It Doesn't Matter If You're Black Or White

We were talking about the broken promise of the American Dream, civil rights, and racism...

Me: Is our school integrated? Or is it technically segregated since we're a 100% black school.
AN: It's segregated, but I mean, you're here, so you can count as not black.
AY: What you talkin' about? Ms. Walka's black!
CF: What are YOU talkin' about!? Look at her skin!
AY: I don't care what you think you see, we all know she black.
MB: Yeah, she's my mother!

It was one of my happiest moments. You may not know this little fact about me, but I strive to be a powerful black woman. Over the past 2 years I've not only gone through training to be a teacher, but a cultural training as well. I've learned it's not easy being a powerful black woman, and it hasn't been easy to learn how to be one either.

The first time it was brought to my attention that my students may not register me as white was midway through my first year. The colour difference between myself and my students was brought up, and I didn't want them to think that I was there as a white person trying to save them. I was there to teach them, not "save".

Me: So guys, there are some differences between us...
TJ: Yeah, you're really tall.
Me: True. But I was thinking–
JB: And you have green eyes.
Me: Again, true, but–
TJ: And you have really big feet!
Me: Thanks, T. But guys, the key difference between me and you all is that I'm white.
[Blank stares...]
[TJ stands up amongst the silent group of 24]
TJ: Nah Ms. Walka... you are black. [Holds up Black Power fist.]
Me: On the inside, honey, on the inside. But my skin is white.
JB: Oh well yeah, we knew that.

I was blown away, it had been a short 6 months and my students had already began to blur the lines between black and white. Could it be that my kids were becoming "colour blind"? No way - it was just because they spend all day every day with me that they're having a hard time differentiating. I was convinced that only my students would blur that line, and I attributed it to the fact that they look at me as their mother and someone who cares for them must be black since that's all they've ever known.

My second year brought on more colour confusion. My students had grown accustomed to me being a white-black woman, but they would get confused when people would look at us funny in public. They constantly thought people were looking at them, when in fact I was the one getting lots of stares. Some examples...

1. I drive CH home every day. When I pull up to his apartment complex, there are usually people sitting outside, hanging on the corner, gambling in the parking lot, buying drugs out of the "ice cream trucks", kids running through the fire hydrant on hot days. There are very few, if any, people who aren't black living in this area. So whenever I drive up and drop him off, people look into the car and give unwelcoming stares when they see some white chick driving a little black boy home. CH always thinks the neighbors are staring at him, and gets self-conscious. It wasn't until I told him that they are all staring at me that he realized, "Oh, I guess that makes sense, Ms. Walker. You are a bit out of place here. I forget sometimes."

2. I took a two of my girls out to the movies one Friday night. JN and MB were so excited to go to the movies with me and they had a wonderful time. However, they kept tugging on my arm and asking why people were looking at us. When I asked them why they thought people might be looking at us, they couldn't think of a reason. I mentioned the fact that they are black and I'm white might throw some people off - since I'm relatively close to their mothers' age and in some circumstances I could potentially be their mother, or older sister. They thought about it and decided that was probably it, but they were still confused when people kept looking at us.

3. Some of my adopted sons, DO, MD, and DT played in Passing League Football this past spring. This is essentially a touch football league that keeps the kids active in the spring and gives them something to do. I went to their games and helped support them with getting to and from, as there was limited room in coaches cars. There were no busses since it's not entirely affiliated with school sports, so it was a little hodge-podge. One night after a game, I was driving the boys home when we decided to stop at McDonald's as they hadn't eaten since lunch (7 hours ago...). We get inside, where I let them know dinner is my treat. They all order, one after another, and then I order a diet coke (I don't have the stomach for McDonald's). The guy behind the counter looks at me and then looks at the boys and we have the following conversation:

Cashier: Are you their coach?
Me: HAHAHAAHA.... Oh no.... not me.
Cashier: Oh, well.... then..... what are... I mean... How do you know them?
[I pause and look at the boys, who look back at me confused]
DO [shouting]: She's our mother!
[Everyone in the restaurant stares at me and the boys silently....]
Me: Yeah, something like that...
Cashier: Alright, well I won't judge you. That'll be $32.56.

The boys didn't realize until the awkward silence after DO's loud exclamation of love that it was weird for 3 teenage black boys to be out and about with a young white woman. As DO said, I was their mother, as I provided them with food, made sure they did their homework before their games, then got them too and from practice/games, and got them home at a reasonable hour. However, the rest of the people in the McDonald's restaurant were not aware of this, and we were an interesting bunch to come across.

