"I ain't even white." |
To the Mom on SEPTA with 3 Kids,
I see you. 3 kids under 6 years old, new born in the stroller, blocking the back door of the crowded public transportation bus because there's nowhere to stand. Your other two children are sitting in their seats with their backpacks on, and you're doing your best to make sure they behave so that you don't feel even more embarrassed about being in everyone's way. You try to get out of the way as all of the doctors, nurses, and therapists get off the bus at the hospital stop, and you're just trying to make sure your kids didn't forget their homework. It's early. You probably didn't really sleep because I see how tiny that baby is, and dang, I'm sure you haven't felt rested in years. But you didn't miss the bus. Your kids are dressed. They are on their way to school. You're doing it. You're a mama making sure her little ones are learning at the expense of feeling judged on a very cramped Philadelphia bus. You hope no one notices you, but I do. I see you. And I hope you know that I want to be like you when I'm a mom... teaching my children. Prioritizing their education. No matter how early. Or crazy. Or messy. You go, mama.
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We always say we're an "alternative education" program... but what the heck does that mean? Most of the time I don't know what it means either, but what I do know is that this year we have a lot of new, young staff trying to make learning happen in a creative, high-energy way that's never been done before. I love that part of my job. I have enthusiastic people around me that push me to be better, to do better. Sometimes teachers who "fell into" teaching rather than being forced to be a teacher have the most innovative thoughts and ideas for students. Being a part of a team that embraces change and creativity is so refreshing.
Last week we had so much fun. Like so much. From Cinco de Mayo to Throwdown Thursday and a Teacher Appreciation party, there was a lot of love in the building. Starting with Cinco de Mayo, students got to make piñatas, break piñatas, dance, and fiesta while learning about a source of Mexican American pride. We had a quiz-off about Cinco de Mayo facts to see who got to break the piñatas, and I was so impressed with their participation and knowledge. Fun fact, Cinco de Mayo is not Mexico's Independence Day. My students know that now, and they had fun knowing it. I'm caught. Caught between rural and urban, between middle class and poverty, between Boyertown and Philadelphia, between Bachelor's degrees and illiteracy, between police and civilian, between white and black. Because for some reason, there are only ever two sides, and the suggestion of a third is similar to suggesting a triangle has four of them. My thoughts are so elementary at this point that the idea of developing them into words is a colossal undertaking. It is quite nearly impossible to express my emotions because I am finally starting to realize that I am not the first white woman trying to have racial reconciliation conversations with their white communities. People have been trying to have these conversations for decades, but here we are...in a state of volatile anger that is not being contained or directed. Is this 1968? Let me make one thing very clear: I love my students. I love my students so much that I frequently lose sleep over the thought that even though I saw them on Friday, I may not see them on Monday. Their lives, their black lives, matter to me very much. And that statement made on my social media account is often viewed as an affront to my home community. You have to understand the two major community influences on my life: Boyertown, PA and Philadelphia. The majority of my life was spent in a rural community with a racial demographic of 98.83% white and a median household family income of $52, 943. As the income of families has slowly increased in suburbia, Southwest Philadelphia has had decreasing average household incomes for the past 15 years. (The cause of which is white flight and lack of local businesses). All of the students in my school qualify for reduced/free lunch. I think about how little I've struggled. How I went to school, received a high-end education in an affluent neighborhood, and had all the resources from the public school system I needed to acquire the necessary skills for a post-secondary degree. Then I met my students who have the reading level of third graders and have never been taught how to type. Not only that, but I hear stories of dead or figuratively dead parents, gun violence on their blocks, and drug-related earned money they view as necessary to feed their families. Yes, my students have done many illegal things. My students are angry. All the time, they are angry. And believe me, I try to ask them why they come to school in the morning yelling at me when I haven't even spoken to them yet. They can't explain it, and they know it's irrational, but they can't help it, and that frustrates them even more. They have so much anger in their hearts with no identified cause and definitely no identified solution. They also have little respect for authority: parents, teachers, police, doesn't matter. Authority. But the crime, anger, and disrespect are effects...not causes. I often find us as a society addressing the branches instead of roots. The unrest in the black community right now is not rooted in police brutality. To assume that this unbridled frustration showed up when Trayvon Martin died is naive and too trusting of media portrayal. In