Free Relentless Pursuit by Donna Foote Page A

Wendy Kopp convincing. But the stage show was a bit too scripted, the canned “Why I Teach For America” mantra cheesy. He wasn’t the rah-rah type, and he thought the notion that as individuals they could revamp a broken education system was skewed. He surveyed the scene with growing dismay.
What is going on? What am I doing here?
    Across the country in River Vale, New Jersey, Manuel Hamalian didn’t have to attend the welcoming ceremony to understand what his son, Hrag, was doing there. Manuel was the one who had opened the TFA acceptance envelope that Hrag received that spring. He had carefully read the contents and called his son to tell him the news that he was in. Hrag didn’t know if he would accept the offer, but he felt honored that it had been extended.
    â€œThey recruit on merit,” Hrag had told his father. What he was really saying was:
I am one of the elite.
    â€œThat’s not it,” his father had countered, speaking as always in his native Armenian tongue. Manuel had emigrated from the Middle East nineteen years earlier, bringing with him his wife, Baizar, his aging parents, and his two small children, Gareen and Hrag. Manuel held a degree in public health from the American University of Beirut, but in United States he commuted four hours each day to his job as a manager of a freight forwarding company. Baizar, who went by the American name Claire, was a nurse; she worked the night shift at a local hospital. Together they literally labored around the clock. The kids were never denied. They had everything they needed, even the things the family couldn’t necessarily afford. Manuel’s parents, both refugees from the Armenian genocide of 1915, stayed at home and babysat.
    The Hamalians had high expectations for their children. They wanted them to find careers that would give them stability and security—and enable them to enjoy the pleasures of life that they themselves had often had to forgo. So far, the kids had not disappointed. Hrag was graduating from Boston College with a 3.56 GPA. Gareen had graduated from Columbia University and was attending Tufts School of Medicine.
    Gareen was well on her way. Hrag was not. Not yet, anyway. The Hamalians were mildly concerned. Manuel and Claire feared that a two-year stint with Teach For America could sidetrack their only son.
    So Manuel had not shared Hrag’s enthusiasm about the TFA acceptance letter. He was cautious, and he wanted his son to be, too. “They are really judging you on your character,” Manuel had told Hrag over the phone. “They’re looking for your type of person—someone who will make a commitment and not leave it.”
    Hrag had felt his anger rising. His parents had always been sparing in their praise. He had just won a spot in one of the most prestigious post-grad programs in the country. Only a few of the eleven who interviewed with him had been offered a position.
Everyone else knows Teach For America looks for the highest-achieving graduates. Why can’t you see that?
    Manuel had kept on repeating: “They judge you by your character. I went through [the acceptance packet]. Nothing shows me you got accepted for achievement. You got accepted because you’re not gonna leave.”
    Hrag first heard about the organization in high school when a TFA alum addressed his class. It sounded cool. He didn’t really think about it again until his senior year at BC, when he had to decide what to do after graduation. TFA had sent him a personalized e-mail listing his accomplishments and inviting him to apply. At first it creeped him out—the idea that someone he didn’t know knew him. But he was flattered, too—and curious. So he agreed to meet for coffee, and afterward the e-mails kept coming. There was no obvious career path ahead for Hrag, no law school, med school, or MBA program in his immediate future. He just knew he wanted to do something that he would