Step Giant

In my family, there are no evil stepmothers or stepfathers—there’s just the people that made and make my Mom and Dad happy. While the Walt Disney Company could be criticized on many fronts, perhaps the greatest injustice they’ve done is to perpetuate the cliché of the evil stepmother. After all, mine’s not so bad—in fact, I think of her warmly every time I pass by the books-for-sale table outside of the HGSE library and see that copy of Cane River. But while Lita has made several cameos on this blog, this post will be the first time that I’ve written about my stepfather, Dr. Mitchell Wright Spellman.

Almost thirteen years ago in late February, I got a letter in the mail. It was a card from my mother, informing me that she had eloped on Valentine’s Day at the age of 56, and gotten married to Mitchell. If I remember correctly, I think a laughed out loud a little bit, my thoughts being something along the lines of “You go girl!” At that point, I didn’t know Mitchell very well, but I knew enough to know that he was the truth, and that they would make each other very happy.

Sadly, their time together was cut short. My mother passed away from cancer later that year, at home, with Mitchell by her side. Our families mourned together, but it was too easy for us too lose touch with each other, and unfortunately, that is exactly what happened. 

Last month, as I sat down for lunch with my Aunt Jean, we somehow ended up talking about my mom and the Spellman family. I was embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t talked to Mitchell or any of his six living children (my stepbrothers and stepsisters) in over ten years. If you know me, then you know I make it a point to stay in touch. In fact, there’s a good chance that if you’re reading this then we’ve been in some kind of contact somewhat recently. The fact that I’d lost touch with an entire family bothered me enough  to decide that I was going to fix that. I wish I hadn’t let a few more weeks pass by.

Last week I got an email from Aunt Jean informing me that Mitchell had passed away after a leading a long and amazing life. I bought my roundtrip bus ticket and headed down to Washington D.C. for the memorial last weekend. It was an unfortunate, but long overdue reconnection for our families.

A few months ago I wrote about the passing of Jon, who was my friend’s stepfather and a friend to me. My young friend, like many others, didn’t feel like the term “stepfather” did justice to the man, or to their relationship. Instead, he decided to called Jon his “Faux Pa.” As I sat in the chapel, I was blown away by the life of a uniquely accomplished man, and I realized what Mitchell really was to me... he was my Step Giant. I want to share a portion of the obituary from the service so that you can appreciate what I meant when I said “a long and amazing life.”

___________

Mitchell Wright Spellman, MD, PhD, at the age of 93, died peacefully at home with his loving wife, Olivia, on November 11, 2013. He battled for several years with a rare neurodegenerative disease. He was a pioneer among African-Americans in Academic Medicine and a loving family man.

Mitchell Wright Spellman was born on December 1, 1919 to Frank J. Spellman, MD and Altonette B. Spellman in Alexandria, LA. His parents, unhappy with segregated local schools, sent him at the age of 12 to the Gilbert Academy in New Orleans where he graduated valedictorian in 1936. He graduated Magna Cum Laude and valedictorian from Dillard University in New Orleans in 1940. He was a Charter Member of the Beta Phi Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc., founded at Dillard University in 1938. He graduated from Howard University College of Medicine (AOA) in 1944 and was ranked 2nd in his class. Influenced by hi mentor, Charles R. Drew, MD, he then began 11 years of post-medical school surgical training at Cleveland General Hospital, Freedman’s Hospital and finished at the University of Minnesota where he served from 1951-1954 as Commonwealth Fund Fellow in Surgery and Resident in Thoracic Surgery. He received his PhD in Surgery from the University of Minnesota in 1955.

