It's Not Just A Black/White Thing

"How come there are no Black teachers in this school?" Michael asked the question as soon as he came in the door for homeroom. I judged it to be a legitimate question as Michael seemed to be a sincere boy. He had always been polite to me, which I appreciated beyond words. He wasn't trying to stir up controversy for the sake of conflict, but simply asking a very good question, one which I had often contemplated. Nevertheless, I had learned to keep my guard up. My answer was more than direct. It included both facts and conjecture. And it handed the solution over to a very young citizen.
"Michael, would you like to have Black teachers in this school?" So sweetly he gave a noncommittal answer in order to spare my feelings (a rare and precious thing recently). "Michael, think about studying hard and going on beyond high school. Go to college and continue on for your Master's in education or in some subject that you love. Then become a teacher in a school like this. You will be doing a great thing. It is important work." I went on to explain that there had been an extensive search for teachers of color to staff this school, a school in which three quarters of the students were African American and other minorities. The only certified teachers who had applied, who were interested at all, were middle aged, middle class white women like myself. I told Michael that I had read various explanations for this shortage of Black teachers. The one that seemed most feasible to me was that historically, people of color have been denied education, directly or indirectly. When such a treasured academic degree is achieved, often the educated Black scholar prefers to pursue a career more lucrative than teaching. Michael listened politely, then went on to breakfast with his classmates.
I thought about what E.D. Hirsch would say, and how Alfie Kohn would respond. I thought about the world being flat and Dan Pink's ideas about new ways of thinking and learning and doing business. I thought about my lessons drawing on Howard Zinn's ideas more than on textbooks to be marketed in our biggest states. Later that day, I went back to Michael's question and added some of my own.
I will list them here next time.

Fooled Again

The bus ride home was going to be rowdy, even with supervision. The kids had been on the bus for too many hours that day, and they had barely gotten through Project Success. It was a whole new concept for them – listening, cooperating, trusting. Now we were headed back to school to catch the next bus back to a place all too close to the place we had just departed . For some bureaucratic reason I didn’t quite understand, they could not be transported directly home, a ten minute ride, but needed to go back to school, 20 minutes away, and then to another school, 25 minutes back in the opposite direction, before they could catch their final ride home.

At first everyone was seated and the bus got under way. We left the adventure course and headed out onto the highway. Soon the children began to move about and become agitated. As supervising teacher, I turned my attention to the activities of the children standing in the aisle half way to the back of the bus. After determining that they were not about to self correct and sit down on their own, I moved toward them. “ Lashawn, Sheminqua, what are you doing?” No answer. “Lashawn” , louder this time, “it’s time to sit down. The bus driver has a rule. For safety.”
“Hol’ on, hol’ on, we dancin’ . Jus’ this once’, Miss. Hol’on. It almos’ over.“
White wires streamed from their ears and into devices in their pockets. Their bodies gyrated and jumped.

“Lashawn, we’re moving now. The driver will have to stop and he can’t take us anywhere when you are standing.“
It took only two minutes or so of this banter with my noncompliant – no, defiant students to get Lashawn, Sheminqua, Latoya, Naycreem, and a few others to sit quietly on the bus with no further argument. No disciplinary referrals would be needed and we were building rapport. I was pleasantly surprised and silently congratulated myself on effective leadership. After all, I was a veteran teacher, progressive, yet empathetic. The rest of the bus ride went fairly well. Things could only get better from here.

We arrived at school just on time and I was happy to report to the principal that the day had ended well. No sooner did I get those words out of my mouth than she said to me” We have a problem.” This was an extreme statement for her. In my short time working here, I had admired how she finds and promotes the good in kids who have eliminated all of their other options. The problem was promptly revealed. (Note the word choice, Dear Reader) a motorist had called the bus company who had then called the school. My standing students had had more of a mission than dancing to their favorite song. The motorist had reported that students were flashing.

“Mooning”, I clarified, hopefully, as if it mattered.

“Flashing”, said the principal.

At once it all came together like the conclusion of a cheap murder mystery. Moving ahead almost immediately, I knew I would be called on to compile a list of junior exhibitionists.


Resignedly, I informed the principal quite truthfully that the driver who reported the incident better be ready to identify the perpetrators (male or female, at least) since all I could do was identify my dancers, the ones who were not near the window and were indeed fully clothed.

The lesson will repeat until it is finally learned: Things are never as simple as they seem.