Using Our Past To Brighten Their Future
EXTENDED FAMILY
The childhood memories of many baby boomers like myself include recollections of a caring community that made sure everyone’s needs were met. We had food, clean clothing, shelter, and love—the most important elements necessary for survival. Neighbors looked out for each other’s children; even teachers fearlessly visited a student’s home for a face-to-face parent conference. The public housing complex where I grew up, in Washington, D.C., was called Kenilworth Courts, ironically named for an English castle built during the Middle Ages.
Because my exposure beyond Kenilworth was very limited, I had no real understanding of poverty or sense of injustice. In Kenilworth, extended family was a way of life and sharing resources was an absolute necessity. Sometimes three families lived in our three bedroom home at one time—three families to a room. But, most of the neighborhood lived this way, so there was no feeling of shame or inferiority.
My extended family also included the church—Antioch Baptist Church. My great-grandparents were among the founders of Antioch, in Northeast, D.C., walking distance from my home. At Antioch, I first experienced what I now understand to be a “spiritual awakening” when I was around 11- or 12-years-old. I remember being moved by gospel lyrics like, “I must tell Jesus, I must tell Jesus… I cannot bear these burdens alone… I must tell Jesus…Jesus can help me, Jesus alone.” That song always brought on a rush of tears that left me feeling spent, and then renewed. I wondered if anyone else my age was experiencing this kind of emotional chaos.
Entering puberty was a difficult time. Like most 12-year-olds, I didn’t quite understand what was going on, but I knew I was changing and everything around me was changing as well. And from this point, my spiritual awakening would evolve into a foundation that kept me from crumbling under the difficult times to come.
WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD
The assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was my introduction to the reality of African American Life in our nation. On that day, I had no understanding of why my young adult cousins were looting liquor stores and hiding expensive brands of scotch, brandy, vodka and other spirits in our washing machine. By late evening, I had gathered from adult conversations that, “They did the wrong thing when they killed Dr. King.” And so, in my 13-year-old mind, I decided to do my part by joining the “group shopping” in the local Safeway. I filled my grocery cart with fresh beef, chicken, ham, canned vegetables, pickled pig’s feet and Hostess Cupcakes. The memory is very clear, because I almost fainted while pushing the overloaded Safeway cart from the store to home. And I still think about it to this day, every time I pass what used to be that Safeway. That adventure ended up being a hard lesson for the people of Kenilworth Courts. After destroying our local grocery store, which was within walking distance, we had to catch the bus or a cab to get to the nearest grocer miles and miles away; or, pay the higher prices at the corner store owned by Mr. Henry, a nice, fatherly Jewish man who gave us credit. Who would have guessed that it would take some 40 years before local businesses would return, not to mention that so few people of color were involved in that revival.
The riots were one of two major events that affected me as a youth. The second was the return of our young Black men from the Viet Nam War. Young men who were like brothers to me came home forever changed by the horrors of war. And the very drugs prescribed to help them to mentally endure those horrors would be the very thing that shattered not only their lives, but our community. The drug industry has no doubt replaced cotton but seems to have found fertile soil in capitalism—another story. I can only say that it has been by the grace of God that I survived the drug crisis without succumbing to addiction. So many of my friends lost their lives from drug overdose, drug trafficking or drug related illnesses, such as AIDS.
MY SOUL LOOKS BACK AND WONDERS
Now that I am 65-years-old and retired, I’ve become very reflective and grateful for just being alive. I’m privileged to be still standing and in a position to make a difference, particularly, in the lives of children who face the disadvantages that still plague impoverished neighborhoods.
Even though, for me, “life ain’t been no crystal stair,” I now view those hardships differently. Somehow, I managed to overcome each one. And in my reflections, I still wonder.
I wonder how I managed to make it through my last year of high school as a pregnant teen.
I wonder what kept me from losing my sanity after losing my child to leukemia 18 months after her birth.
“Within each one of these ‘wonders’ is a story that can stand on its own. Stories that are linked by a pattern of triumph over adversity. Stories that served as testimonies and reminders that God was always with me. ”
I dare to wonder how hard it must have been for my mother, who shared my pain and supported me through all these events.
I wonder how different my life might have been if I had never enrolled in a community college a year after my daughter’s death.
I wonder how I might have fared if I had not become an employee at that same community college, working there for a total of 25 years. Without a doubt, the academic environment played a major role in reshaping a naïve 19 year old from the projects into a more enlightened “lady.” (I traded my afro and ghetto pass for a perm and an associate’s degree.)
I wonder what the future might have been like for my four teenagers if I had died in the terrible car crash that happened on my way home from work. My children saw the totaled, overturned vehicle on the news without knowing their own mother had been its passenger. It would be months before they welcomed me home from the hospital.
Within each one of these “wonders” is a story that can stand on its own. Stories that are linked by a pattern of triumph over adversity. Stories that served as testimonies and reminders that God was always with me. And that His presence was often made tangible by the love and support of family, friends and a caring community.
A SENSE OF PURPOSE
I found my true purpose when I became an elementary school teacher at a school located in a neighborhood similar to the one of my youth. Early on, I realized that those “wonders” I had experienced throughout my life had prepared me for such a time as this. The combination of my academic preparation and urban/ghetto survival skills helped me navigate the harsh waters of the school system, as well as the ability to empathize with my students and their parents.