From 1954-1968, in Washington, DC, he was a member of the surgical faculty at Howard University College of Medicine, ultimately becoming Professor of Surgery and Chief Medical Officer, Howard University Division of Surgery at DC General Hospital. From 1969-78, in Los Angeles, CA, he served as Founding Dean, Executive Dean and Professor of Surgery at Charles R. Drew Postgraduate Medical School, Assistant Dean and Professor of Surgery at UCLA School of Medicine, and Clinical Professor of Surgery at USC School of Medicine. From 1978-2004, he worked at Harvard Medical School, in Boston, MA. From 1978-1990 his titles were Dean for Medical Services Programs, and Executive Vice President of the Harvard Medical Center. In 1990, he retired the Medical Services portfolio, but continued as Dean emeritus and Harvard Medical School International’s ambassador through 2004. He traveled extensively in this capacity around the world, including trips to China, Europe, South Korea, Malaysia, Saudi Arabia and United Arab Emirates.

He was awarded Honorary Doctor of Sciences degrees from Georgetown University and the University of Florida, and a Doctor of Laws degree from Dillard University. From 1975-1976, he was the Henry J. Kaiser Foundation Fellow at The Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, Stanford, CA. He was the recipient of numerous academic awards throughout his career.

He was active on many Boards and Committees during his long career including: Member, Board of Trustees Occidental College, Los Angeles, CA; Member, Board of Directors of Kaiser Foundation Health Plan Inc., and Kaiser Foundation Hospitals; Chairman, Program Committee, Institute of Medicine of the National Academy of Sciences; Member, Massachusetts Institute of Technology Corporation; Member, Board of Directors, Medical Education for South African Blacks, Inc., New Brunswick, NJ; and Member Board of Directors, Georgetown University.

He was an avid fan of football, basketball and baseball. He particularly enjoyed the Boston Red Sox, New England Patriots, Boston Celtics and Los Angeles Dodgers. He frequently attended sporting events at UCLA and Harvard University.**

___________

Yeah, it was a lot for me to take in also.  Then a family member read a personal letter of condolences from President Obama. As we walked out the chapel, I turned to my cousin and said something along the lines of, “Well, Scott, we’ve got a whole lot of work to do.” We both plan to do big things, but it is humbling and awesome to know that we could live a few lifetimes and never grow as tall as Mitchell. Rest in peace, Step Giant.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* Of all the impressive landmarks in Mitchell's career, one stood out the most to me. Towards the end of the service, a South African doctor expressed his gratitude to Mitchell for his role in launching Medical Education for South African Blacks during the Apartheid era, leading to over 11,000 trained Black medical professionals in that country.

** For privacy reasons, I left out the section of the obituary that lists the members of the Spellman family. But, these are precisely the folks that I'm looking forward to staying reconnected with. My thoughts and prayers are with them all.

Personal Growth

Graduate school is a time for personal growth... intellectual growth... professional growth... and yes, facial hair growth! This month, I’m doing my best to get the HGSE campus into the spirit of Movember. Every year, folks around the world grow out their mustaches in an effort to raise awareness—and money—in support of men’s health issues, particularly cancer. We call it “changing the face of men’s health.”

Just to clarify, this is not exactly the same thing as Brovember, or No Shave November, or No Shame November, while I do support all of those movements. In fact, during a recent visit by Rory*, we discussed the possibility of organizing another festival of M.E.A.T.** But I digress...

I am the captain of our HGSE Movember team, and we’re looking to make our mark on the global fundraising scene! At the time of writing this post, our team is ranked #9343 in the world. But that’s beautiful! Just think, there are least 9343 teams geared up to raise money for this great cause. Besides, we're just getting warmed up.

Part of making this campaign a success is working the infrastructure. Thankfully, I've already developed a strong bond with my local barber shop—a must when relocating to any new neighborhood. The team at Brighton Barber Co. can hook a fade up, and since my barber is Puerto Rican, you know he can handle the crazy wavy curly not quite good hair that I'm throwing at him. They are very supportive, even though I'm not planning on cutting my hair anytime soon—it's just way too cold to be cute, and according to the locals, it hasn't even gotten cold yet. Do they actually believe the things that come out of their mouths? So, my hair is longer than it's ever been since I shaved off my afro ceremoniously to celebrate graduating from San Francisco State. Maybe I'll keep it growing until I have earned the right to have you call me Master (don't worry, I won't be holding my breath for that one).

