AP for Who? cont.

Julia E. Torres
Jul 20, 2017 · 8 min read

What follows is my account of becoming and being an AP (Advanced Placement) English teacher in the American public high school system. African-American teachers, both male, and female, are slowly being driven out of the profession. Experienced African-American AP teachers are so rare in the Western United States that I have only met one, in over a decade of teaching, speaking, attending conferences, and generally traveling widely in spheres of public educators. I cannot purport to speak to everyone’s experience, all I can do is stand in the truth of mine. This is a four-part series.

Part III

“Winning”

When I found out that I was going to have the chance to teach AP English Language, I cried. I cried from happiness because it felt like real validation of my achievements and long climb up the ladder of “success”. I also cried, however, because I was so fearful that I wasn’t going to do the students justice. I was terrified that everything I knew how to do was not going to be enough and that I was going to let them (and everyone relying on me to help them pass the test) down. A colleague and dear friend reassured me that that was the precise reason that I was the right candidate for the job, “because [I] cared so much.” Sadly, those words only helped me so much. I wrote a 15 page syllabus (overkill!) meticulously selecting texts that I knew had a culturally inclusive, modern, and social-justice slant so that students would know that I wanted them to be engaged. In those early days, I was so absorbed in perfectionism, so optimistic, and so hopeful. I didn’t really anticipate how problematic it would later be for me that behind the scenes, the former AP English teacher was making daily trips to the counseling department, hand selecting students for my roster in order to “balance class size.”

I found out too late, when scheduling finished, and I wound up with one section of 32 students. I was frustrated, but helpless to do anything about it, because there was only so much mobility that could happen in a program as small as ours. AP classes ideally have around 22 students. Anything more can create serious problems. Today, many teachers around the country have classes of over 35, which is becoming unavoidable with today’s teacher shortage and overcrowding issues. Still, smaller class size is optimal, because of the idea that AP classes are more rigorous, the grading more intense, and the needs higher for one-on-one time between teacher and student. I was also informed that the AP English teacher from last year took it upon herself to go to administration and counseling to suggest they mix Juniors and Seniors together in my classes. I still do not know why this was suggested. I agreed to it because I had seen it done successfully before. It turned out to be the worst idea ever. The Juniors and Seniors hated each other. No matter what I did to encourage a “We’re all in this together” mentality, they never stopped hating one another. There was too much history there, and too much suspicion and mistrust of the system, each other, me.


In our school with 89% of students qualifying as living in “poverty”, students automatically look everywhere to find injustice and identify where they have been set up. They know the system has been designed for them to fail. My relaxed attitude toward holding Seniors accountable was rightly challenged and regarded as favoritism. This had a huge impact on the negative vibe already palpable in the over full class where Seniors sat on one side of the room, Juniors on the other. Everything came to a head at the end of the year when a massive fight broke out in the parking lot one day after school which resulted in several suspensions.


My schedule that year was two sections of AP English Language that met every day for 90 minutes, and two sections of World Literature that met every other day for 90 minutes. Put that together with coordinating a service trip to Brazil for ten students, teaching an extra class, and participating in three Professional Development Units at the same time, among several other projects outside school, and picture emerges of a woman running around with her hair on fire. As would prove to be the theme for the year, it turned out that I just took on way too much, too fast. It’s hard to really explain why teaching four class sections, rather than three is a problem when I know there are many people who teach five or seven sections. What I can say is that it was too much for me. All I know are my own limitations, and I ignored them.

My morning AP English Language class wasn’t really that bad. I had fifteen students. None of them knew what AP English Language was, and almost all of them had been put in the class simply because they took AP English Literature the year before. They asked me several times in the beginning of the class if they would get to pick their own novels because that is what they had done the year before. I told them, “No, we won’t be doing literature circles in AP Lang,” because we had too much catching up to do. They didn’t know what rhetorical analysis is? They had never heard of synesthesia? They only wanted to read books they chose themselves? What? I began the year with a deficit mindset which is never a harbinger of success. I knew that I was not prepared for this. Apparently, neither were the students, because they immediately did what kids will do. They went to their teacher from the year before to tell her how much they hated me, and my class. I should have known that this would set the tone for first semester.

