On a
gray Monday last February, the morning announcements start, as usual, with,
"Please rise for the Pledge of Allegiance..." I turn on my heels,
mid-sentence, to face the loudspeaker, placing my hand over my heart. The
students dutifully hoist themselves up out of their seats. Behind me, I
hear a few exaggerated groans that imply, “too much effort on a Monday
morning,” along with whispered accounts of the week-end gossip.
"I don't even like living in America!" Neveah practically
shouts as everyone begins to recite. I shoot her the teacher glare of
disapproval, trying to convey, "We WILL talk about this as soon as the
announcements are over," with my furrowed brow and exasperated head
snap. The minute the loudspeaker quiets, I launch into an explanation of
how many boys and girls around the world would do anything for an education.
I then point out that women must be especially grateful to live in
America, explaining that this country affords more freedom and opportunity to
our sex than most places around the globe.
From
that day, until the end of the school year, I regularly address the difficult
living conditions and lack of education, as well as deplorable treatment of
women in other countries. Occasionally, I preface the segment by saying,
"Some people may not appreciate living in the US, but let's take a look at
what life is like in...." At this, the students in the class would all
turn and look at Neveah and she would grin, replying to the accusatory glares
with, “What y’all lookin’ at me for?” She knew better than to say what
she had, but she did it anyway. I wanted to open her eyes to the world
around her, not realizing how she would open mine.
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| Photo taken by Kimmie Fadem |
School
got off to a rough start last year. The Missouri Supreme Court decision
to allow school transfers caused controversy throughout the St. Louis
metropolitan area. My son was starting kindergarten and we live in one of
the two districts chosen to accommodate the majority of those transfer
students. As a teacher, I know how hard it is for kids to learn in
overfull classrooms. I was relieved when I found out that my son's school
was already at capacity and would not be able to accept any kids from out of
district. I just want the best for my children. Overflowing
classrooms are not good for anyone, I reasoned with the voice in my head that
asked, “how is your child more deserving than any other?”
I
teach middle school French in the district neighboring most closely the one
where I live. While most of my 7th graders were excited to
talk about croissants and French fashion, Neveah would blurt out things like,
"Why are we doing this?" and "I don't even want to learn
French!” My mom instincts sensed how badly she wanted my attention, so it
didn’t register as disrespectful. The other students would roll their
eyes, or flat out ask her, "Then, why did you sign up for this
class?" Since they had taken care of the obvious questions, I would
just smile and gently tease, “France has the world’s best food and shopping,
how could anyone not want to speak French?” She softened immediately,
smiling down bashfully at her desk. I decided not to call her bluff by
pointing out the carefully organized notes she kept. Acting tough was her
security blanket. I thought of my son on one of his rough days, how he
heads straight to his room to retrieve “Big Brownie” and then comes out to the
couch, asking me to wrap him up tight.
May 6,
2014 I learned that the Missouri Senate overrode Governor Nixon’s veto of Bill
509. I had barely finished reading the e-mail before I was on my feet,
running down to my colleague and Union rep’s classroom. In a panic, I
burst through his door exclaiming, “Missouri Senate Bill 509! It passed.
They overrode the veto, again, this time it’s gonna stick! Shit!
I just don’t know why anyone would think it’s a good idea to cut money
from schools. This is where our kids are being formed into the people who
will take over the society, the world, WE all have to inhabit! I’m
so sick of the short-sighted politics that rob from our future to line a few
greedy pockets.” His eyes sparkled up over the reading glasses that bridge
his nose midway down. He’s in his early 50’s, a life-long 7th
grade English teacher who loves his job. He emanates zen. After
thirty years teaching middle school, he didn't blink at my hysterical
entrance. He responded with the articulate panache of a million dollar
attorney rendered even more charming by his surfer’s diction. “Yeah, you’ve got
to send letters to your representative. Look up “NEA, Senate Bill 509,”
sign your name to their form letter and e-mail it off. There will
probably be litigation to slow it down or tie it up. Worse case scenario,
it won’t go into effect for a couple of years, at least.” I started to
feel a little better and then he added. “You know, the wealthier county
districts like this one won’t be affected nearly as much as the poorer ones.
We get so much money from our residential tax base that we defer most of
our state money.” Relief flooded over me even as an insidious thought surfaced.
“What about Normandy and Riverview Gardens? They’re already in such
financial turmoil.”
“It’ll
be bad for them,” he conceded with a sigh. “This is why advocacy is so
important.”
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| St. Louis School budgets before and after Senate Bill 509 takes effect |
The
school year ended and my concerns faded like black top in the hot Summer sun.
The 2014-2015 school year started on August 12 at my school.
Michael Brown was shot and killed the Saturday night before our first day
of classes. I didn’t see Neveah in French 2, though she was on the roster.
Then, on Thursday morning, I saw her while I waited in line at the
drinking fountain. The hallways swarmed with teenage angst, but I noticed
right away that she had grown taller. She stood with her shoulders rolled
forward, arms crossed over her belly. Her posturing diminished her height
and effortless beauty, communicating acute self-doubt, the opposite of
laziness. She blustered up to the line, “I’m gonna strangle someone!”
“Just
do it now!” joked the band director, Mr. Stevens, before bending down for his
drink. Taking his cue, I laugh and chime in, “Just put us out of our
misery, right?” and go down for my turn as Mr. Stevens straightened, asking,
“What’s wrong Neveah?” She played the clarinet, so, like me, he knew that
a hint of kindness easily defeated her anger. By the time I stand back up, all bravado drained from
her voice and she answered softly,“My stomach hurts,” eyes darting across the
floor to avoid mine. “Did you eat breakfast?” My standard question when
students complain about minor ailments first thing in the morning. “Naw”
a bit of fight returning with her answer. I readjust my approach, “Do you
want a cereal bar?” I try to sound motherly, hoping for kind and concerned, not
bossy or patronizing. “That’s aight.” she said, walking away,
leaving me to mourn the sight of her true potential.
Neveah made me look at my white privilege. Once I did, I realized how many other instances there had been. For example, Michael Brown’s Mom, Leslie McSpadden,
graduated from my high school alma mater, Ladue, in 1998. She and
many others participated in Voluntary Interdistrict Choice (VICC), which reached
its peak in the mid 1990s. VICC still exists today, but Ladue, the wealthiest Public County school, no longer participates. I had no idea
that Mike Brown's Mom and I went to High School together until hearing it in the news after his death. Also, despite knowing better, I still felt relief when my son’s school turned
away transfer students in August 2013. Next, I should have, but didn't object to Missouri Senate Bill 509 since it
minimally impacted the schools in my neighborhood. Finally, watching my smart, beautiful student
shoulder the weight of my casually discarded burdens made me realize. Looking backwards at Neveah, I now see who was teaching all along.
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| One of many murals on boarded up businesses in Ferguson |
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