In the meantime, I'm more focused on this mustache, which I unfortunately just cannot seem to find of picture of right now. Sorry (cough, cough). Who cares if its creepy or ugly or both... it's for a great cause. If you want to support what I'm doing, you can click here or on the link below to make a large of small donation to sponsor my stache growing efforts. The money goes towards supporting organizations like the LIVESTRONG Foundation and the Prostate Cancer Foundation. There movement has even expanded to tackle men's mental health issues, which lord knows we have plenty of. 

So, I hope you consider donating, or even growing your own as a show of solidarity. Trust me, I know it's not sexy. That's kinda the point.

Pura Vida,

Drew

Click Here to Donate Today!

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* Rory = my roommate while serving in the Peace Corps in Mindelo, São Vicente, Cape Verde.

** Men Eating Animals Together, a feast held on the 30th of November to mark the end of Brovember.

Little Victories

In a year that could easily be reduced to one goal—reaching the finish line—I’ve tried to keep track of the little victories along the way.  So, while I’m definitely looking forward to becoming a “master” next May, I’ve been savoring a lot of the steps along the way.

Sometimes its is hard to break graduate school down into a step-by-step process. This is partly because I really don’t have a lot of different graded assignments, so it can be difficult to know how I'm actually doing. In fact, I may even get through this entire program without taking a single exam. I do have a heavy load of reading every week, but my final grade in most cases comes down to three or four papers. I would love to believe that my professors at HGSE have reached some higher level of enlightenment, realizing that constant evaluation is not the key to successful learning. More likely, they have more important and desirable things to be doing than grading a bunch of quizzes every week.

So, it's up to me to remind myself that I am, in fact, making progress everyday, without having to rely on constant feedback in the form of grades. A couple of weeks ago in my Developmental Psychology class I felt one of these baby steps being taken. In a class like this, I sometimes feel a (ridiculous) pressure to produce some new scrap of knowledge that hasn’t already been stumbled upon in the thousands of studies done by more experienced professionals. Otherwise, what’s my contribution to academia? Am I just a glorified undergraduate student? Our professor and teaching fellows were describing an experiment that they conducted, the results of which left them scratching their heads. We were all having a having a hard time explaining some inconsistencies between young children’s ability to identify another person's false belief and their inability to predict how that person will actually feel based on that false belief. After scratching my head a bit too, I made a suggestion for how the study design could be tweaked to answer the question— something along lines of, “Did you try doing X?” The teaching fellows looked at each other, then looked at the professor, then scratched their heads a bit more. Hearing them say “You know, we didn’t think of that!” was like music to my ears. Just to be clear, I wasn’t basking in the ignorance of others—quite the opposite. The teaching team actually seemed pretty excited, like they finally had a fresh lead in a hard-to-crack case. For me, it was reassuring to know that I could take what I’d learned in the class so far (the old knowledge), and apply it as a contribution towards producing some new knowledge. 

I don’t expect you to be as excited as I was by reading about the twice-weekly thrill that is my Psych class. Thankfully, I’ve been finding some little victories outside of the ivory tower as well. Last Thursday the Wolfpack* hit the town to celebrate Halloween. I did NOT win any costume contests—that would be a big victory, and therefore inappropriate for the theme of this post. But, I did meet the man who deserved first prize, and that was pretty sweet. Behold... PBR2D2!

We all know that my favorite kind of victory is the kind that happens on grass, and I’m glad to report a few of those too. I’m actually not the only coach in the Special Studies Program at HGSE. My small cohort also includes the Harvard University Men’s Swimming & Diving team coach, as well as Dan, who is the defensive coordinator at St. Sebastien’s High School, where he also teaches. We were treated to some local Friday night lights when the Arrows came to town to take on the undefeated Knights of Buckingham, Brown & Nichols. Just to clarify, that is a school, not a law firm. In a beautiful upset, Dan’s boys knocked off the Cambridge side, giving us yet another reason to drink beers and go dancing. Thank you Dan, thank you boys.

