Breakthrough

This past Friday, I drove back up to NorCal with Trung and Sang because Trung and I were going to help out with Breakthrough’s third and final Super Saturday of the school year. By the first Super Saturday, I had already decided that I wouldn’t be reapplying to Breakthrough for summer 2010, and at the end of the second Super Saturday, I decided that I probably wouldn’t do anymore Super Saturdays. But when the email about the third Super Saturday got sent out at the beginning of this month, I reconsidered and realized that this Super Saturday would be the last time I would ever see the students. Last time I would ever do anything with Breakthrough. I had to go.

And I had to teach a workshop. At the past two workshops, teachers, including Trung, designed lesson plans and taught workshops, and the kids usually enjoyed them. For my last Super Saturday, I didn’t want to be another teacher’s helper, so I volunteered to run a workshop. The theme for this Super Saturday being teambuilding, I decided to put my old boxes of Legos in the closet back at home to some use.

I’m not allowed to post images of my kids online, so most of these photos revolve around me or the teachers, and if there are photos with kids, their faces are censored. I got the censor images here: http://www.clker.com/profile-1068.html


Back at home in NorCal, staying up late the night before prepping my Legos. I got less than four hours of sleep that night. I spy a DDR pad.


For one of the activities, the students broke into groups of three or four. One from each team, the architect, referred to a model and then instructed the builders on how to build the same model. There were a few conditions: Only the architect got to see the model; the architect did not get to look at their team’s progress; the builders were not allowed to talk to their architect or ask questions.

The model I made was a simplified version of a Lego adaptation of my favorite Pokemon, something I (well, more like my brother) made back in the good old days of the first 151 Pokemon. Can you guess which Pokemon it was? (The original model is in the upper left hand corner of this picture.)

I was floored when one of the architects cried out, “It’s a Psyduck!”


I built this as an example of the second activity the kids had to do: Each group would get some Lego pieces and had to build a part of a bridge, and at the end of the activity, all groups would join together to put their bridge parts together to make one giant bridge that would hold shit. The catch was, as you can see in the picture, I gave the students hella random and absurd Lego pieces, and they had to use all of them. I spy The X-Files, Season 6.


Super Saturday at a library downtown. Another teacher, Claudia, and me chilling in the back while the director was talking to the kids. I think I smile kinda weirdly so I just make a really weird distorted face instead.

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The kids went to the Rose Garden for lunch. I tried to take a picture of the pretty fountain and some kids but Trung photobombed it.


Me teaching my workshop. I like my outfit.

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Two architects rushing up to me.

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Evaluating the first activity. I asked, “What makes a team work efficiently?” and they gave me a lot of good answers.


A photo with me and some of the ducks they constructed...You know how teachers are always supposed to be praising the students’ work? I do a very bad a job of that.

“Looking at all of your models, I can see that you guys did a really great and creative job—*SNICKER*” The director shot me a dirty glare. Oops.

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Kids getting to work on the bridge activity. Aren’t they adorable?

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Putting the bridge parts together.

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Alright...so the bridge didn’t turn out like how I had hoped. Instead of an actual bridge, it was more like a structure with some platforms. We decided to just put random shit on top of the different platforms to see if it would hold.


The final product after putting anything we could find in the room on the bridge. I spy a horse, a cell phone, a door, a ladder, a life boat, and a rock monster.

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Yea-yeeeeeaah.


“Trung, I think I look pretty good with Doug’s stunna shades. Take a pic!”

“Ok, here ya. I think this is a very good picture of you.”

“...I’m in the corner.”

“Exactly.”

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Me with one of my dance students. She is an amazing seventh grader.

Man, I will miss this. I’m sorry Breakthrough (Well I was a terrible teacher, so in a way Breakthrough could probably do better without me, but I know I’m still letting some students down by just not being there next summer).



On the last day of teaching at Breakthrough, summer 2009, the students and we teachers spent all afternoon rehearsing for our celebration night. Toward the end of the day, the directors herded the students into the gym for “something” and left the teachers outside. The returning teachers and I already knew what was coming.

This summer with Breakthrough turned out vastly different than last summer. Despite all the changes to the way Breakthrough was ran (changes that I didn’t really like), I felt that I had made a closer bond with the students. I thought that this would be the summer that I would actually break down.

After waiting for fifteen minutes, the directors allowed us to enter the gym. The only source of light came shining through the windows under the ceiling. In the center of the gym lay twenty-seven jars in a circle, each one with the name of a teacher next to it. All the students stood lined up against the walls, and, with the sunlight reflecting off their faces, they beamed at us as we found our places and sat down. I could hear a few murmurs and already an occasional sniffle.

The directors instructed us to close our eyes and cover them with our hands, and once they confirmed that we couldn’t see, silence fell upon the entire gym.

The voice of a director spoke out: “Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who made you laugh this summer.”

Immediately, the ground began to shake and echoes of over one hundred stampeding students filled the gym. I heard a student spoke my name only briefly before I was ambushed. We teachers didn’t just get shoulder taps. We got shoulder brushes, shoulder grasps, head pats, and hugs from behind, side, front, everywhere.

Hardly waiting for the students to settle down, another director continued. “Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who inspired you this summer.”

“Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who you looked forward to seeing you every day.”

“Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who gave you a reason to come to school every morning.”

By the end, I could hear Doug sitting next to me softly weeping. I never ended up crying, probably because the activity ended too soon (and because I’m cold and heartless). The teachers were allowed to open our eyes again and approach the students, who stood lined up again at the walls. As I headed toward them, I saw their faces. I saw their tears too. The sunlight shimmered off of their faces, and it was beautiful.

I was surprised to see a stream running down Nigel’s face—Nigel, one of the tough seventh graders. “It [trying not to cry] is really hard, man!”

One of my eighth grade students, Cil, who I taught during both of my summers at Breakthrough, went up to me and asked, “I’m not sure if I should come back for ninth grade next summer.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I don’t think it’s the best way to celebrate the end of middle school.”

“It’s a great way to celebrate the start of high school.”

“Are you going to come back to teach, Brian? I’ll come back if you come back.”

I wasn’t too sure what to tell him. At this point, I could go either way. I wanted to tell him yes, because I saw his earnestness in his eyes, but I refrained from making promises. “Just come back next summer, ok?”