Casey was a small boy with a desk in the back row. He looked expectantly at me standing in front of the class as I introduced myself at the beginning of a four-week teaching assignment in a suburban elementary school years ago. There were twenty-eight other nine-year-olds in the room, yet I noticed him right away with his large blue eyes and the way his chin tilted down dejectedly. As the weeks passed, I learned what many other student teachers experience first-hand: that curriculum is designed to fit the needs and skills of the majority of students, and that those on the scholastic edges are often left behind or missed entirely. With Casey, I found myself passing by his desk now and then, giving him a little encouragement when I noticed his hand propping up his head, fingers tearing slowly at his hair while the pencil wandered aimlessly in scribbles across the page. While I was grateful for the smiling, easy students who chattered happily throughout the day, Casey moved my heart.
On my last day when all the students had gone, I began packing up my little makeshift desk in the corner of the classroom. On it I found a folded piece of paper that revealed a tiny drawing of a plant, roots in brown-colored, pencil-crayoned soil, with a green line wiggling towards a yellow sun above. Beside the plant was a figure with brown hair and water droplets coming from an outstretched stick arm. “You helped me grow. Love Casey,” it said. The memory of his little note with its big sized feelings has never left me.
Later I got my teaching degree and taught for a while, then made a big move that changed my home country, my profession and my life in seismic ways. I embarked on a path very different to the one I was on as Casey’s temporary teacher. Over the years, I kept my love of learning close by and worked to find different ways to light up information and the practice of being a student, for my two sons. This was regularly difficult but they were fortunate to have benefitted from the resources I had at my disposal — special schools with smaller class sizes, tutors, counselors, plus my own time and attention. Not every student has these types of tools in the tool bag. As time marched on, I began seeking out ways to extend my experiences and influence to help larger numbers of people achieve their goals.
When I heard about The Rebel Academy with its “Education for the Rest of Us” descriptor, I was curious. The Rebel part, it turns out, has a few meanings here. One is that there’s a bit of a cheeky academic rebelliousness to saying, “let’s teach you what you need to know to pass the General Equivalency Diploma (GED) test”, as opposed to “we’re going to teach you what we think you need to know about Algebra & Geometry, (and maybe you pass the GED test)”. I like it – the focus on cutting to the chase for a group of people of all ages and stages who seek the baseline evidence required by so many employers. A frequent requirement on job applications, having this qualification also means “I did it. I passed the exam that puts me at the same gate with others who already have it.”
Perhaps equally as big as the certificate itself is the accomplishment. Once achieved, it is always there, evidence of a choice to pursue a difficult task. Passing the GED exam requires sustained work over a period of time. Obstacles will be in the way. Often no one else is cheering, only the
voice in one’s head saying “you can do this, keep trying”. I haven’t had that kind of struggle relative to Education, but I can relate to it in other areas of my life. And on those reflections, I feel the rebelliousness rise up, saying “Yes I can!” when others have said, “What are you thinking, you won’t be able to do that!” Building the muscle – the practice – of making a choice and trying, builds more of that internal strength for when the next obstacle comes along. And we all know there will be plenty of those in this life we each have.
The other aspect of the name to me is the view that our current educational system isn’t going to meet the needs of many people who have varying levels of education and seek the GED in the United States. This requires a bunch of Rebel spirit within an organization to try new approaches, find skilled Tutors who can relate to the experiences and challenges of their students, provide meaningful employment for justice-involved individuals, actively champion efforts to secure funding, and so on. Starting something new requires a special kind of rebellion: persistence when the odds aren’t necessarily in your favor.
Which brings me to now, where I find myself heading up this fledgling non-profit Academy. My heart is engaged and my mind is clear. There’s plenty of metaphorical soil, water and sunshine – onward! If you’re so inclined, consider donating, promoting The Rebel Academy within your network, or reach out to us and let us know how you might be able to help.
– Adrienne Palmer, President, The Rebel Academy Board of Directors
The Rebel Academy 
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