My Knights finished off their season in top form, with a draw against a team that many might say should have run us off the pitch. After having tied against them earlier in the season, I actually wanted the win, but when the final whistle blew, the boys of Cristo Rey were proud of themselves and I was proud of them. 

But, even sweeter than the little victory that was actually a tie, was the email that I received from a teacher at the school earlier in the week. After my post in early October, a few of you expressed concern and wanted to make sure that I was doing OK. I assure you, I was and still am, but I guess now would be a good time to explain what it was that was weighing heavily on my mind. Shortly before writing that post, I found out that several of my players were not getting it done in the classroom, and the situation was serious. I took it personally because so much of my work is built on the belief that participation in sports can have a positive impact on a student’s academic performance. So, when I saw those progress reports it was quite a rude awakening. I did my best to make a gameplan to “support” those students going forward, up to and including “inviting” them to join me at the HGSE library for an entire Saturday. Here’s a portion of the email I recently received about one our students.

"I just wanted to take a moment to express my appreciation for the work you have been doing...  Earlier this week, he turned in his second reflection paper... completing all his missing work.  More importantly to me, however, is the improvement in his attitude and the quality of his contributions in class.  I... know that he responds best to pressure and a challenge from someone who has earned his respect by demonstrating that they actually care for him.  Thank you for taking the extra time out of your schedule to provide another positive model for one of our students—they can never have enough." 

I think a lot of us would take a pay cut in exchange for receiving a few more emails like that from our colleagues. I’m looking forward to continuing to develop as a coach and teacher, and using everything I’ve learned from this season at Cristo Rey. On that note, I still have time to celebrate one more little victory in this post. I recently found out that I’ve been accepted to attend the NSCAA Premier Diploma course in January, giving me a chance to earn the highest award that the organization currently offers. Wish me luck!

* Wolfpack = the fun people people with whom I do the fun things that I do.

No Sleep Till Boston

I think I’m just about back on track now. I went to bed early last night—well, actually I didn’t, but I took it easy. Worked on a psychology paper for a bit, then fell asleep watching the Red Sox get lucky. I peeled myself off the couch sometime around 1:45am, staggered to bed, and finished off a solid night’s sleep. 

I’ve been feeling a step or two behind ever since my adventures in New York City last weekend. The trip was well worth it, but not something I could pull off too often. The Big City was calling me for a few reasons, but the biggest one is that my beloved godsister was getting married!  And yes, no matter what autocorrect may try to tell you, there is such a thing as a godsister—especially when you spent every formative summer playing Marco Polo, catching potentially-rabid mice, and sustaining various cuts and scrapes, mostly at the hands of your older siblings. But the wedding wasn’t until Saturday, so let me back up.

Last Friday at noon—literally, at 12:00 pm—I darted out of my statistics class* and headed down to South Station to catch my Greyhound Bus. Now, the last time I had caught a Greyhound I swore it would be the last time. That was probably ten years ago, but now I’m back on the student budget, so after swallowing plane tickets to Los Angeles and Virginia Beach for recent weddings, I decided to keep it crusty this time. The trip was hassle-free—no gang-fights or clogged toilets—but it was a little longer than advertised. Technically, they didn’t lie. It took the advertised four hours to get to New York City. But then it took another two hours to get from Harlem to the Bus Terminal in Midtown. Apparently there’s traffic in Manhattan on Friday evenings. So, I missed the first half of the USA v Jamaica game, but got to Jack Demsey's just in time to enjoy two goals and the victory along with Javi Mi Llave and the New York City Chapter of the American Outlaws.