By the beginning of this school year, I was in complete identity crisis. I am obviously white, but because of my job and dedication to my students, I had become more accustomed to being the minority. I have become significantly more comfortable with being the minority, especially in a black majority, and it takes me a short while to acclimate to all-white situations when I go home for visits. I love living in a diverse situation, or at least an opposite situation from what I grew up in. I felt that I could identify somewhat with my students' culture, but was well aware I had a long way to go. Apparently I'm much further along than I thought, as an introduction with a student during my second week went something like this...

Ms. H: Oh, B, have you met Ms. Walker?
BW: No, I haven't... but I know who you are.
Me: Oh yeah? Nice to meet you B, I'm Ms. Walker.
BW: I've heard about you, Ms. Walker.
Me: Yeah? What have you heard?
BW: I don't mean to be offensive... but aren't you the teacher who's white, but is actually black? Like... you act like a black person but your skin is white?
Me: B, I hope that's the case. I strive to be a powerful black woman.
B: Well, from what I've heard you're already one.

This was a kid I had never met. Could it be that I was beginning to be identified as the "black" white person? This student surely thought that was the case. Naturally, I became terribly self-conscious that I was a joke amongst kids due to this identity confusion, and that they were making fun of me behind my back. It wasn't until the following week when I ran into another student, MS, that it was confirmed it wasn't a joke...

Me: Hey M! How ya doin'?
MS: Ms. Walka! We were just talking about you!
Me: Uh oh! What were you saying?
MS: That you actually black, your skin is just trying to fool us.
Me: Really? I am a crafty person, you know.
MS: Yeah, you got swag, Ms. Walka. You're not like all those other white teachers. You got a real backbone to you. Those other ones... not so much.
Me: Well thanks, M. I appreciate it. I hope this is a good thing.
MS: Oh yeah, girlll! This is a great thing!

It was official. One of our more articulate and analytical students had decided I have swag - the ultimate compliment. I didn't have to look the part to walk the walk and talk the talk. I was on cloud nine - I felt as though I had been officially accepted into the black community. This was affirmed when today we discussed the poem Cross by Langston Hughes. It is a poem about a biracial person who is confused about their identify and what their future will look like due to their biracial status. I asked my students how they think people who are biracial feel in homogeneous communities - for example, how would they feel in the Anacostia community. We then tried to compare it to how a white person would feel within the Anacostia community, which naturally led to them wondering how I felt in the Anacostia community. They were stunned when I explained that I wasn't welcome.

"But... Ms. Walka... didn't they know you're black?"

I wish everyone was as loving and accepting as my students. However, I encountered several adults when I first came to my school that were less than thrilled about my skin colour and culture. The students couldn't believe it - they didn't understand why people thought I wasn't one of them. We began talking about how it was more about the culture you associated with instead of your actual skin colour.

We concluded that I'm a Cross, or mixed. I've got white skin, white roots, and black culture. I like to refer to myself as a Milano cookie, with a hint of mint.

Some People Have All the Luck

I went on a road trip last night with 4 of my coworkers/friends. Ms. SL, Ms. HL, Ms. LS, and Mr. JW. We drove to  WV to see our football team play against M. High School. The boys left earlier in the day and did a college tour at West Virginia University, our head coach's alma mater. They had been talking about this field trip all week and the 5 of us felt it would be a great surprise to show up to support them at their first game of the season.

We left immediately after school, and drove for 4+ hours to get to the game around 8:20pm, partway through the second quarter. As we pulled up we noticed that the stands on the home side were chalk full of fans - shouting, cheering, and having a grand ol' time. As we finagled our way into a faux-parking spot, we grabbed our banners and headed over the ticket booth. As we were walking over, we looked down on the field and saw a player being taken off the field on a stretcher. We began to panic... that was one of our boys. We began asking around for what happened and got a hazy story about a bad tackle, concussion, pinched nerve, and visiting team. The boy raised his hand as he was being taken off the field, so at least we knew he wasn't paralyzed. (We are still not 100% sure what happened...)

