A reason to come back...
So I haven't written on here in over a year, but today something became worth writing about. I'm teaching summer school, and I love it. I never thought I would say that, but God has an amazing way of working all things for good. The kids in my classes are interesting and really smart. I'm learning all kinds of lessons from working with them. But today was definitely the best lesson I've learned as a teacher.
Let me give some background. I am teaching a sophomore class and a junior class. These are all kids that didn't pass the first time around and the classes are 3 1/2 hours long every day. The first one starts at 7:30 AM. None of us are all that excited about these hours, but we're making it. Anyway--I had never taught a junior class before...EVER...So when I was planning the class, I thought I'd go with the basics--The Great Gatsby and The Crucible. But everything changed the first day of school. Between both classes there are two white people in the classes--me and one sophomore girl. I quickly realized that I didn't want to make kids from so many different backgrounds read two books written by dead white guys all about white people. I didn't want them to leave the class thinking that the only people who have anything to say worth reading are white. I also didn't want them to think that the only people whose lives matter look just like me. So I quickly picked up the copy of A Raisin in the Sun that I had grabbed in the book room. It took all of two seconds to decide that this would be our second text. I can't tell you how glad I am that we are reading this play. It's amazing, interesting, and incredibly relevant. Today is the perfect example of this.
This may or not be a familiar play. (I had heard of it but hadn't read it until last week.) The play's title comes from a line in Langston Hughes's poem "Harlem" I'll post it below so you get a feel for it.
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
So we spent a day discussing what happens to a person when his/her dreams are always just out of reach or are always being put off. And then we started the play. Today we were reading along and got into a discussion of past generations sacrificing so that the current generation can have a better life. This led to a discussion of progress in civil rights and the work that still needs to be done. One of my Latino students said that he thought that the life these African American characters were living in the 60's is much like the Latino life these days. In a room full of students of color, this led to a vitally important and enlightening conversation.
The next 30 minutes was fascinating. It seemed like almost every student in the room had something to add--the way someone's mother was passed over for a job in favor of a white woman, the way the he always gets offered the lowest possible job because of his ethnicity, the way that store employees always follow her around and assume she'll steal because she's Black. So we (me and the other teacher in the room) start talking about the importance of fighting these things, of not giving up. But I sat there thinking how hard it is to say that as a white woman.
Obviously my life isn't perfect just because I'm white, but I'd have to be a fool to think that being white hasn't made life easier in a lot of ways. The stereotypes about me are mostly funny--and sadly true--I can't dance, rap, or jump. I don't have to worry about someone assuming I'm a criminal when they pull me over and see my skin color. I can walk into a store and no one gives me the stink eye. When I go for a job interview, my race never really enters my mind. I'm not saying that white people are never the victims of racism--I'm sure they are occasionally, but it's not nearly as much of a systemic problem as it is for other races. No one questions my citizenship when I walk down the street; no one assumes I am a trouble maker. And sitting here, listening to all that these kids deal with as teenagers makes my heart ache for them.
But it also is a wake-up call. I told them today that the way change happens is for all of us to decide to fight for equality, but that that means even those of us who are privileged because of our race have to decide to fight. And I was speaking more to myself than to any of them. I get way too comfortable with being white. I don't think about how my students struggle. In a school as diverse as mine, it's easy to forget about race. I know that sounds weird, but because we are all constantly mingling together, I forget that these kids leave school and go into a world that is still divided in a lot of ways. Heck--I could just look at the cafeteria and see that. But that's another conversation for another day.
I should add in here that in all this conversation about discrimination, I also had to stand up for myself. A student said something about "white people," and I was quick to clarify that, just as they can't be summed up as a group, white people can't be either. I told them that it's not fair for people to assume that I'm racist just because of my skin color. I told them that people have made assumptions about me before too. I encouraged them to fight all stereotypes--not just the ones affecting them. Racism is racism no matter what colors are involved.
I guess the reason I wanted to blog again was to say that as much as I like to think of myself as progressive when it comes to race, today's conversation woke me up. It made me realize how easy it is to sit in my little white skin and be comfortable. It's not that I don't care about discrimination. One of the reasons I like my school is because I get to prepare kids of all races to compete on equal footing. I firmly believe that the first step to equality is to give all kids a good education, and I like feeling like I am spending my days working towards that. But I had gotten so comfortable in my world, I forgot that I should always be a little uncomfortable as long as I know that not everyone gets to be comfortable. I need to speak, act, and fight for others. Especially as a Christian...I don't have the right to say, "Man, that stinks." I'm not sure that squares with James 2:15 which calls us to do more that say a quick, "Go in peace" to people that need something. It's one thing to know in a theoretical sense that racism is still a problem. It's quite another to have that racism become faces of 17-year-olds who get pushed around because of their races. And I can't dismiss their stories. I know them. And it makes it so much more important to fight against racism when the victims are people I know and love.