Once the game was over, we headed back to Bushwick for the real party. There was only way to hold a Costeño reunion—una rumba hasta amanecer! We even had a real live Costeña in the building, direct from Barranquilla... Que mas, Luz?!* Other than the the birthday boy and birthday girl, the real guest of honor was Drake Kitty**. What uuuuuuuuuuup, Wudduuuuuuuuuuup?

Luckily, the wedding was not in the morning, so I had time to recover and make my way to Manhattan for the festivities on Saturday. I killed a couple of hours looking to purchase a tie that did not cost more than my Greyhound ticket, and finally found one at Topman on Canal Street. Then I caught up with my brothers at their hotel room where we finished putting ourselves together.

The wedding was absolutely maaaaahvelous. A view of the city skyline from the Tribeca Rooftop, followed by ridiculous quantities of ridiculously tasty food and a few Manhattans (I thought that was appropriate)... all in the company of my family and extended family from around the country. The first after-party featured a surprise reunion with a few Oakland heads from the elementary school days. We capped it all of with waffles, fried chicken and eggs benedict sometime around 7:00am. By that time my brothers and I had just about maxed out on each other's company—we love each other, but in controlled doses. We found our way back to the hotel, and I crashed on the floor for a couple hours while my phone charged—honestly, I wasn’t quite ready for the trip back to Brooklyn.

Friday and Saturday were so epic that I spent most of Sunday and Monday holed up in Javi’s apartment, slurping down Ramen, getting caught up on my non-academic reading, and watching movies on my laptop. The Prestige was badass and Tron: Legacy was fun, but Blindness is a very mediocre adaptation of an awesome book.

Like I said, I’ve almost fully recovered from last weekend, but I’m still carrying a little sniffle and I can’t feel my right pinky toe. What does that mean? Well, at least midterms are almost over. Just one more psychology paper to go.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* This class has a fancy, interesting-sounding name, but I was lied to. It STATISTICS!!! I do enjoy it, especially when my professor gets worked about about social issues and starts saying things like "Holy Crow!"

** Javi and I do not qualify, despite living a year on the Colombian coast. He is Cachaco-American and I am just Regular Black.

*** Drake Kitty is the brilliant creation of Javi's roommates, Eve and Luz Mary. They hold the copyright on this hilarious image and should get all the credit when Drake Kitty goes viral.

Light Fare

The other day my friend Raquel called me about for going a few weeks without updating my blog. I’ll tell you all the same thing that I told her... “DONTELLMEHOWTOLIVEMELIFE!!!” Actually, that’s not what I said at all... I just like to yell that every now and then. Makes me feel grown. So, why haven’t I posted in the last few weeks? It’s certainly not because I had nothing to say—you know me better than that by now. 

The truth is, somewhere along the way, I was taught the value of discretion. It’s one of the things about this blog that I’m most proud of, other than the fact that you’re reading it. I have no problem getting down and dirty and bearing my all soul for the world to read. That’s what makes the whole process so healthy for me. But nobody else volunteered to star in my journal, so I stay away from putting people out there.

When I first started this blog, I was squatting as a guest in my friend’s house on Guahan. Then it was New Zealand. Then it was Johannesburg. There’s something sacred about the home, something that makes you think twice about turning certain moments into blog fodder. Once I joined the Peace Corps, this approach to blogging went from optional to mandatory government policy. Did you ever notice how I never mentioned the names of the neighborhoods where I lived? You also won’t find a lot of last names or home addresses on this blog. If you do, send me a message to let me know, and I’ll fix that ASAP.

In the last two weeks I’ve had a lot on my mind—nothing tragic, but plenty heavy. To make a long story medium, I’m not writing about it. Next time you see me, buy me a beer and we can talk for as long as you keep them coming. I’m good at that.

So, instead of spilling the beans, I’ve decided to keep it light. And, as the title of this post suggests, I'm still writing about something that matters to me—good food. The last week of my life was bookended by two special meals, with a special little friend. 

