Fresh Produce

The vegetables in the local grocery stores still rot, years after studies have shown that poor neighborhoods always get the stale and less desirable groceries. As if the residents here deserve any less than equitably fresh tomatoes, yellow ready-ripe bananas, and lettuce that doesn’t need multiple rinsing. People in this citadel get exposed to Whole Foods, Dean and DeLuca’s, and the occasional supermarket, but everyone knows those unsullied, luminous vegetables weren’t exactly meant for them, even when it’s right in their neighborhoods. These places cater to a certain economic class, a class the cashiers can rarely claim they’re members of. But it’s no excuse, but it’s a reason for them not to eat vegetables.

That’s how I’ve always learned to view the racial, socio-economic disparities that we as a society perpetuate. As adults, we’re barraged with messages seeking to maintain the status quo, where certain people deserve to stay in their positions. The American dream has become synonymous with social Darwinism, and people on the extreme sides of this spectrum are more in tune with these ideas than those of us in the middle of it all. The ultra-rich subscribe to the idea that poor people should be poor because in this system, there are winners and losers. The ultra-rich’s existence is dependent on creating as many ultra-poor people as possible (and simultaneously eat bits away from the classes lower than theirs). The ultra-poor understand this more than others will let on, but because of the mechanisms working against them, including social prejudice, the ultra-poor continue to be so.

Recent studies have shown that the idea of socio-economic mobility (i.e. moving from one class to the next) had largely dissipated or stabilized. So few of us do it in fact, it makes me think about the message we send when we exhibit disdain for poor people, as if the mainstream media and entertainment represents the majority of them. I’m less concerned with race in this discussion, though I can speak more personally about my experiences within the Black and Latino (and partly, Asian) communities here.

I’m ambivalent about the phrase, “Poor people have no excuse.” What does that mean? Well, for me, it implies that the poor have no claim or case for saying that their situation continually stratifies them (or us, depending on how you look at it). That’s simply unfounded. However, I also try to be mindful of the strides so many of us have made to empowering ourselves economically, and the sheer determination it takes on any person’s end to make that happen.

That’s also where I prescribe to the ideas of positive thinking, community building, and love for self. There’s so much potential and human capital within our communities that we have every right to believe that we can achieve better living standards than what we have now. I don’t think most people want us to pity them or just hand too much out to them. Maybe this encapsulates the conversation better than I can:

“What if, rather than saying poverty is no excuse, we said there’s no excuse for allowing people to live in poverty?” – Bill Ivey

True. Maybe instead of spending billions of dollars a year on war, prison construction, and keeping corrupt financial institutions standing, we’ll work on infrastructure that allows education to stay equitable and unequivocally affordable for all, and make living conditions such that the strain on the average family is significantly decreased.

Oh right. And nicer vegetables. Definitely nicer vegetables.

Jose, who’s learned that a good salad for lunch can go a long way …

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Bro Fist

To my New York State math teacher brethren,

By giving you these three PDFs, I’m also sharing where I work. Yes, I’m also going to say I made these documents, which is 85% true (the other 15% was done by others in my school’s math department, but I’ll give them absolute deference to within my school when asked “Who made these?”) Please note that these are just drafts and if there’s anything we need to add, let me know. Also note that NY hasn’t mapped out completely how they’re going to roll out the Common Core in this state.

Otherwise, enjoy and share alike. Just make sure that if you’re going to use it, leave a comment here and say hello.

8th Grade Common Core Appendix to NYS Math Curriculum

7th Grade Common Core Appendix to NYS Math Curriculum

6th Grade Common Core Appendix to NYS Math Curriculum

Aren’t they just pretty?

Jose, who loves sharing and sharing alike …

P.S. – As a bonus, check this out, too. We haven’t started the school year yet, so if I can have it, you can, too. (That list isn’t mine, I promise.)

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You’re Far Too Kind

by Jose on August 29, 2010 · 2 comments

in life

Me

Here’s a special thank you to everyone who’ve congratulated me, helped me out, or contributed to any of my works in and out of the web. It’s a lot of people to thank, but really, you’re far too kind. I consider myself rather fortunate, as the blessings have rained down like manna as of late. The Future of Teaching book’s coming out sooner than later, I’ve finally gotten my driver’s license (and not for need, either), my heart health’s far improved, I’m motivated to kick butt this upcoming school year, and my decision-making has been much sharper. I sent out all this positive energy into the universe and, with a little delay, the universe has returned the favor. And I’m completely suspicious of the success, too, but it keeps my head right where it belongs: in the trenches, working, thinking, collaborating. Nevermind the connection I made with this great writer or this expert educator there. Disbanding all of those in favor of real connections with people has made my life much easier.

