Search
On-Site Program Calendar
Browse By Day
Browse By Time
Browse By Person
Browse By Room
Browse By Unit
Browse By Session Type
Search Tips
Change Preferences / Time Zone
Sign In
X (Twitter)
The teaching that Grandma did at home rarely coincided with the classroom content I encountered in school. Grandma emphasized the importance of “home training”: a respectful social etiquette taught at home. She also shared stories about our family, providing different perspectives of historical events that we learned about through movies or school. The cultural and historical knowledge she provided cultivated a sense of pride and confidence, but was minimally useful in the classrooms that rarely asked for or valued that knowledge. The reverential temperament that emerged from her “home training,” however, ended up being essential for my academic success.
Yet, the disproportionate attention that was afforded to my behavior gives me pause. Teachers often compared me to other Black boys. “You are such a good, respectful young man,” loses value when consistently preceded or followed by some iteration of, “I wish a little more of you could rub off on [some student of color].” Teachers, parents, and other students differentiating me from other Black boys became sources of racial stress and anxiety for me.
As an educator now, I prioritize wellness first, skills, and then content--my educational experience taught me that teaching must take a holistic approach. bell hooks (1994) insists that “[t]o teach in a manner that respects and cares for the souls of our students is essential if we are to provide the necessary conditions where learning can most deeply and intimately begin” (p. 13). Additionally, an anti-sexist, anti-racist social justice framework (Hackman, 2005) has been integral to my teaching over the years. Emdin (2016) argues educators therefore must actively disrupt the imperial relationship that marginalized students may have with our schools.
Predominantly White, elite, independent schools have been the setting of my teaching career. The racial and class makeup of the campuses, the inherently exclusive admissions practices, and the hefty price of tuition render a social justice education lens particularly potent in my context. Both educators and laypeople share their unsolicited convictions about which educational settings “need” me most. During my first month at my current school, a coworker proclaimed, “these kids don’t need you here.” Her statement and others frequently remind me that many people feel that my work has substantially less value than it might if I taught at a school that primarily serves students of color.
Others, on the contrary, frame the novelty of my existence as a Black male educator in predominantly White independent schools as the integral factor that gives my work meaning. Teachers emphasize the importance of my presence to the students of color who are navigating these exclusive schools. Moreover, I am continuously reminded that—for some students—I am one of the only intimate interactions with a Black professional that they have as adolescents. Although I rarely find clarity about which educational setting is best for me, people’s perceptions of my role make clear the gravitas of the racialized context that shapes my decisions and actions as a teacher.