Some of you may remember this adorable child (or a younger version of her) from a post I wrote in August 2010. Here I am, three years later, back in Sue’s house, hanging out with her daughter. No fresh passion fruit this time, or Sunday afternoon visits from the Queen, but it was still a good time. Part of my house- and adolescent-sitting duties have included getting this child fed. We started off the week with a tomato, basil, mozzarella, garlic linguine, which apparently was not poisonous. 

Despite surviving my first meal, she skipped out on my next masterpiece... what can I say? You can bring a horse to homemade tacos, but you can't—wait... never mind.

On Saturday we splurged with a visit to Orinoco Kitchen that changed my life almost as much as Google Scholar*... chuleta de puerco**... let’s just say that Venezuelan cuisine is a lot more savory than the Venezuelan political climate. I’m seriously considering going back there just to harass the chefs. I need to know how they made that cauliflower taste like it wasn’t cauliflower. Amazing.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* Grad School Humor

** Pork chop

P.S. Just in case this post gave you the false impression that I've been living in crisis for the past two weeks, here are a few pictures of me doing me and loving it!

Kappa Chi Nupes in Virginia Beach, VA

Wu-Tang Wednesdays @ Tommy Doyle's

Pre-game preparations for Harvard v Brown Football Game @ Daedalus

Stop The Sag

Last week I mentioned that I am doing an internship as part of my course of study, but I didn't give much detail. My course-load for the Fall semester includes three "regular" classes: H-107 "Educational Neuroscience," H-250 "Developmental Psychology," and AT-133 "Examining Achievement."* In addition to these three classes, I'm doing a Field Experience Program (S-997)—otherwise known as an internship. The following post is adapted from my first writing assignment for this course, which requires me to keep a journal to reflect on the experience. I've taken out some small parts that would be redundant for readers of this blog, as well as other bits to avoid airing the dirty laundry of organizations where I've worked in the past. 

_____________________________

My decision to do the Field Experience Program, and my desire to do it with the YMCA of Greater Boston, is consistent with my focus on Youth Development programs. While I won’t be writing a thesis, I’m still designing my course of study in the Special Studies Program around a final project or product. My goal is to produce the first installment of a soccer-based curriculum for academic enrichment geared towards first-graders. In the spring semester, I plan to organize this work through an Independent Study (S-999), utilizing the resources of the Harvard Innovation Lab. My fall internship is an opportunity to embed myself at the senior level of a large Youth Development organization—the type of organization that might implement the curriculum I’m designing once it’s finished.

I have a lot of experience in Youth Development programs, including work in the non-profit, for-profit, and public sectors, both in the United States and abroad. I have worked in a management capacity in smaller organizations, and I have worked “on the ground” in larger organizations. What I lack is the experience of working at the senior planning level of a large YD organization. Specifically, I want to learn more about how large organizations design, select, implement and evaluate youth programs, particularly across multiple sites. Does a large organization like the YMCA start from scratch and design all of their own programs? Or, do they work with a third party to find or develop programs and curriculum to suit their needs and goals. The answers to this question will have an impact on how I “shop” my finished curriculum, and who I see as potential clients or beneficiaries.

(Out of Site Youth Arts Center - San Francisco, CA 2007)

(Informal Youth Development session - Sayulita, Mexico 2009)

(My Yute Soccer Camp - Oakland, CA - 2013)

In past experiences I have witnessed a disappointing disconnect between the espoused values of an organization, the fundamentals of a curriculum, and the implementation of that curriculum on the ground. In some cases, being embedded at one particular site hampered my ability to understand and examine the causes of theses breakdowns at an organizational level. I had my theories, but since I was removed from the workflow at the senior level, they were nothing more than theories. When approaching the YMCA, I made it clear that I was not interested in pursuing an internship where I would get bogged down with day-to-day site-level operations (i.e. playing with kids). While I love doing this work, and I learn something new each day that I do it, that scenario would not be a worthwhile Field Experience Program for me. Instead, my mentor is a Vice President of YMCA Greater Boston, who overseas all child development operations across 13 sites in the region. I will be well-positioned to learn more about how they address system-wide challenges, for example, the training of site leaders, or the demographic differences between sites. Ultimately, I want to understand their approach to large-scale quality control.