The people who matter most know how and where to reach me. Without the “us,” no one could walk on water …

Jose, who’s positively anxious about the coming school year.

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And the winner of this book contest is …

Saida Latigue

Congrats to you, Saida. Hope you and your father enjoy. To everyone else, thanks for your participation in this summer book giveaway spree. I have one more up my sleeve that I’m opening to the general public next week. I can’t thank you all enough for your active participation in this blog and our conversations.

Jose, who’s fascinated by disappearing spoons …

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As Bad As I Can Breathe

by Jose on August 26, 2010 · 4 comments

in life

Diving Into the Ocean

“Well, there was a news report that said some lady took her driving test almost 800 times and never passed it! Yeah, but the great thing about her is that she never quit.”

“Shut up! My thing is … you’re going to take your test THAT many times? I mean, she can’t just take the bus or something?”

We all laughed.

But John got a little serious with us and said, “Yeah, but it’s that determination I admire. She never quit and didn’t let any of that deter her from achieving her goals.”

It was the 1st time I failed my driving test, a dreary July day when the tester got testy with my instructor John. Prior to this day, we’d spent 9 hours together, with literal twists and turns throughout SoHo, East Village, and the Lower East Side, driving around the area with the intent of getting me to pass the New York State driving test. Before that, I hadn’t officially driven in a decade or so, where, unlike John, I felt like I had a gun to my head while my father took me around the same block for 30 minutes. I felt like I was starting anew, my right foot newly unfamiliar with the pedal and the brake.

The guy right before me on the testing line already had an argument with her before she failed him. The three of us shook our head. The other guy with me, Francisco, was a Dominican family man who’d been working on getting a license for years, and at age 35, didn’t feel like going through this crazy lady. I couldn’t blame him. In my first driving lesson, I didn’t do a lot of driving. Because the lady didn’t really let me. I drove around two blocks instead of one, taking a left turn, another left turn, a right turn, and before I knew it, I was back where I started.

While she enumerated the issues with my driving: speeding at 35 mph, wide turns, poor judgment (I agree with this one for getting in the car with her), I already thought about the next test. John told us the story of the lady who failed the test 771 times to be exact, and I felt even more determined to do what I needed to. I signed up for another practice, and it was middling at best. This time, John had me drive all the way to the test from Lower Manhattan to the upper reaches of Queens. I might have been a hazard to the road then, but I was determined to pass the 2nd test.

I didn’t. I failed, this time by lesser points. My parallel parking and broken (3-point) turn were complete failures and a test to the lack of cojones I had since only two days prior, I aced those parts. Francisco, who convinced me to take it on the same day again, blew the test out of the water.  For a second, I let doubt seep in. After dropping me off near my bus station, John said, “I’ll be seeing you real soon” in his stern, baritone voice. I nodded, but I didn’t really know when.

I’d gone three weeks without thinking too much about it. Orlando, Punta Cana, and San Diego can do that to you. Then I settled down and remembered the promise I made to myself in December. Success’ bright lights were within only a few blocks away, and there I was, just staring at them. After a little apartment hunting, I made my regular appointments for my driving lesson and test, discreetly so my own expectations weren’t too high. Outwardly anyways.

I had another crappy practice, but this time, I felt different. This time, I made myself practice the “aware” look. This time, I kept telling the universe how badly I wanted it. This time, I would pantomime the motions of a 3-point turn and the left turn. This time, I breathed in between repetitions of these memes. This morning, I watched this video and ran out the door to pump up my adrenaline.

I told John that today would be different, too. He asked me how so. I said, “I just feel it.” Sure enough, when I went through the test, I hit every point pretty well. My parallel parking was still in need of work, but everything else felt so natural. By the time I turned the corner back to the first block, I knew I clinched it. I jumped out of the driver’s, gave John a huge hug, and couldn’t stop jumping from Queens all the way back to Manhattan.

Tormented by this little issue for over a decade, I now have one of the things I set out to do. Another one is about 14 days away, and the other about 6 months away. I’ve put my foot to the pedal, and I don’t want to get off the next exit just yet …

Jose, who sung “Not Afraid” by Eminem really loudly in his apartment …

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Malcolm X in Africa, 1964

“You’re a Muslim now? Bullshit.”