We hustled over to the visitors stands - speckled with random people from out of town, rebel MHS students, and some WVU alums - and started shouting our school spirit. Our huddle turned around at the sound of our yells and gasped - they were stunned. Within 5 seconds we were wrapped up in arms of our sweaty players. They couldn't believe we made it. One of my adopted sons, MD, ran over and gave me a huge hug and told me how happy he was that I came. MD wasn't suited up because he currently doesn't have the grades to play, but it meant everything to him that I was there. We got the play by play from the boys about what had happened thus far, and noticed that the score was 3-0 MHS. We gave them mini-pep talks and then settled down in the stands about 30 feet behind our team - hooting and hollering all the while.

We had 20 boys (now 19 due to an injury) who were suited up and playing. Each kid was playing offense, defense, and special teams, which didn't give them a lot of time to rest. On the bright side, each kid got A LOT of playing time. It was a tough game to watch. It wasn't the fact that we had 20 boys that was hard to see, it was that MHS had 42 players suited up. They were cheered on by a 15 girl cheerleading squad, and a 250 piece marching band that included dancers. We figured this school must have at least 2,500 students... we later found out they only had 1,800. That's about 1.000 more than my school.

The boys tried their hardest. After the first half, the coaches decided to play 6-minute quarters. Our boys were exhausted and that was clear by how they were playing. Unfortunately, we came up short (41-0). After the game the boys came over and gave us hugs and thanked us for coming. AR was talking with Ms. HL and then looked over at me. I assumed that he was still not my biggest fan, but then he held out his hand for a high-five/handshake. We both smiled and as I grabbed his hand, "Great job to day, A. You played like a leader. I'm really proud of you." "Thanks, Ms. Walker."

The boys all ran back to the locker room, the coaches came over and expressed their appreciation for us showing up, and then went to get the boys to the hotel they were staying in for the night. The 5 of us looked at each other and knew that the game was totally worth the drive. We packed up our things and began to leave the stadium.

People were stopping us along the way out, asking us if our player was ok. To be honest, we hadn't heard from Coach KC who went with CH to the hospital, but we figured no news was good news and spread the word that CH was going to be fine. We climbed up the stairs towards our car, and when we got to the top we were stopped dead in our tracks by,

"They should have paralyzed that n*****!"

All our eyes darted towards the young man who decided to shout this, who was walking with a few friends, all but one of them were white, the one other was black. Ms. SL said, "Excuse me?!?" to the boy, who continued walking and acted as though he didn't hear her. The black young man walking with the group began saying how disrespectful that was, but I noticed a smile on his face as he said it. We looked around for an adult to tell - wanting that boy to be reprimanded for his horrific attitude and ignorance. Unfortunately, no adult was to be found and we weren't sure what to do. Mr. JW told us to take a breath and let it go, but the rest of us had racing hearts and minds. The boys kept looking back at us as we stared them down, until Ms. HL said, "I can't wait to get back to DC." "Me, either."

In the car ride back we talked about many things that we saw. What it would be like to teach at a school like MHS. That they must have full time staff dedicated to those extracurricular activities. What the supports must look like. How they have had these programs for 80+ years. The list went on.

Despite all of these great things that these kids and teachers had, we still felt like the lucky ones. I have no desire to be anywhere else than my own school. Yes, it is incredibly tiring trying to establish programs. Yes, it is incredibly difficult to do it with with next to no money. Yes, it is frustrating that our kids are significantly behind and you're constantly playing catch up. Yes, it is irritating to know that you have to reinvent the wheel because you can't get your hands on what you know already exists.

On the flip side. Yes! We get to establish programs for our students that will provide them equal opportunities. Yes! We are more creative with our instruction and programs because we do not have the funds to buy everything we need. Yes! Our kids are trying 3x as hard to give themselves the same opportunities as others. Yes! I will reinvent the wheel a million times if it means that it will get better and create equality for my children.

As we drove through the hills of WV, VA, and MD, we thought about how lucky we are to be at our school and not MHS. We have a staff who is dynamic, dedicated, and diverse. Many that are willing to go the extra 215 miles to support our children in whatever way they need. I feel so incredibly fortunate to be on the same team as all of these staff members, and I am incredibly excited for what opportunities we will bring to our kids. We genuinely love coming to school and working with our kids (of course, those kids can sometimes be a total pain in the butt). That is something special, and is exactly what our students deserve. I don't know what the culture is like at MHS, but I'm willing to put money on the fact that it's not nearly as strong as ours.

It's true, we are the lucky ones.

