The color of me…

In my previous posts on the homeless, poverty and the “ghetto”, you got to peek into my teaching career.  This post is a continuation of that theme.

The air was hot and humid.  There was no air conditioner inside that old building and you could smell the heat.  It smelled like the old laminator in the corner.  Melting sheets of plastic coating that became the covetous desire of all new teachers.  Oh, to see the sheets of shiny plastic coated items coming off of that machine.  It made a new teacher giddy.  As I signed out of the teacher resource center, I saw many names that were unfamiliar, but the school beside them was not.  I was a new hire to that school.  Typical “me” fashion says to everyone in the entire room, heyyyy ya’ll, anyone from BES here today?  Cricket.  Cricket.  No answer.  Oh that’s a shame.  I’m the new teacher there and it looks like folks are still here.  I guess not.  I turned to go and one man finally looks up with tired eyes and nods.  I’ll see you there, he says.

Well, at least that was something.  I later learned most of the people in the room were actually assigned to that school.  I don’t know if it was because my skin was not the same as theirs or if it was because I was new, but no one would look me in the eye.  That was my first sign.  When I got to the school, the teacher who had used the room previously did not want to move her things.  You see, new teachers go back a week earlier and even though I was introduced to her, she would hardly look at me and she sure as hell wasn’t moving her things out of my way.  Sign number two.  When I went to ask the secretary for something, maybe my room key perhaps or things everyone else knew, she gave me the death stare.  She stood up and said something in a clipped tone and I was left staring at her torpedo boobs because to look her in the eye at that moment scared me to death.  Sign number three.  I already mentioned open house and how half the parents didn’t show up.  So that bring me to the first week of school.  At this point, I was still not sure what I personally had ever done to anyone at this school other than be WHITE.  That’s right.  All signs led to that.

Whatever.  They were all going to have to get over this and real soon.  I’m not going to say I had an easy first year.  I did not.  It was horrible, and the kids were out of control, but that story is for another day.  At this point in my life, I loved food.  Any kind of food, but especially home cooking.  I went to the cafeteria to get my teacher meal and I was looking forward to it.  They had wonderful smelling food.  I met the cafeteria manager and she seemed okay for the most part.  However, one particular line worker would constantly glare at me.  I think I had finally reached my limit by that point.  One day, I just started talking to her and making her look at me while I carried on about whatever I could think of.  I mentioned where I student taught, and who I knew there.  I mentioned the last school I worked at part-time and how much I adored the kitchen staff there.  Little did she know one of the ladies there loved me so much she gave me her cell number and told me to call her when I left.  I spoke about what spices they put in the food and how their tuna salad was the best.  And then there seemed to be a connection of some sorts.  It was progress.  Now onto the secretary.

One day the secretary, Mrs. J,  happened to be in the teacher’s workroom at the same time I was.  Many months of ugly talking to me had already gone by at this point.  She looked at me as if I were a cockroach to be avoided, and we had those in the building as well.  I could stand it no longer.  I raised my eyes, further, further, upward beyond the torpedo boobs, and finally looked Mrs. J in the eyes.  “I do not appreciate the way you speak to me.  Do you have a problem with me?  Have I done something to you?”  You should have seen the look on her face.  First, I’m sure tiny white women do not ever speak to her like that.  Secondly, she knew I was right.  So two things happened in that moment.  One, I gained her respect.  Two, she said she was fine with me and walked off like nothing ever happened.  She smiled at me for the first time after that.

The next year, when I came back to school, everyone said hello and hugged me after the summer break.  When I went to the teacher resource center, I discovered that Mrs. J’s daughter was someone who I had been talking to for over a year.  Ha.  Did not even know it.  When I announced my pregnancy, they all threw me a baby shower and my favorite kitchen worker, God Bless her, bought my baby girl the cutest dress.  I almost cried.  I ended up teaching her Godchild that year and she always checked up on him when I got my lunch.  She even gave me extra food since I was “expecting”.  One thing is for sure, they weren’t expecting me.

So the lesson I learned that day long ago, is to please put your stereotypes behind you.  I know what it feels like to be on the other side of that.  I also know respect is earned.  Treat others the way you want to be treated no matter how hard it is, and do not let some past discrimination ruin your view of the world.  Generally speaking, people are more alike than different.  Remember that.

True story…all mentioned would tell you the same thing and this happened over 16 years ago.

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