Desi’s Blog O’ Thoughts

Well I am sad, the impetus for my blogging is leaving me. What will I do without my fellow slice of lifers? I suppose part of this was to create a community of writers. It was great to get support from people who were not right next to you in the thick of it but in a thickness all their own (pause:that doesn’t sound right)

Today was a relaxed day. I didn’t need to go into the office. I was supposed to do some work at home but I spent my work time at the mall. By the time I got home I forgot I had to work. So Now I have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn and  do prep work for home visits.

I hate home visits. My students live in a poverty that is practically ignored, well more so denied in NYC. We pretend it is not that bad. It is. A few of the students I am seeing today have never lived in one place for longer than a few months or had a telephone for longer than a month or two. When i visit their homes I suddenly feel like telling them to stay home in bed. Their lives are way too depressing to come to school and learn about Egypt. What the hell are they going to do with facts about Egypt when they have no money, food or hope?

In the other borough my not – so – impoverished babies, at the after school, made DADA surrealistic poetry today. One of the Seniors I taught last year ran up and gave me a huge hug. He was so happy to see me. I can’t imagine my damaged kids being that happy about anything. Why can’t Madonna adopt one of my poorer kids?

I purchased shoes today. I have not bought shoes in years. I went to the store my mother took me to when I got my first pair of women’s shoes. It was a little weird being their as an adult, without my mother. She had that motherly way of making you think you were picking out stuff by yourself while subliminally getting what she felt you needed. 

As I think back to the few times my mother actually let me choose the shoes. Both pairs hurt like hell. They were so tight. But I thought they were cute, so I would lie in the shoe store and tell her they felt great. I would wear them once or twice then shove them in back of the closet.

Luckily today I did not have that  issue. Unfortunately, I injured my foot this month. It’s totally swollen, but I needed shoes for a wedding I am in this weekend. I would definitely consider foot replacement. I have big wide feet and can only shop at the big wide shoe store. it’s depressing to go to the big wide shoe store and see the orthopedic shoes right next to the pumps you think are so cute. I should just give in and buy some orthopedic nun shoes and get it over with.

I have started reading more books on achievement gaps and dropout prevention. Something in my reading bothered me and I could not put my finger on it, until now. There was a lot of talk of speaking to black children in the way they speak to get them engaged. My question is “what language do black children speak?”

Mind you, I am black. My entire family is black. When I last checked we all spoke English.  Everyone over 18 has now graduated from high school. Before you tell me I am middle class, privileged and don’t know the true black experience in America, one of my family members received his diploma in prison. I grew up in the projects. And yes have experienced racism throughout my life. So those excuses don’t hold up for long.

I was also struck by this idea that all black children learn the same way. There seems to be this gross generalization that black kids learn one way and white kids learn another. My school was mixed and we never had to separate into colored groups for lessons. We all learned the same way. Many books suggest that Back children can’t sit down, and pay attention? WTF? When I was little I always wondered why the little white kids were running around the restaurant, screaming and I had to sit quietly and would get in trouble for just laughing too loud? That took a lot of impulse control to not get up and start running with the other kids. So, it is possible for a black kid to sit still in school.

One last observation, why do people feel the only way black children can learn is either in a boot camp (read prison) style setting or if we translate all the subjects into a commentary on hip-hop culture? When I have kids I would hate for them to come home rapping their multiplication tables and only ever reading books that take place in the ghetto.

This may be the start of a new book.

Disclaimers: Sorry Latinos and Asians – you are in a whole other book I haven’t read yet. Actually Asians I doubt you even get a book. Also, I use the term “black” because my family has never been to Africa and I have friends who are honest to goodness African-Americans.