First off, I want to say up front. I have a black son.
When I was in college I remember talking with my friends about my dreams. Who I would marry and how many kids I would have and what I would name them. It’s interesting because as aware as we were about how racist the system was (not to mention we had to deal with it head on being at a PWI), the worry that if we had a son the things we would have to deal with never crossed our minds.
Fast forward. When I graduated from college I remember my parents telling me about “the game” I’d have to play in order to be successfully employed. I came from an education background. Both of my parents were administrators so I was no stranger to “that game”. In previous years, I watched my mother be denied twice the opportunity to become a principal. My father bounced around schools as just an asst. principal, never moving up to principal until he finally left the district. Mind you he had an Ed.D. He had more credentials and experience than the current Superintendent. If my grandmother hadn’t gone and threaten to sue did they actually take it seriously. The excuses they gave was complete lunacy. It’s interesting how the “rules” only applied to my mother and not to others that were already employed. I Can’t Breathe.
When my mother became principal, some of the teachers that were already there refused to allow a black woman tell them what to do and either resigned, retired or put in for a transfer. My mother needed to hire a secretary. She was told not to hire a black secretary for fear it would look like a black school. I Can’t Breathe.
To make a very long story somewhat short, despite all of the craziness both of my parents faced, they both had very successful careers, my mother having some of the best test scores in district while also having one of the most diverse staffs in the district. My father moving up to become the second black Deputy Superintendent in the district. SN: I always find it amazing how minorities can find “qualified teachers” but others can’t. I Can’t Breathe.
When I was hired as a Kindergarten teacher in 2004, I saw first hand how racist the education system was. There was only two of us in that whole building! (Remember how they told my mother not to hire another black but somehow that didn’t apply to them) I had to completely strip myself of every inch of blackness to fit in. To not appear “threatening”, or an “angry black woman”. It was very irritating to hear white people tell me to “smile”. Ugh! The only time I could truly be myself was at church and at sorority meetings. Even then I found myself still acting white (yes there is a such thing). I must admit, I’m still feeling the affects of that, and I have to work very hard not to fall into that trap. Every day I saw firsthand how they treated children of color, particularly black and latino boys. They seem to throw the book at them but give the white boys a pass for the same infraction. Sound familiar? I Can’t Breathe.
When I switched to teaching PreK, I was the only black teacher in our wing. After a while, I became the teacher that other teachers felt the need to bring their black boys to me. I had built a relationship with some of those parents. Some I knew personally from the community. As much as I would reprimand those boys and give them love at the same time, I knew why they were angry. Hearing how they were being talked to, I’d be angry too! They knew those teachers could care less about them. Whether they would admit it, or not, I knew too. Then the discussion of “Afrisa they only respect you because you’re black.” That’s true to a degree. They respected me because yes I do look like them, but I gave them the respect that they deserved! PERIOD! I spoke a language they understood! I gave them tough love! I told them that they matter and yes I threatened to call “their mama”. Then I would put them to work. They became my helper. I put them in leadership positions. I gave them the room to be themselves. This was all before I found out I was going to have one of my own. They Can’t Breathe.
PreK to Prison Pipeline. Can you imagine from Pre-K to high school that being your school experience? Year after year that’s how you’re treated. Who you are isn’t good enough! You must sit still. Be quiet. Conform. By the time you’re going to middle school you’re done! You’re angry! You not only take it out on the people that hate you, but you take it out on those who look like you because in their eyes you have failed them too. And let’s keep it real. Our education system is about 90% white with the majority being women. That’s the truth. Hardly any males and definitely hardly any representation for these males to relate to. I’m not going to go there about funding. That’s a whole other blog by itself. I will say this, caring and loving on your students is for free. They Can’t Breathe.
I could go on and on with my experiences as a classroom teacher. Now I’m a mother with a son of my own. Everyday I ponder about what I’m doing to prepare him for a world that won’t let him breathe. Being who he is a weapon and in some cases a death sentence. Village Mamas, I encourage you to pay attention to what’s going on in your child’s school (and not just when they get into trouble). If you can, volunteer. Go a step further and run for school boards, PTA boards, or any other board that affects school and/or district policy. Insist on celebrating Black History Month or that it be part of the curriculum period. It’s just like any other system. It won’t change unless you insist that it does.
There’s so much that needs to change in this country. Thinking about it sounds overwhelming, but I know it can be done TOGETHER! Coming together to break down a 400yr old system is WAY overdue, but it’s a must!
BlackTeachingMama2 