Truth

Before I learned to read, I memorized many childhood chants: And God said, “let there be light,” and there was light; Miss Mary Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. Growing in a black community we played games such as Hide and Seek, Red Rover, and Duck, Duck Goose to name a few. I also remember learning a few Bible verses at vacation bible school. These memories notwithstanding, what I remember most about those verses is they way in which they frightened me.

My mother worked third shift in RJ Reynolds Tobacco Company, therefore she was always at home in the morning. I stayed home with her, there being no need to send me to daycare. Mother naturally wanted to use the mornings to sleep, but she knew it was important for my mind to be stimulated. To solve the problem, my mother hired a private instructor to come to our house to work with me on my reading. This decision turned out to be advantageous. I learned to read and she was able to get some rest. The decision proved to be money well spent, since I did learn to read before I entered kindergarten.

My kindergarten teacher was a sweet lady by the name of Mrs. Whitlatch. Though I don’t recall learning a great deal about reading in her class, she was fun and I actually felt that she cared about her students.

First grade was a year that I will never forget. The experience probably has a great deal to do with the way I treat my students. As an African American girl attending a predominantly white elementary school on the wealthy side of town I sometimes felt out of place; because I was. The summer came and quickly disappeared. I received my open house letter and discovered that Ms. Brown would be my first grade teacher. I was extremely excited to know that I would have an African American teacher. This excitement would soon turn into “pure hell.”

My mother and I arrived for the first day of school and I hurried in to introduce myself to my new teacher. To my surprise, she wasn’t thrilled to meet me. My mom introduced herself and she told my mom that she remembered me from the previous year. She showed me to my assigned seat, which, ironically, was in the back of the class by the exit door. From that very moment I knew she had a problem with me.

A week or more past and it was time for the class to be placed in reading groups. At that time I didn’t realize what tracking was, but now I know that tracking is detrimental to a child. I experienced this harmful institutionalized racism firsthand. Ms. Brown chose the first reading group which was composed entirely of white children. All of this occurred at a predominantly white school during the heyday of the busing to ensure racial balance. I anxiously waited to be called for the second group only to be disappointed. My mistake, my mother wasn’t a school teacher and we didn’t live on Peace Haven Road or drive a Mercedes Wagon. The third group was called and finally I was included with the other African-American kids and the few poor White children in my class.

By this time I was absolutely humiliated and didn’t give a darn about Honeycomb or Sally, Dick and Jane. I yearned for that year to come to a speedy end. I suffered through a year of redundant information that I learned two years earlier and endured the horrors of beginning readers struggling through words that I found easy. The only thing positive that probably came out of this experience is the fact that I became more patient with slow readers.

After confronting Ms. Brown about this problem I quickly realized that she did not have her African-American students’ best interest. She had sold out to a system which did not hold any interest for African-American students. I’m ashamed to reveal this story yet it has stuck with for a very long time.

I experienced bigotry and racism at an early age, and continue to deal with racism as an adult. The ironic thing about the story above is that this “affront” came from an African-American woman. I wondered why she did these terrible things to black children. I came to the conclusion that she, perhaps, felt that if she catered to the white establishment they would praise her and she would receive accolades from the powers that be. Maybe she wasn’t happy with being black and by denying her black students of a fair and just education she would boost herself. Of course I can only speculate about her reasoning.

I am lead to wonder how many other African American kids have endured this treatment. My own first grade reading experience wasn’t positive. The vibrant, enthusiastic little girl that entered Ms. Brown’s class left heartbroken and disappointed.

There has to be a lesson to be learned in this awful experience. I feel that this experience definitely gave me a different outlook on teaching. I don’t feel that my day ends when I walk out of my classroom. I know that my attitude, confidence, and zeal for education is evident to my students. I allow them to think independently and that excites them. Students on a college level need nurturing just as students in fifth grade or first grade. I’m approachable and “real” which students from African American neighborhoods appreciate. I dare not be a Ms. Brown and forget my humble beginnings. I believe in equitable education and I stand for “truth.”