Shortly after I turned 21, I moved from New York to the Mississippi Delta to begin my Teach for America placement as a sixth-grade math teacher. As many of you know, Teach for America is a nonprofit organization that places bright-eyed college graduates in underserved schools in both urban and rural regions in the United States.

Like many new TFA teachers, I looked forward to working with an underserved group of students who wanted to learn. And like many new TFA teachers, I suffered delusions of grandeur, believing that I might be the next Michelle Pfeiffer a la “Dangerous Minds”; that my students, once they realized that I cared for them, would automatically return that care with focused productivity and enthusiastic mastery of state math objectives.

I know how absurd it sounds, believe me, and all of those delusions quickly dissolved after I found myself shuffling through the hallways muttering under my breath like a lunatic, “Just make it through November.” It became clear to me what TFA recruitment materials ought to disclose to all interested applicants: That your first three months of it are like getting hit by a bus every single day.

Needless to say I had a rough time. My first few months were characterized by daily battles with my principal, bouts of sobbing in the cleaning supply closet and poor communication with the sympathetic but largely ineffectual TFA staff. And of course each day I had to face 65 adolescent students who didn’t know me, didn’t trust me, didn’t look like me, didn’t like me, and, for the most part, wouldn’t work for me.

There are also the additional challenges that come with living in the Delta, a place that has been largely forgotten by the rest of the country. Astonishing poverty that makes the New York projects look like resorts, racism that masquerades as good manners, violent crime, teen pregnancy and drug abuse further stack the deck against students in the Delta. And geographic isolation means that they rarely see a world outside of their town, making it even easier to succumb to the general sense of hopelessness that pervades the region.

But in order to have any success in the Delta, it is imperative to see past its problems and to set your gaze firmly on its promise instead, and the Delta’s best chance is its students. As my first year wore on, I began to read my students more accurately, and could better support them as learners. Instead of seeing a poor child, I saw a student needing extra practice with decimals. What was once a disadvantage became an action plan. And my frustration turned into motivation, which turned into results. My students met TFA annual goals after my first year and exceeded them after my second.

After two years, I had fallen in love with my classes, and I had become lustfully obsessed with the Delta, for it was there that I had begun to grow up. It was where I finally stopped blaming other people for my unhappiness and for my failures. It was where I learned what responsibility was, as well as its price. And it was where I discovered that students and new teachers alike can rise to meet unreasonably high expectations, as long as those expectations are set for them in earnest.

I know what the critics say: That failing schools need trained, professional educators rather than do-gooders trying to absolve their own middle-class guilt; that TFA allows poor communities to ignore systemic educational problems; that students shouldn’t be forced to watch their teachers abandon them every two years. Those concerns are real, and I share them. It is by no means a perfect system, and if you are admitted into the 2009 corps, you will witness more poorly judged decisions than I could ever hope to communicate in this small space.

However, the question is not whether Teach for America’s system is perfect or imperfect, but rather whether it is more effective than the U.S. education system left to its own devices. And the fact is that in the regions that TFA serves, the system – while not beyond repair – is broken. What the naysayers seem to discount – misguidedly in my view – is the amount of progress that can be made when someone chooses to dedicate a full two years of his or her life to creating a future for a group of students where none palpably existed before. Or, more impressively, what results when 4,000 people make that choice each year.

So if you are preparing to apply, know that the blemishes, the burdens, the tragedies, the days (sometimes weeks) you spend hating yourself, are worth it. Because for most of us, our work with students is the best thing we have ever done, and perhaps the most important thing we will ever do.

Ravina Daphtary is a graduate student in the Department of Communication who unfortunately developed a dreadful allergy to schoolwork over winter break.