And now, four years into retirement, I often reflect on how I dared to step outside the traditional back-to-school curriculum, determined to help my students begin seeing themselves not just as members of a classroom community, but also to visualize themselves as global citizens. The latter would be a long process that required me to start teaching some Black History in September.
WE’RE ALL CONNECTED
After establishing our classroom agreement, routines and procedures, I managed to carve out a little time to discuss an important Black History fact. I informed my students that there was a time, not very long ago, when it was actually illegal to teach Black people (children and adults) to read. Rather than wait until Black History month to bring up this fact, I chose to share it at the beginning of the school year in order to help emphasize the importance and value of education. These were, of course, new second graders who, at that time, were more interested in recess, P.E. and developing friendships than hearing another story about old people, “back in the day.” Nevertheless, I proceeded to plant this seed of knowledge with the hope that it would be watered and nurtured by other educators in the future, as their little minds matured.
Late in September, I continued to step outside the box of the approved curriculum. We explored more Black history, this time with an eye toward preparing a foundation upon which students could begin building a global perspective of themselves. The question was posed: “Why is Africa called the Motherland?” This became our line of inquiry. I snatched time from morning meetings and afternoon Social Studies to engage students in discussions about the geographical and social relevance of Africa being the birthplace of humanity.
“ I informed my students that there was a time, not very long ago, when it was actually illegal to teach Black people (children and adults) to read.”
I felt it was important for my students to understand why Africa was considered the Motherland so that they could appreciate how we are all connected--no matter where we live in the world. It might have been somewhat idealistic to think that this understanding would automatically cause students to embrace each other as brothers and sisters. But I chose to believe that it was worth sharing since I hoped that they might grow up to value the importance of sharing in and benefiting from a deep sense of community. And, if this concept was revisited on every grade level, perhaps tolerance would replace the false sense of superiority that has prevailed and plagued our nation for centuries.
It always made me smile to see how much my students enjoyed exploring our large, colorful map as we traced the first human migration from Africa to other continents. The look of amazement on their faces signaled that their brains welcomed this new schema. And, I got a kick out of watching the Social Studies learning station become more popular as they explored atlases and books about countries and cultures around the world. There was always an emphasis on comparing and contrasting our culture with others to show how much we have in common—the belief that anything is possible when people work together for good; that sacrifice, for the sake of building and sustaining communal relationships, advances quality of life more than does self-concern, and, that there are enough resources in this world to meet each person’s need to live with dignity, safety and in good health, if we but simply choose to use God’s provision of abundance for everyone’s betterment.
Hispanic and Native American Heritage Months provided the perfect opportunities for exploring different cultures. By the time Black History month did arrive, we were ready to compare and contrast the legend of female warrior Mulan of China with the story of warrior king Sundiata, the real-life Lion King of Mali. Sundiata is one of the many royal figures of African history included in our Black History Month lessons. I felt it important to begin our studies by focusing on our royal heritage and then move through a time-line covering ancient scholars and scientists so that students would know that there is more to their history than slavery.
TEACHING STUDENTS INSTEAD OF STANDARDS
While there were other teachers like me, who shared a passion for helping students develop a sense of self-awareness and a global perspective, there were also far too many who stopped short of this under the pressure of “teaching to the test.” This is a practice in which teachers, shortly after winter break, begin focusing more on teaching strategies for completing the standardized test rather than continuing to teach grade-level content material. In other words, there is not much time left for Social Studies and Science. Never mind the fact that Social Studies and Science content helps build the background knowledge students need to be successful on tests and especially in life.
Thankfully, the Washington school system decided that second graders would no longer be required to take the standardized test. I considered this a Godsend because it allowed me to devote the time needed to focus on the students themselves. Being able to focus on their strengths and challenges helped me create a learning environment that addressed their individual needs, as well as foster a sense of self-awareness, community and tolerance. Hopefully, this will help them achieve their goals and break the negative generational cycles that still exist among people of color.
While I do look back and wonder, mostly, I look forward with gratitude that I’m still here! And my sense of purpose is even greater because knowledge plus understanding equals wisdom. Having wisdom and sharing it with others makes every trial, tribulation and triumph of the past worth the journey. When I’m surrounded by my children and grandchildren engaging in discussion and debates, I think, “This must be what it’s like to be an African village griot.” There is no feeling like it in the world.
“When I’m surrounded by my children and grandchildren engaging in discussion and debates, I think, ‘This must be what it’s like to be an African village griot.’ There is no feeling like it in the world.”
A true educator never really retires. A true educator continues to be unsettled by the evidence all around us that there is much work yet to be done. The playing field for students labeled “at-risk” is still extremely uneven for numerous reasons. Now that I have retired from the “system,” I am free to be more strategic in my purpose and passion for lifting up our youth in the same spirit that others embraced and invested in me--a young girl from the projects. If we truly believe that our children are our future, then we should also believe that our lives become more meaningful when we commit some portion of our talents, gifts and wisdom to their benefit. We all have something to share. This has become my “Why”—the thing that drives me to make every moment a teachable moment. The inner voice that reminds me there is always something new to learn and pass on to someone else.