While I’ve done a ton of volunteer work, I haven’t been an intern since 2005, when I was an undergraduate student. All juniors in the Urban Studies Program at San Francisco State University are required to set up and complete an internship, very similar to the HGSE Field Experience Program. I worked as a Service-Learning Instructor at a local high school, The Urban School of San Francisco. I have a solid understanding of the challenges that come with being an unpaid, temporary member of a work team. As the saying goes, “sometimes free is too expensive.” With financial compensation removed from the equation, it becomes even more important for me to set clear expectations for what I want to get out of the experience. While most of my peers will be working for a paycheck (and for the love of children), they may not understand exactly what I’m doing there, and why I’m there. My meeting with my mentor on Tuesday will be an important step towards defining these goals. Likewise, I need a clear understanding of what the organization and my mentor expect from me. The good news is that I’m in a field that I love, and I am used to doing the work for free, for pennies, for pesos and for escudos. It won’t be hard for me to treat this experience like a “real job,” and that should facilitate my integration into the YMCA team.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* You might have noticed that I dropped A-608 "Leadership, Entrepreneurship, and Education" in favor of H-250 "Developmental Psychology." I had my reasons.

Family Dinner Food Porn Pic of the Week

My Teachers Are Teachers

Over the past few years I’ve developed a pretty effective strategy for life... at least, it’s been working out pretty well for me. Basically, it goes like this: “prepare to be unprepared.” Clearly, this strategy works well when you’re relocating to new countries—but what may be less obvious is that preparing to be unprepared can be an effective approach, whether you’re a Peace Corps Volunteer or a pre-school teacher.

That being said, I don’t get too worried about having all the answers. Uncertainty doesn’t freak me out—in fact, I kinda like it. A couple of weeks ago, my roommate’s friend was bombarding with questions about life in the Peace Corps because she is currently in the application process. One of the first things she told me was, “My leave date is January 2014 and I'm going to be stationed in blah blah blah.” My curt response was, “Yeah, no it’s not and no you won’t.” I tried to explain to her that if she could count on one thing, she could count on the Peace Corps to flip the script on her at least once between now and when she actually leaves. And really, she couldn’t even count on that. I submitted my application to the Peace Corps in January 2010 and I was on a plane for Cape Verde in July... of 2011.

The interesting thing is that the application process for joining the Peace Corps is excellent practice for life as a volunteer in the Peace Corps—the uncertainty, the constantly readjusted expectations, and the glacial speed of progress. Having survived all of that, I can honestly say that there wasn’t much about starting graduate school that truly freaked me out. Still, I would be lying if I said I didn’t have some huge questions about what my life would be like, both in the classroom and beyond.

The first question I pondered was whether or not I would actually have a "life." I am happy to report that I do, even if my social life looks and feels a lot different than it has for the past few years. For example, I have not danced until the sun came up. I have not spent an entire Saturday at a beachfront bar, eating french fries and watching back-to-back-to-back European soccer matches. I haven’t had a trago of aguardiente or grogue, or mug of Aguila Light or Strela—actually, I haven’t a sip of alcohol since I got on a plane headed for Boston.* Yet still, I have a life.

Last weekend I made a 24-hour trip to West Hollywood to see my Sands get married. It was a special night for so many reasons, including witnessing my first in-person group Wobble (no, the Wobble has not spread to South America yet). Getting to this wedding was another step in the process of reconnecting my brothers from Kappa Chi, the most thorough chapter of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc. on the planet. It started back in May when Demek came to Medellín for his bachelor party. Now, I'm joined by my "big" brother and fellow HGSE student, Al, who has been my right hand man... literally... he's sitting to my right studying in the library while I am not. At Demek's wedding I caught up with some of the "old" heads and met some of the younger ones from our chapter that crossed after I left D.C. in 2001.

