The Isms

I started with my idea list from last night, but my mind was elsewhere.

"I don't like that the article you gave us draws a link between racism and sexism" he said very matter-of-factly. "If women are good enough to get a job they'll get it. If not, then men will. Sexism doesn't exist anymore. I shared the article with my parents and they agree," he informed me and then he sunk in his seat, held up his fully annotated article, and glared at the floor.

I swallowed.

Then I told him that both he and his parents were absolutely allowed to believe that McIntosh was "making a big deal out of nothing and pointing out problems that didn't exist."

A few girls sat up tall in their seat and burned my eyes with their's.

"But there is a lot of evidence that does suggest men and women have not been treated equally," I continued. "Things are certainly better, but the moderators in the Democratic primary debates never asked the male candidates if they preferred pearls or diamonds. And as far as I've heard, in the Republican debates, male candidates have never referred to their opposing party colleagues as "prince" Joe instead of Speaker Schmo. Those are somewhat trivial examples, but the point is that we certainly still have some reason to think about gender. As we begin To Kill a Mockingbird, I want you to keep race and gender and socioeconomic status on the tip of your mind."

I swallowed again; he wasn't listening.

"Opinions are what make our country what it is. We just have to respect the fact that other people don't always share the same beliefs. We can disagree with each other, but we need to respectful."

I focused on each syllable as it escaped my lips, attempting to cover the rage boiling in my gut, attempting to be open and accepting and respectful of his beliefs too. I thanked him for speaking up. I granted him the same air time that I granted everyone else. I asked him follow up questions; I attempted to get him to think deeper just like I pushed everyone else.

Then, a brave female in the back raised her hand. "I like that the article talks about both sexism and racism. I still see many examples of both," she said. Then she went on to talk about her experience in a more urban, more diverse school district. She referenced lyrics to rap songs. She confidently asserted that she found many truths housed in the 1988 article by Peggy McIntosh called "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack."

Others shared their opinions, none quite as strong as the first two. I offered a few anecdotal accounts from my own life, I quoted shared stories from previous classes, and I explained that the existence of laws did not always equate to equality.

After discussing "flesh" colored band aids, stereotypes on TV, and a black man who was pulled over for simply driving in a primarily white suburb, the bell rang.

I asked the first young man who spoke up to stay after class. I explained that a lot of people have different theories and beliefs about the "isms." I also told him that even if he disagreed with the article, it was good that he read it; it sparked discussion and it made him think.

"Racism still exists," he said. "I agree with most of the statements about that. I just don't believe males and females are treated differently."

"You are entitled to that belief," I told him. "I just want wanted to get you thinking."

"Okay, thank you, Mrs. M" he said, and then he walked out of the room.

I sat and stared at the floor. Piles of planning plagued me, and emails decorated my inbox. I couldn't tend to either. I wanted to give him example after example of why sexism is still worth talking about. I wanted to explain that the battle for equality has not been reached. I wanted to assign him research, case studies, interviews with women who could provide a different vantage point.

But I didn't do any of that.

I questioned him, but ultimately, I gave him the courtesy I suggested he needed to give to the other side. And then I let him walk out of the room. I let him go...and I had to. We live in America after all. We are free. And as long as we are not hateful, we can believe anything we choose to believe.

When enough time passed--when I replayed the discussion enough times in my head--I pulled up my email, I retrieved my calendar, and I tweaked my plans. Then, sick to my stomach, I walked out of the room and headed off to boot camp.

Teaching is so hard sometimes.

It Isn't Their Fault They're Ugly

My students took a test over Beowulf on Friday and today, as I glanced through their essays, I couldn't help but recall our final discussion. After reading the story from the Danes' perspective, I asked my students to read an excerpt from John Gardner's Grendel. Once we looked at the story through different eyes, we engaged in a lengthy, and somewhat heated, discussion. Spanning from the acceptance of varying perspectives to war, to what deems an attack as justifiable, to the ultimate effects of bullying, our discussion ran the gamut, sending heads spinning with ideas and curiosities and lots and lots of gray area.

As soon as one person asserted that people have no right to attack unless they've been attacked, someone else said that the US fights ethically driven--not self-defense driven wars all of the time. When someone said that bullying leads the victim to a destructive personality, someone else argued that it could very well inspire them to be a bigger person. When one student said that we all need to accept the fact that everyone has different perspectives and they are all valuable, someone else asked about the boundaries of destructive and malicious perspectives that could destroy a group of people.

