"I ain't even white." |
I think we all have a similar nightmare. That phone call in the middle of the night. You know something is terribly, terribly wrong because there is no other reason for your phone to be ringing. Let me preface this all by saying everything's fine. Fine I guess is relative, but my student is doing well. But at 3:50 am I woke up to 3 missed calls and multiple text messages saying one of my students had been shot. And when I say one of my students, I really mean one of my babies. I internally panicked. I didn't cry or scream, but my heart raced and I instantly felt nauseated. I frantically called back numbers, trying to gain as much understanding as I could about they hows and the whys of the circumstances. After lots of confusion and lack of information (but with tremendous help from my phenomenal coworkers), we found the following article: They call them “trunk parties”… When you’re going off to college, so everything is in your trunk. I don’t know, I like the name.
It was my boy’s trunk party when an argument ensued and resulted in his assailant using a gun instead of words. I’d even prefer fists at this point. I don’t know the details of the argument. I don’t need to know them. I don’t know who did it. I don’t need to know. It would make forgiveness harder anyway. I just know that it’s not okay. And let’s all be clear. My student was outside of his home at his going away party for his accomplishments. This young man is going to college. He wants to be a pediatric dentist one day. This is not a thug or a hoodlum or whatever word someone wants to call him to make themselves feel better about justifying why it happened. The violence is in no way justified. It is not rational. You can’t reason your way out of it or around it or through it. This is the world we live in. In the wise words of my coworker: “Violence will come to anyone’s address. We are all subject to peril.” The acceptance of that truth, the idea that no one had to do anything wrong to be shot, scares people a little bit. It makes everyone vulnerable. It makes everyone’s judgment and prejudices weak and unfounded. We frequent the phrase, “Bad things happen to good people.” But I think we put a disclaimer in our heads: *except in the hood of Philadelphia when it comes to a 19 year-old black male because he definitely did something to provoke it. My college-bound, charismatic, singing goofball of a high school graduate was shot at his own going away party outside of his home. Don’t try to rationalize it. It doesn’t help. My student is okay. The wound is not in any way threatening, and he is leaving for college well and on time. The stress I experienced between 4 am and 9 am is nothing I ever want to experience again… but unfortunately I am entirely too aware that the job I have selected has strategically placed me in the statistical pool of dealing with gun violence survivors and victims. Many people can mentally handle their worst fears because statistically whatever it is (sharks, kidnapping, etc.), it’s probable that it will never happen. I have chosen (and have accepted) a job where my fear of waking up to bad news in the middle of the night once a year is not only a possibility, but likely. I can’t imagine what anxiety mothers of black children deal with on a daily basis. Please remember, the news stories you see are not about fake people (although they may be fabricated and dramatized at times). My student is not a statistic and will not be a product of Philly gun violence. He is getting out. He is going away. In the best way possible. I love my students. So much so that I hope I never see them in Philadelphia again.
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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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