CONGRATULATIONS KIM & DEMEK!!!

Sure, I’m pressed for time, but I can still enjoy the finer things in life—like watching soccer. For example, on the way to the library today, I passed by the Harvard University Athletics Complex and decided to pop in to catch the second half of the Harvard vs. Davidson match. We looked good but we coughed up a late, well-taken to goal to lose the game 2-1.

 It was a tough loss, but not as tough as watching the USA get slapped by Costa Rica at Banshee Pub, the official Boston home of The American Outlaws. Sandwiched in between those losses was a great win for the Boys Varsity team at Cristo Rey High School. I was truly impressed, and I must they, their coach was very professional... and handsome too (cough, cough).

So, now I’m no longer “worried” about not having a life. I’m taking the regular 16 credits (including an internship at the YMCA of Greater Boston) and I’ve taken on a part-time job (see reference to handsome coach in previous paragraph). This is a heavy load—I’ve been told that each class requires about 12-15 hours of work per week, including time spent in class. So that adds up to 60-70 hours per week, before you account for my "life." This may sound crazy, but I take solace in the fact that decent parents around the world are putting in a similar shift, week in and week out. I got this.

My second “worry” was based on something you often hear about higher education: professors aren’t necessarily great teachers. This makes sense, in the same way that great soccer players don’t always make great coaches. Can you imagine Coach Cristiano Ronaldo, or Coach Luis Suárez (shiver)? We often hear horror stories about professors that care a whole lot about their research or the book they’re working on, but not so much about their students. Well, let me put that one to rest. My teachers are TEACHERS, and they are damn good at what they do. While writing this, it dawned on me that this might have something to do with the fact that I am in the school of EDUCATION! If I were a betting man, I would bet that on average, the faculty at HGSE are better at teaching than their equally-intelligent peers in the other schools at Harvard. But maybe I’m biased.

In my last post I included some golden quotes from the professor of my Educational Neuroscience course. I also forgot to mention the part where he said something along the lines of: I don’t require you to come to class—I don’t think it makes sense for me to penalize you automatically for not showing up to lectures. It’s my job to make the lectures interesting and productive so that they help you do well in the class. Like I said, this is my kind of teacher. My assignment for the first week was to watch a series of five short video lectures as an introduction to brain structure and function. To give you a taste of what I mean when I say, “damn good at what they do,” I’ve included a link to one of those videos, which you may or may not give a rat’s ass about.

My final “worry” about coming to grad school had to do with the culture of Harvard University. While I knew enough about Harvard to know that it's hardly one big Klan rally, I still couldn’t stop thinking about the part of Cornell West’s memoir where he talks about what it was like to be a professor here. If you haven’t read Brother West: Living and Loving Out Loud, please do. Thankfully, I haven’t had any eye-opening/heart-breaking run-ins with Larry Sommers.** Honestly, I’m happy to report that there’s nothing unwelcoming, stuffy or pretentious about my environment—so far. Again, I believe that has a lot to do with the fact that I’m in the School of Education, and not the Business School, the Law School, or the Kennedy School of Government. Ironically, I've found the average student at HGSE to be less offensive and self-righteous than a lot of Peace Corps Volunteers. Who woulda thunk it?

Signing Off,***

Drew

* Every year, I set aside a month to be completely sober. I'm three weeks into that month at the time of writing this... and I'm looking forward to next weekend.

** Lawrence "Larry" Sommers served as President of Harvard University from July 2001 until June 2006.

*** In light of the behavior of Costa Ricans over the past week, including their President, I have temporarily renounced my pseudo-Tico citizenship, and cannot "sign off" using the phrase that I normally would. Call it petty, but that's just how I'm feeling right now.