When Devoid of Direction, Observe

I have been observing elementary school teachers for the past few weeks, a part of the curriculum for my Education 401 class - Elementary/Adolescent Psychology in Education. I had a bit of an experience when I first departed my home not far from Loyola's campus. I was headed for Kentwood Elementary, a school I had passed many times before en route to a friend's house, along a drunken stroll, - point being I had an image of what the school looked like in my head. Kentwood Koalas was painted on the schoolyard wall - how could I forget the image of a koala?

I was walking along West 77th, headed toward the Vons at Kentwood and 80th, and ran into what I thought was Kentwood - but turned out to be Cowan Elementary. They were the Tigers; I began feeling foolish. I kept walking and came across another elementary school. As I was shielded by the elderly crossing guard I caught a glance of a girl's sweatshirt - Orville Wright it read. At this point I was walking along Emerson wishing I had taken my bicycle or had enough back pocket to own a car. I began thinking about how many families must live in Westchester. There are at least four Elementary schools in the Kentwood/Westchester area - counting Loyola Village, plus nearby Paseo Del dey Rey and Grand View Boulevard Elementary. It's no wonder LAUSD scores so low on the charts; there are too many kids!

-- Ryan Cavalier
(image: kentwood logo via facebook)

Westchester: A Poetic Case Study

WESTCHESTER is an interesting neighborhood - one plagued with young and old issues, people, a collision of young and old worlds. Westchester is closed in by the "Lincoln, Sepulveda, Manchester, Bluff" box - literally encapsulating the realities, livelihoods and day to day experiences of its spectrum of residents. I am continually blown away by how polar the community is: the turf originally belonged to the elderly, the family dynamic - a combination of wholesome activities and physical growth. Now, having (reluctantly) opened its gates to a burgeoning community of young adults who drink, smoke, party, have often times don't value the land as much as its other inhabitants. Houses go up, not out, property lines have long yearned to stretch their sleepy limbs. One house on each block is home to an elderly hermit, whose dim reading lights permeate slide-shuttersm, onto the moonlit neighbors lawns. Parking is impossible, nobody seems to go anywhere, and if they do, their absence is quickly forgotten in the headlights of a woman muttering, "hail mary full of grace, help us find a parking space". McConnell and 80th has seen more DUIs than first steps. Regis' trees spawn the enemy of all drunken skateboarders; their seeds are difficult to locate in the dim evenings, and throw kids from skateboards harder than senior citizens would like to. Westchester brings safety by shunning the outside world, scoffing at La Tijera, not daring to continue along Manchester unless it will surely lead to the beach. Chester is a jump off point, a springboard, a cliff for some, a ledge. For others, a person, a man leaving for work, a woman gardening in soft-kneed jeans. For me, Westchester is a recoiled place; parents think one way, you know another, yet here we are, trapped in a bulb, lathered in SPF 75, waiting for someone to flip the switch, or not.

Photo Credit: "Ageism" by The Savvy Boomer Blog

-- Ryan Cavalier