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.
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.
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