But I'm not really sure how you go about changing things. It's one thing to tell your government, but how do you change individual people's minds? So I guess this is where I pray for wisdom, to know how to affect change. Sorry I don't have a big, fancy end to this one. But I guess it's more of a start.
Let me give some background. I am teaching a sophomore class and a junior class. These are all kids that didn't pass the first time around and the classes are 3 1/2 hours long every day. The first one starts at 7:30 AM. None of us are all that excited about these hours, but we're making it. Anyway--I had never taught a junior class before...EVER...So when I was planning the class, I thought I'd go with the basics--The Great Gatsby and The Crucible. But everything changed the first day of school. Between both classes there are two white people in the classes--me and one sophomore girl. I quickly realized that I didn't want to make kids from so many different backgrounds read two books written by dead white guys all about white people. I didn't want them to leave the class thinking that the only people who have anything to say worth reading are white. I also didn't want them to think that the only people whose lives matter look just like me. So I quickly picked up the copy of A Raisin in the Sun that I had grabbed in the book room. It took all of two seconds to decide that this would be our second text. I can't tell you how glad I am that we are reading this play. It's amazing, interesting, and incredibly relevant. Today is the perfect example of this.
This may or not be a familiar play. (I had heard of it but hadn't read it until last week.) The play's title comes from a line in Langston Hughes's poem "Harlem" I'll post it below so you get a feel for it.
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
like a heavy load.
The next 30 minutes was fascinating. It seemed like almost every student in the room had something to add--the way someone's mother was passed over for a job in favor of a white woman, the way the he always gets offered the lowest possible job because of his ethnicity, the way that store employees always follow her around and assume she'll steal because she's Black. So we (me and the other teacher in the room) start talking about the importance of fighting these things, of not giving up. But I sat there thinking how hard it is to say that as a white woman.
Obviously my life isn't perfect just because I'm white, but I'd have to be a fool to think that being white hasn't made life easier in a lot of ways. The stereotypes about me are mostly funny--and sadly true--I can't dance, rap, or jump. I don't have to worry about someone assuming I'm a criminal when they pull me over and see my skin color. I can walk into a store and no one gives me the stink eye. When I go for a job interview, my race never really enters my mind. I'm not saying that white people are never the victims of racism--I'm sure they are occasionally, but it's not nearly as much of a systemic problem as it is for other races. No one questions my citizenship when I walk down the street; no one assumes I am a trouble maker. And sitting here, listening to all that these kids deal with as teenagers makes my heart ache for them.
But it also is a wake-up call. I told them today that the way change happens is for all of us to decide to fight for equality, but that that means even those of us who are privileged because of our race have to decide to fight. And I was speaking more to myself than to any of them. I get way too comfortable with being white. I don't think about how my students struggle. In a school as diverse as mine, it's easy to forget about race. I know that sounds weird, but because we are all constantly mingling together, I forget that these kids leave school and go into a world that is still divided in a lot of ways. Heck--I could just look at the cafeteria and see that. But that's another conversation for another day.
I should add in here that in all this conversation about discrimination, I also had to stand up for myself. A student said something about "white people," and I was quick to clarify that, just as they can't be summed up as a group, white people can't be either. I told them that it's not fair for people to assume that I'm racist just because of my skin color. I told them that people have made assumptions about me before too. I encouraged them to fight all stereotypes--not just the ones affecting them. Racism is racism no matter what colors are involved.
I guess the reason I wanted to blog again was to say that as much as I like to think of myself as progressive when it comes to race, today's conversation woke me up. It made me realize how easy it is to sit in my little white skin and be comfortable. It's not that I don't care about discrimination. One of the reasons I like my school is because I get to prepare kids of all races to compete on equal footing. I firmly believe that the first step to equality is to give all kids a good education, and I like feeling like I am spending my days working towards that. But I had gotten so comfortable in my world, I forgot that I should always be a little uncomfortable as long as I know that not everyone gets to be comfortable. I need to speak, act, and fight for others. Especially as a Christian...I don't have the right to say, "Man, that stinks." I'm not sure that squares with James 2:15 which calls us to do more that say a quick, "Go in peace" to people that need something. It's one thing to know in a theoretical sense that racism is still a problem. It's quite another to have that racism become faces of 17-year-olds who get pushed around because of their races. And I can't dismiss their stories. I know them. And it makes it so much more important to fight against racism when the victims are people I know and love.
But I'm not really sure how you go about changing things. It's one thing to tell your government, but how do you change individual people's minds? So I guess this is where I pray for wisdom, to know how to affect change. Sorry I don't have a big, fancy end to this one. But I guess it's more of a start.
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