By the end of the discussion, we came up with zero answers. No one seemed clearer on their stance; in fact, most of them seemed far more confused. They slowly came to realize what once seemed so simple--so black and white--was really far more complicated than they imagined. Suddenly, Grendel didn't seem as horrible or as blatantly wrong as they originally believed him to be.

I sat up front, hardly saying a word. The discussion took a life of its own and I sat back watching it. Just moments away from the bell, B raised her hand. Usually one for off-beat comments, I could only imagine where she was planning to take the discussion.

"Yes, B," I called out to her.

"When I try to kill spiders, my mom yells at me," she began. I could see a few smirks begin to bubble on the faces around her. "She gets mad at me because she tells me the spider didn't do anything to me--it isn't the spider's fault he's ugly."

Then, right on cue, she trumped her loud declaration with a thunderous cackle, sending the rest of the room into giggles. I doubled over in laughter, accepting the fact that I had no hope at all to pull the class together for the last three minutes of the period. Instead, I watched a thousand tiny debates regarding whether or not spiders deserved to die.

I know very well that part of B's declaration surfaced as an attempt to generate attention, but I also think the reason she thought of her story is rooted in the foundation of what our discussion entailed: the effect of killing without reason, of dismissing without understanding, of being cruel without any attempt at respect.

I kill spiders whenever I see them--as well as ants, flies and mosquitoes. I use sprays and swatters and my bare hands in an effort to rid the world of their creepy presence. Her comment made me stop and think. After all, much of why I kill them has little to do with anything they can control. I kill them because they get in my way, they inconvenience me, or they annoy me. Maybe the rest of life isn't all that different if you stop and think about it. I'd like to believe I handle bigger issues in a better way, but B certainly found my weak spot. Maybe I need to open up my heart a bit wider to embrace the insect community. I suppose her mother's right, it isn't their fault they're so ugly....but it is certainly my fault that my swatting is.

Infection

"Would you mind listening to my poem," she asked, as if an answer other than yes existed.

Eager to tangle my reality with her mind, I sank my chin into my palm, set my eyes to the little speck hovering in the distance before me, and I curled my right lower lip into its thinking spot, beneath my two front teeth.

She began.

She lit the space between words and thought on fire.

Her language, a branding iron, scarred me with acute profundity.

Wishing to preserve the honor of her ideas, I will not quote them here. Nevertheless, they have been pulsing in my brain since 12:48 p.m., each beat reminding me why I love my job.

For 30 minutes we sat and picked a part ideas--lines of verse twisting paradoxes, churning out the wisdom of letting go in order to embrace something more, and hypothetical characters who seem to be vying for leading roles in the story she currently has baking in her imagination.

While we talked, she scribbled, she pondered, she questioned and she sought to perfect whatever she aimed to create. Brilliant though she is, what most impressed me was the commitment gripping her, a strong hold no amount of homework or social pressure could unwind. Midst an endless pile of other tasks--a choir concert, multiple honors and AP classes and high school life, her commitment to write, and to get it right, blared from the tip of her tongue.

I listened. I questioned. I admired. Doggedly determined to honor the lines tapping at her mind, her passion infected the room with vitality. It seeped from the drop-ceiling and grimy cinder blocks. And drip by drip, it coated me with life.

From Up There...

PROMPT: Think of multiple sides of a situation. Tell the story from one perspective. Then tell it from the others.

***

Preface

Today, one of my former students brought an assignment to me and asked me to read through it and provide feedback. The assignment required her to tell the same story from three different vantage points, using three different voices. I thought this would be fun so I spent a little extra time on it. This is based on a true story.

***

One

"The girls in the book--they have cute outfits and Melinda, she just wears old ones. I really like outfits and clothes and so I could relate," I explained to the class when Miss. L asked us to talk about Melinda's hard times in the book.

I was so glad I thought of something I could say. Maybe other people didn't notice the outfits, but I noticed the outfits. I mean, Melinda didn't have nice sweaters or anything like the Marthas in the book. So I wanted everyone to know. That's why I raised my hand.

I think M and C really liked my comment because they smiled. They always wear cute outfits and they have different purses every day. Sometimes I am not allowed to carry my purse because Mr. O told me I lose focus. It is hard because I like my purse and I like to get out my gum and I like to carry my pencil in there. It's a cute purse and it makes me feel better.

Everyone tells me I can only have three comments, but sometimes I forget. I don't really get to talk too much to my friends. I only see them during this period. Just when I was thinking about lunch, Miss. L asked what "ostracized" meant and T said it meant outcast. That just made me think about lunch again.

"I can relate to Melinda," I told them. I already made my three comments but Miss L. didn't stop me, so I kept going.

"I can understand sometimes what it's like, you know? I know how it feels to be ostracized. Sometimes I want to sit with other people just like Melinda."