The Importance of the Mulligan

I don't like golf for many reasons. The biggest reason is I grew up in a house where the sport was despised (primarily by my father). Endless golfer jokes would come up when dinner guests were over who felt it was a good idea to share their love of the game with my dad. Ha. ha. ha. Aside from my father's love for the game, there are several parts of the sport that didn't sit with me. Openly saying people had a "handicap" was unique - I figured everyone just needs things a little different (that is what I tell my children). I was able to get over the handicap issue, but the concept of the mulligan in a sport was a tough concept to grasp.

What was the point of the competition if you got to do it over? Wasn't the point that you are supposed to perform well under pressure? If I messed up a foul shot for a game winning point, I wasn't allowed to say "Oh, that's going to be my mulligan - I'll take the slight deduction in order to do it again." Doesn't that take away from the integrity of the athleticism?

The mulligan continued to be a good joke all through high school and college - when I felt I should get a do over I would make a bad joke referencing a mulligan. But then I became a teacher and I gained a very different understanding of the mulligan, or should I say, the "do over".

I'm currently running the extra-curricular enrichment program for our football players. We have many options offered to them for an hour after school before they go to practice. They have study hall, SAT prep, college application assistance, and subject specific tutoring to choose from. The deal is, they must show up on time or else they stay in Tardy Hall with me for the amount of time they missed - thus going to practice late. The boys didn't quite understand the importance of being on time the second day of this program (Wednesday) and a group of about 10 of them showed up 20 minutes into the 1 hour block. I told them they would be staying after. Another group of 5 or so came 30 minutes late. I was attempting to get them into rooms, but a few of them were not thrilled at the idea. I managed to get all of them in except for one, AR. He was having none of it. I got to hear all about how he's the exception and this isnt' for him and he doesn't care what I have to say. Considering how upset he was, AR was very articulate of his feelings about me.

I was infuriated. This was a student that I had only heard the best things about. AR is a favourite of many, and has significant potential as a leader. We're talking about a student who had straight As for a semester or so last year. And this was how he was acting. He'd never met me, had no idea who I was, and felt that gave him full liberty to lose it on me in the hallway in front of all of his teammates.

His coach came up to the floor and I had to fill in Coach CJ about the late comers who would be in Tardy Hall as well as AR's disrespectful behavior. Coach CJ spoke with AR, in a coach kind of way. However, when I was corralling the boys into Tardy Hall, AR had some more feelings to share with me. I took it in stride and remained calm, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed in AR after just meeting him. I hate having my first interactions with kids be negative ones, but it's not always up to me how they go. AR managed to control himself for 10 minutes while Ms. T and I lectured the boys about the importance of taking the program seriously and being responsible.

After the boys left, I was in the worst mood. It had been a while since I had been so blatantly disrespected. Before the boys went to practice they seemed to give a little more respect than before, but I wasn't feeling very positive about the next day. I was dreading having to come to the program where the boys thought they could speak to me as if I were gum on their shoe and felt no consequence for it.

However, as I do with my students, I always wipe the slate clean for the following day. I leave all my personal qualms at midnight and move forward. I do this with my students as they have a hard time understanding long-term anger, so I have to start each day fresh and not remain upset about things past the day that they happened. I figured I would afford these boys the same chances I give my kids, as everyone has an occasional bad day.

The program went rather smooth today - almost none of the boys were late - and everyone was working the entire time. When it came to 4:30pm, I wasn't expecting many kids for Tardy Hall. To my surprise, AR walked up to my door and looked at me. I asked how he was doing and he let me know that he was coming to Tardy Hall since he was late. I asked what time he got to the program and he explained he had things to do, so he came at 4pm. I was flabbergasted. AR had shared all of his opinions and feelings about how he didn't need to be there, he didn't need to do anything, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. And there he was, sitting in the back, doing homework, and sitting silently in Tardy Hall, with "please" and "thank you" to boot.

We had an honest conversation about what he expects of us and what we expect of him, including figuring out other options for him instead of having to do homework (I mean, we're talking about a straight A student here). I told him how disappointed I was when he spoke to me disrespectfully, as I had heard amazing things about him. He looked embarrassed, and apologized. It's clear that this kid needed a do-over. Thankfully, I now understand the importance of the mulligan, and was able to have a fresh start with AR. I told him how I looked forward to seeing him develop as a leader on the team and in the school, and his lips twitched into a smile for a quick second before returning to his more firm "too cool" face. At the end of Tardy Hall, we excused him, and he respectfully said goodbye and left.

AR had a rough start, but he was that kid everyone had told me about. He just needed a mulligan. While I have reservations about golf, I gotta give it credit for understanding the importance of a do-over.