It was the fall of 1991, when I stepped inside my first classroom as a teacher.  I was barely 21 and more than a little afraid to be working in one of New Orleans public high schools.  I was also more than a little optimistic.  I could do this.  I could teach.

I really had no clue.  You can prepare, take classes, even practice in student teacher environments, but until you step into that room, look at those first students, and open your mouth, you cannot imagine what it is like.  A predominantly black school with the majority of its members heavily involved in gangs, the graduation rate hovered at 50%.  And, I the little blond girl with the fancy college degree was going to teach them literature.  They were not having any of it.

Needing to capture their attention, I zeroed in on the one thing that was important to them--their gang.  It was a street gang in the truest sense of the word--they were the Canal crew named for Canal Street, our location.  We began discussing everything they loved about Canal Street, making a large collage of places to eat, shop, hang out.  We added in some history and then began reading a story that mentioned their street by name.  It was working and I was thrilled.  It was not easy, but they were learning. 

Still, I had this curriculum guide that expected me to teach them an entire batch of literature and none of the books were set in New Orleans.  So, I chose a story set in Harlem and started them on 125th Street in the center of that community.  Again we created a collage and again we studied everything about the street, as we read the story.  They were so excited about everything that I was starting to draw attention for my unusual methods.

It was the third story that almost got me fired that year.  We were reading Ernest Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" set in the Valley of Ebro in Spain.  They were having trouble getting a handle on the time and place since, unlike 125th Street, it was nothing like their world.  So, I added in an incentive.  Students who completed the work were allowed to create a luggage tag like in the story.  I found an old suitcase in a thrift shop and they were allowed to "tag a tag" as long as it was with the name of a street we visited.  The assistant principal had some serious reservations about this and sat in on a number of my classes, but around 150 of my 175 students earned the right to tag.  We were granted permission to continue.

I taught only the one year, but I took the idea with me when I left.  Since then, I have used it successfully in a variety of other inner city high schools.  Currently, I use a version of it at the community college level.  Last year, I noticed that my scrapping changed depending on which street we were studying.  Some weeks I was more masculine and rough and others I was light and sunny.  Without even noticing, I was being inspired by the places I went in my classroom.

When I decided to open my own website, I kicked around a bunch of names thinking I wanted one that said "friend" and "home."  No matter what name I doodled, though, I kept coming back to the Street Idea that has been such an important part of my life.  I was not sure if the streets would be interesting to grown ups that were not gang members, but I decided to take a chance and ScrapStreet was born. 

Thanks for giving our Street a chance to be your friendly home.  I appreciate it.