I remembered my vocabulary word, ostracized, and I think I used it the right way. Miss L. really liked that. She smiled so big at me.

***

Two

"Melinda's struggles increase in this section of the Speak. How do the trees she is drawing in art class reflect these struggles?" Miss. L asked the class, as everyone started to flip through their annotations.

I knew the trees represented her state of mind, but the guy I like is sitting across from me and we just started texting. I decided it would be better to act like I was looking for the answer. That way, Miss L won't call on me and I won't say anything stupid in front of B.

"Her tree looks like it was hit by lightening," M said, quoting the page, looking up at me to see if I thought it sounded okay. I smiled back and then looked down.

A few other hands shot up, but K started talking again.

"The girls in the book--they have cute outfits and Melinda, she just wears old ones. I really like outfits and clothes and so I could relate," she blurted out before Miss. L even called on her.

Sometimes she doesn't wait. The aid who goes around with her taps on her desk if she talks too much. Every single day she brings up random things that have nothing to do with class. Miss. L tries to tie it into our discussion, but it flat out doesn't relate at all and then we have to listen to either Miss L or the aid re-explain the rules. "Three comments, K, do you want this to be one of them?" they ask, as if she hasn't heard it a million times.

I glanced back up at M and smiled. She started to giggle and I couldn't help it. I started to giggle too. K is so random sometimes and she doesn't even understand why it's funny.

Then Miss L started walking toward us, glaring at us like we just did the worst thing ever. Before she could open her mouth though, K blurted out again. It was her fourth comment of the day, so I was hoping Miss L would leave me alone and go through the rules again. I turned and looked at her, waiting for something good.

"I can relate to Melinda. I can understand sometimes what it's like. I know how it feels to be ostracized. Sometimes I want to sit with other people just like Melinda."

I couldn't even look up at M. This was going to be bad.

"K, the cafeteria is so busy during lunch. I'm sure there are people in this class who would want to eat with you," Miss L. said before she went on to talk about how each of us goes through moments of feeling left out, and so we need to all look out for each other.

"Continue to look for a few more examples of how the trees represent Melinda," Miss L instructed and then called me and M out into the hall. We couldn't have done anything too bad. All we did was laugh.

"Girls, never--never will you ever exchange laughter at the expense of another human being. Very few things raise my blood pressure, but this sets me on fire," she told us before going on and making us feel even worse. "You will not make fun of her--at least not when I'm around."

Miss L was fuming. She wasn't really yelling, but her face shook. K didn't didn't understand why we were laughing, so it couldn't have been mean. No one else knew. It was just an inside joke for us.

"You will not laugh or giggle at someone else's expense," Miss L whispered, the edges of her lips curling in the process. Then she swallowed and stared at us for what seemed like forever.

"She deserves respect just like you do. You will treat her with respect. Even if she doesn't get what's going on, I do. You will not act like that in my classroom," she declared and then she walked back into the room.

***

Three

K's hand darted into the air. My stomach twitched a little, and I swallowed. Literally anything could escape her mouth, and I had to be on my toes, ready to validate it, ready to validate her.

Sometimes it was easy to weave her comments into the discussion because they had some inkling of a connection; other times, her tangents sent my brain buzzing a thousand miles an hour as I planned what I should say in response.

"The girls in the book--they have cute outfits and Melinda, she just wears old ones. I really like outfits and clothes and so I could relate," she said before I could even call on her.

"Good, K. You're right. She did have different outfits. She didn't fit with that clan, so she was ostracized from them. What does ostracized mean again," I asked the class.

"Outcast," T responded while I noticed M and C exchanging grins and giggles and eye rolls. C twirled her hair; M chewed on her manicured nails. N, O, P, Q, R and S gazed over in adoration.

A window hovered before me. I could either pretend to ignore it so we could stay in line with the other class, or I could call them out. Square, direct, and risky. They will tell me they didn't mean it, or that they were laughing about something else. They might decide to never listen to another thing again for the whole rest of the year.

Or maybe they would change.

I took a deep breath, then K blurted out again, holding all air in surrender.

"I can relate to Melinda," she began and my heart unraveled bit by bit by bit.

"I can understand sometimes what it's like. I know how it feels to be ostracized. Sometimes I want to sit with other people just like Melinda."

"I'm sure there are people in this class who would want to eat with you," I said to her, wishing so badly my hope would come true. "We all need to look out for each other," I began to explain before I redirected the class back to their books.

As soon as they were all searching again, I jumped through the metaphoric window.

"M and C," I uttered steadily. "M and C, please come out into the hall."