Though much went wrong that year in AP Lang, to those outside my classroom, it seemed I was doing everything right. I was asked to deliver district level professional development on digital literacy at an AP workshop. From that opportunity, I was chosen to speak in front of the Assistant Superintendent, CEO of the College Board, and 250 of the district’s AP Students as the faculty representative accepting the award for Large District of the Year. From that opportunity came the chance to announce our district’s star AP student at the national conference in Anaheim. When representatives from the College Board asked me to speak, I was pretty excited. They let me know I was going to receive “movie star treatment”. I jumped at the chance for that because, let’s face it, nobody is trying to spoil or pamper teachers these days. When the day of departure arrived, I was picked up by a chauffeured car and taken to the airport. In Anaheim, I really was given movie star treatment. I had a beautiful room, lots of great food, and even an expensive dinner with executives from the College Board. Everything seemed engineered to make me feel like education royalty — and it worked. I felt special. You can imagine my surprise when I brought up educational inequity within AP programs at the dinner and was told by a top level exec, “Let me be very clear with you — AP is NOT for All.” I have no idea what my face looked like, but I definitely couldn’t fix it. I stood there in shock, and the only thing I could think of to say was, “It’s not?” From there, a vague, yet lengthy explanation of how students needed to be “academically prepared” in order to take the class was given. I parried back with the little bit of information I had about an “AP for All” conference that was held in Colorado and that was endorsed by the College Board. He seemed not to know anything about the existence of such a conference. I left the conversation confused and more than a little bit disturbed. Even so, the accolades and public recognition came pretty consistently throughout the weekend. I would be lying if I tried to say that it didn’t affect me. I became obsessed with students passing the test and getting scores that would prove that yes, I really was the miracle worker they thought I was. It was a ridiculous fantasy. I completely lost my chill. I forgot that none of this was supposed to be about me. I absolutely deserved it when second semester, students started ditching my class.


It began with period 7 and 8. Several Seniors decided they didn’t need to come to class anymore. They began to ask, “Miss, what’s going to happen if I don’t take the test?” This happens with almost every test because students are constantly told they are “behind”, “not ready”, and that their scores are far behind those of their white counterparts in suburban schools. After a while, this takes its toll, and students feel like no matter what they do on standardized tests, it won’t be good enough. Put that together with the terrible year we had, and it’s no surprise nobody was pumped up to endure four hours of torture. In response to this question, I talked around the issue, made threats about dropping grades an entire letter grade (which some students considered to be an okay sacrifice), and basically made an ass of myself. The Juniors thought it was unfair that Seniors “got to ditch”, and began to get even more resentful, salty, angry. From there, everything went downhill pretty quickly and ditching fever spread like any illness in a school full of children naturally does. I know, without a doubt, that this was completely my fault. I lost my focus. I abandoned my teacher soul. I sold out to the pressures and demands placed upon me and made that test and the passing of it, my primary focus. I think the lowest point for me personally was when a student who was going to be traveling with me to Brazil came up to my desk and timidly said, “Miss. You never smile anymore.” How could I have let this happen?

Every AP teacher knows they have to have a game plan for the weeks after the exam. The weather changes. The sun starts shining. The outdoors call. Some people tell students not to come and that they won’t be marked absent. Others show movies or do independent projects. The truth is that the weeks before the test are so stressful and intense that it is a tremendous release to be able to say the test is behind you. In most AP classes I know of, the only final is that you show up for the exam (a pass/fail grade is given), so teachers do not have to grade finals, and students do not have to worry about taking them. My plan was to show Lemonade as visual argument. Another colleague of mine and I collaborated. She provided me with a wealth of resources. It worked. They came back, but only for one day. To speak truthfully, I knew long before the scores came out, exactly what the test results would be. It wasn’t a surprise to see the strings of 1s and 2s staring back at me from the data report the summer after that challenging year. Two people, out of about 50, passed the exam, and their success was definitely not due to anything I did. Nobody from my afternoon class passed. Many failed on purpose. They made a strong statement. The message was received. The huge slice of humble pie, swallowed. However, like many teachers who manage to make it past the first year, I am made of hearty stuff. I had accepted that not every year was going to be a successful one many years ago. I resolved, from that moment, never again to make passing that test my motivation. I promised my new group, as they came to get their summer reading books from my room, that “Next year [was] going to be totally different.” In looking back, the following year may have been one of the best years teaching I have ever had. My district noticed. I was rated “Distinguished” for the second year in a row. I re-dedicated myself to my continuing education about what it would truly mean to teach “AP for All” by registering myself for the yearly conference. That was when my troubles really started.

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Julia E. Torres

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I enjoy laughing, sleeping, reading, teaching, writing and eating yummy food...not necessarily in that order.

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