the past 8 months, my entire worldview has been turned on its head. Unfortunately, I was sheltered by my abundance of resources and conservative, white counterparts my entire life believing that as a Christian, I had to be a Republican on all party lines for every hot button issue. No independent thinking was required of me. I just had to trust that conservative Christians were generally right about everything...worry about thinking for yourself when you're a parent and have to indoctrinate your own children. Luckily, I had parents and a few close teachers and college professors throughout my life that instilled in me independence of mind and spirit. (Shout out to y'all because I needed you). They encouraged me to use my God-given talents to discover truth. And I can say God-given because I am still a Christian regardless of my stance on social justice issues. I don't know about you, but I can frequently feel judgment and tension via social media. I know that there are people who read my black lives matter hashtag and think I have lost my salvation. To that I say, the Lord knows my heart. I personally have not grappled with the root of the problem enough to speak definitively on what I believe. I also do not have a concrete solution to propose. Here is what I know to be true: my students are struggling. They feel betrayed. They know the odds are stacked against them. They feel unsafe in the hands of authority. And authority often means white people. And here I am, trying to help them understand that I love them. I am white, and I love them. The title of this blog is "I Ain't Even White." I had a humorous conversation with about 5 female students of mine, when this phrase came up. They said, "You ain't even white, Mrs. Tellis. You black. You just like us." And although to them that was the biggest compliment in the whole world because that meant I fit in, it showed me a sad reality. The reality is that in order for me to be trusted, to be good in their eyes, I must also be black. All things associated with being white are negative. I can't be white and be their favorite teacher...I must be removed from my white race and be placed in the black one to be accepted. The moment I earn their trust, I can no longer be white...because white people can't be trusted. I went to the Philly is Baltimore rally on Thursday. The entire time I was there, the protest was extremely calm and so insightful. The image you see below from the New York Times is of one of my students yelling at an officer after his friend was hit with a baton. This altercation went on for about 2 minutes. After that, the protest resumed with no further physical altercations. I have also seen video of this incident. My student yelled obscenities at an officer that I am not proud of, but I know this young man's story. What I am proud of is that even though he has no parents, he has a GPA of 3.6, while many of his peers have a GPA below 1. He is a spoken word poet, a dancer, a singer, and gives me a hug every single day. I am so, so proud of him. Just because I say black lives matter does not mean I say F*** the Police. I would never, ever disrespect law enforcement in that way. I would also never disgrace the American flag as has been a trend on social media as of late. What I know is that there needs to be racial reconciliation because justice has not translated well among all races in our country. I don't know what that looks like yet, but the discussion I have with my students is helping me understand...little by little.
The one thing I ask is this: never, ever call one of my students a mindless idiot or a thug. I can guarantee that those types of comments do not assist in the reconciliation process. What good does name-calling do for us? I watched multiple "friends" of mine on social media make comments such as these, and it makes me want to cry and scream and cry some more. You are seeing many of my young male and female students on one side of their testimony. They are a work in progress. Just like me. Just like you. Have you ever listened to someone give a motivational speech? They talk about all the things they used to say and do that they might not be so proud of? But now, look at what they've turned all of that anger and frustration into. My students are "pre-turning point," "on the cusp," "pre-transition." Wait until you see what they can do. Wait until you hear their motivational speeches, their testimonies. And until then...they are not thugs. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Each day I pray that I can be a source of love and hope in the lives of my students. I pray for protection, not for me, but for them. Believe me, my students have admitted they would let something happen to themselves before anything happened to me. Daily I watch their loyalty to me grow stronger as we educate each other. They become passionate about things they didn't know existed until they started to come to school more than twice a semester. It is that fire, that passion, that energy that needs to be directed. It needs to be lead. There is a movement happening. My students are in the thick of it, and so am I. Pray for reconciliation in love, not judgment. |
AuthorA young woman trying to figure out why she matters and where she belongs in a struggling, urban culture. CategoriesArchives
November 2016
All stories, opinions, and suggestions are written strictly by the author of this blog, and do not reflect the opinions or stance of Communities in Schools of Philadelphia.
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