Last night, my school hosted its Student Project Exposition. This was an event designed to be an open house/ chance for students to show off its work. Show off, my students did. We put up some of student work, showed their presentations, slideshows of pictures from their activities and performances. Despite the limitation of our "best work only" clause, we were limited on space for the diplays. In a lot of ways, this year has been a success.
The evening highlight was a slam poetry reading by some of our students in another teacher's creative writing class. I must admit that I never thought that I would be moved by the words of a teenager, but I was moved by a couple of poems.
"Would you love me if I weren't gay?" This was the first line of a poem, written by an African American student named Kayla, that pulled me into a reflective mood.It reminded me of how lucky I am in so many ways - I am rarely hated by anyone for who I am. It reminded me of how much I love my own children. It shocked me that a parent could look at her child and forget the baby they raised and cared for. It reminded me of how much I care about my own students. It reminded me how hard it is to teach children with so much emotional baggage. It reminded me of Nancy, our High School team member/ English Teacher, who is fighting for survival because her liver has decided to stop working. It reminded me of the student we all lost to suicide. It reminded me of why teaching is so important.
However, I could only be reflective for a moment before the next poem was being recited to the audience gathered in the science lab - turned recital hall. "I am chicken and hot sauce..." was a line from her poem about her memories growing up in Flint, Michigan. You would never know this young lady, Na'pheesa, was raised in the hood. This brave, outgoing, modest, intelligent, young lady who so gracefully recounted the trials and tribulations of growing up in her surroundings. Sometimes, it helps to remember what some students have had to overcome and what some are still dealing with when we greet our students in the morning and wish them well at the end of the day. Like the student whose father was taken away by armed men in bullet-proof vests in an early morning INS raid. Or the students who have to work to support their dead-beat mother and earn enough money to make it to school - the same girls who lost their cousin to a road with no sidewalks. The student named James, whom I had physically restrain on the floor of a hallway after he attacked a fellow student and pushed teachers out of the way - so full of rage two years after he lost both of his parents in a car accident. Or the many who wonder where they are going to live and the many more who wonder what they will eat.
It is easy to get lost in their stories. It is easy to feel sorry for them. But I shouldn't...I can't. To be their teacher is to expect them to be success stories, not stereotypes. I have to demand that my students learn, not despite their circumstances, but because of them - it is a matter of life and death. Don't think I am exagerating this to make a point. This is the hard reality of povety. The only way out is to break the cycle, to get an education.
And for every heart-wrenching sad story, there is a success story.
I have a student named Blake who will be getting paid to do research at the School of Medicine over the summer as part of Project SEED (he's only a sophomore, by-the-way). One of my students, Brittany, won a $5,000 scholoarship to the Chef's Academy to pursue her life-long passion for cooking and food. Yet another student, Charmine, is graduating early and going to Indiana State. I have started a Robotics Club, who built and programmed a robot from scratch...something I never knew I could do either!I have classes full of hard-working, friendly, creative, energetic students who just want a place to be safe and learn, and this is what brings me to work everyday.
