8/21/2019 2 Comments The BadgeI have a blue-and-white badge that identifies me as a teacher in a large, urban school district. It carries just a tiny bit of power—as in, activating the elevator and entering through the side door—you know, the one without metal detectors. But that same badge, and the position it signifies, gets me some wrinkled noses in the lily-white community where I live. Since I’m an #AuthorEducator whose teaching works synergistically with my writing—even in the thick of the August rush—allow me to clear up a few misperceptions. “Oh. Cincinnati Public.” For some white folks in the suburbs, those words are handled in the same way you’d pinch a Clorox wipe between your knuckles after wiping a toilet. As in, Oh, it’s necessary, but I try to stay far, far away. A few years back, I taught for a diverse suburban district, and I asked a teacher friend, “Why do people have such an attitude about Cincinnati Public?” She—a white woman with many black friends—answered bluntly: “They’re afraid of black people.” A couple years later, I met a white single mom who substitute-taught, and spent every penny of her meager earnings on an apartment in an affluent district. “I would do anything to keep my daughter out of Cincinnati.” But not long later, I was hired by the district, and sent my own son to kindergarten at a CPS magnet school. So there’s that. “Are all your students black?” Yes, people actually ask that, and no, it’s not true. At my school, we serve Appalachian, African-American, Hispanic, and multiracial students. And I still tense up when I recall convos from earlier in my career, when SO. MANY. PEOPLE. attributed “the behaviors” to “the black kids.” Please believe me when I say this...you’re harming everyone with this stereotype. Parenting styles, individual talents, income, and yes, even privilege are so much bigger than color. I have worked with beautifully advantaged black children, and white kids who railed against a world that they believed hated them. “Those teachers aren’t as qualified.” I have brushed up against some fabulous brains during my time at CPS. And I mean brains that are street smart as well as grade-and-test-score smart. We don’t just present content and plan experiences...we also spend countless hours on interventions to dismantle the barriers to learning that sprout up at every turn: hunger, racism, family dysfunction, drugs. “I heard you all got a raise.” This was reported to me in a bright, chipper voice by a staffer at my son’s school, after we moved to the suburbs. I smiled and nodded, thinking of how she heard about this on the news, and how conservative talk radio pundits would rail about how taxpayer dollars were being flushed. I also thought about eighth grade boys prying the bars off my xylophones, and seventh-grade girls spitting in my hair when my back was turned, and late nights, typing and grading at my computer. And, I thought about how Cincinnati teachers report to work on days of freezing cold, leaving our suburban kids at home because it was deemed unfair for us to stay home for inclement weather. I think I earned it, don’t you? “You must be glad to leave all that behind at the end of the day.” Actually, it’s a little sad. Have you ever seen The Princess and the Frog? Do you recall when Tiana and her seamstress mother left rich Lottie’s house and rode the streetcar, past the mansions and their lawns, to the lot of tiny row houses? I make that journey in reverse when I leave the city for the four-bedroom houses of my ‘hood.’ See? Even when I call it my ‘hood,’ you see the irony. (No cultural appropriation intended). I didn’t grow up with money. But rubbing shoulders with the poor every day gives me an awkward relationship with what I have. I know some, but not all, of the stories my students live. But my greatest hope is that they feel heard and validated by me. And if I am fortunate, it won’t just be within the white walls of my classroom. It’ll be in the white pages of the books I write, bringing their hurt and joy into full color. And maybe my story will spur them to write their own. Because stories live. Even when they come from those kids. In those neighborhoods. At the end of each school day, I stuff the badge in my purse before beginning the long trek home. But I still feel its weight around my neck.
2 Comments
Alida
8/23/2019 08:11:51 pm
Elena, I love this. I’m proud to call you my friend.
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Elena Vale Wahl
8/23/2019 09:16:49 pm
Thank you so much. Appreciate your encouragement.
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Elena Vale WahlI blogged much more when my kids were small. Hoping my quality supplants quantity. Archives
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