remember why i was in her office. what? oh, no, my hair looks horrible today. i mean thanks. run away.
last week towards the beginning of my afternoon class we were playing with blocks at different tables in our classroom. i was kneeling to be eye-level with a small group. "miss roberson?" one of our students asked.
"yes, olivia?" (name changed)
"you're beautiful."
i hadn't been looking at her when i said "yes, olivia" because i was picking up blocks from under the table. i picked my head up and found her eyes on mine. i thought for sure i was losing my mind and she'd really probably asked me the color of the block she was holding or something.
"what, olivia?" i asked quietly.
"you're beautiful, miss roberson."
i smiled and literally blinked back a tear. "oh, olivia." i crossed to her side of the table and gave her a quick hug. "i think you're beautiful, too."
three year olds. their honesty is admirable. how am i, at twenty three, unable to express my gratitude, love, or admiration for those around me? when was the last time i looked someone in the eye and truly told them how i'd felt?
i later thought about what a gift olivia has. the ability, without shame or nervousness, to express her feelings. over building blocks! during an everyday activity, she completely made my day. what a gift. we should all take a page out of olivia's book.
i think you're beautiful! love, courtney a. rob
love is a battlefield
there's an 80s song that's been in some more recent movies that goes like this:
"We are young! heartache to heartache we stand...
Love is a battlefield!"
It's a silly song, but it does make me want to put on some blue eyeshadow and rock out whenever i hear it. And its chorus has been reverberating through my mind the past few weeks.
They ask you on the first day of summer teach for america training to write down on an index card the answer to this question: "In one word, why are you here? Why did you join Teach for America?" My answer?
Love.
They ask you, on the first day of summer TFA training: "In one word, what do you have to give? What will get you through the challenges of teach for america?" My answer?
Love.
Any reservations I've had about teaching three year olds, I've known one thing: any three year old, especially in the socio-economic situation that almost every student at KIPP faces, needs a lot of love. And I have a lot of love to give for those sweet kiddos. Their smiles, the things they say, their view of the world around them... you can't help but love them. I find myself thinking about them as I fall asleep at night. I think about them on my drive home. I think about them and love on them a lot...But that love is not always easy.
A child peed me on the second day of school. I have armored myself with gloves and clorox countless times to clean up pee on the floor of the bathroom, scrub our carpet where someone squatted to "go". I completely lost my voice ten days ago - literally opened my mouth and nothing came out. It sounded like cats were dying in there. And it still comes and goes. I have to explain myself on the phone to people - "sorry, no, this really is courtney, not a man..."
I have ringworm. RINGWORM! Itchy red patch on my arm that itches likes the dickens and is just, well, disgusting. I have been kicked in the shins, scratched, pushed, and two ochildren who tend to be on the angry side have even gone so far as to spit in my face. Intentionally, you ask? Yes.
I knew it was going to be a difficult year. No one said teaching was easy. But all of this at the one-month mark? Really? I had no idea.
If they say that good teaching is simply loving on children...well, this love is a battlefield.
"We are young! heartache to heartache we stand...
Love is a battlefield!"
It's a silly song, but it does make me want to put on some blue eyeshadow and rock out whenever i hear it. And its chorus has been reverberating through my mind the past few weeks.
They ask you on the first day of summer teach for america training to write down on an index card the answer to this question: "In one word, why are you here? Why did you join Teach for America?" My answer?
Love.
They ask you, on the first day of summer TFA training: "In one word, what do you have to give? What will get you through the challenges of teach for america?" My answer?
Love.
Any reservations I've had about teaching three year olds, I've known one thing: any three year old, especially in the socio-economic situation that almost every student at KIPP faces, needs a lot of love. And I have a lot of love to give for those sweet kiddos. Their smiles, the things they say, their view of the world around them... you can't help but love them. I find myself thinking about them as I fall asleep at night. I think about them on my drive home. I think about them and love on them a lot...But that love is not always easy.
A child peed me on the second day of school. I have armored myself with gloves and clorox countless times to clean up pee on the floor of the bathroom, scrub our carpet where someone squatted to "go". I completely lost my voice ten days ago - literally opened my mouth and nothing came out. It sounded like cats were dying in there. And it still comes and goes. I have to explain myself on the phone to people - "sorry, no, this really is courtney, not a man..."
I have ringworm. RINGWORM! Itchy red patch on my arm that itches likes the dickens and is just, well, disgusting. I have been kicked in the shins, scratched, pushed, and two ochildren who tend to be on the angry side have even gone so far as to spit in my face. Intentionally, you ask? Yes.
I knew it was going to be a difficult year. No one said teaching was easy. But all of this at the one-month mark? Really? I had no idea.
If they say that good teaching is simply loving on children...well, this love is a battlefield.
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