“Nah, man, I’m on my dean. It’s great. I have a Muslim name and everything. It’s awoken me from inside, and it feels so different.”

Aquiles sits there, detailing his new views on the world, reformed after converting to Islam after having been a wavering devout Catholic for the 21 years prior to this undertaking. He tells me that his mornings are filled with Arabic chants and nights in meditations. He sees that nations can’t separate church from state, and that women and men shouldn’t date, but get to know each other for a while before getting married. My face shifts from a jocular disbelief to a nodding respect. Chris, in his jovial nature, says, “It’s cool, but he’s always playing that [chant] tape! EVERY MORNING!” We laugh.

Oswego was a place where I’d seen people drink mystery liquids from unsanitary coolers, meet face-to-face (and much closer) with some of the most attractive and vivacious Latina women I’d seen in my entire life, and mock demons with the amount of smoke that blew from nostril, ear, and mouth. From the few visits to Oswego in my time at Syracuse, I couldn’t have imagined he’s find Islam. Kids from the hood don’t find Islam. They either go from Catholicism to another Christian denomination or to agnosticism. They feel inundated with rosaries and sacraments that the guilt for not fulfilling their obligations turns to bitterness or they try to align their beliefs with their current lifestyles (and not vice-versa).

Plus, the only Muslims we ever ran into run the overpriced delis, the falafel place spots scattered around the neighborhood, and the garment and carpeting spots all across Orchard St. Often, the more ignorant ones would call them “habibis” and wonder aloud what’s hiding in their turbans, enlikening them to Toad from Mario Bros. Our own ignorance about them was the confluence of these influences, never having to take into consideration that Muslims, like Catholics and Jews who occupied the Lower East Side like us, just wanted their space to call their own.

Fortunately for those of us who went to college, we were thrown into an environment where our preconceived notions about everyone went out the window. Some of our notions about the way a normal (read: white) student lived stuck like a stereotype, but most of them made no sense in the face of the people I had to talk to on a daily basis. Plus, our curricula from years before never taught us much about Mohandas Gandhi, Malcolm X, or the real Martin Luther King Jr., and how religion didn’t mean they couldn’t speak up and out. Or speak.

He keeps saying the word Muslim with an ‘s’ and not the lazy ‘z’ American culture uses. It’s easy enough to adopt, so I took it on, just like one of my friends back in Syracuse took the ‘o’ out of G-d as a sign of respect for the indispensable spirit of G-d. As we’re driving back to my dorm, I think back to this transformation, and it stuck with me through the year. My advisor screwed me over, so I had to take a couple of extra summer classes to complete my computer science major. The Physics II class was compulsory, but Religion 101 should have been.

I went into the class hoping to learn a little something about every religion, touching upon the Bhagavad Gita, the all-too-familiar Old and New Testament, and read a little from other religions that never get discussed like santeria and vodun (or voodoo for some of you). Our final project pushed me from intrigue to elation. We had to choose one religion different from our own and go to one of their gatherings. I quickly chose Islam because of my friend Aquiles’ conversion, but also because I had a few friends going and they’d show me the ropes. Plus, it was within walking distance of the dorm I stayed in.

I remember waking up that morning to a dreary but temperate day, pensive about this new experience that I couldn’t understand. I’m hoping bricks don’t fall from the sky, or my heart doesn’t light ablaze from stepping into the mosque. I laughed a bit. After a bit of breakfast, I walk with my sandals to the place. As the people converge, I notice Aquiles walking into the mosque as well. I give him the usual pound, excited to see him. I tell him I need to concentrate, though, so we can’t do what we often did at masses years back.

This isn’t years back, though. I’m a much different person, a man with a keen eye for beauty. As I walk in, I’m asked to remove all my footwear and leave it in an open space. The New Yorker in me is skeptical and hopes he’s not walking barefoot back. “Alll riiight.” I sit on the floor, close enough to the imam that I could understand what he’s saying, but far enough so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself. The next hour felt like 20 minutes. In the middle of this teachings, I felt the winds caress my insides, my mind rinsed from the dead brain cells accumulated from a tumultuous spring and summer. None of it mattered. Black, White, and Arab men all bowing together, humming together, and breathing together, just like Malcolm said after his Hajj to Mecca.

I returned to class that week to recant my experience in that mosque, with Catholics, Muslims, Buddhists, and atheists reconvened and religiously confused. It’s probably the first time in years I’d had such a captive audience. The last time was actually as cantor for my choir in one of my high school’s Masses. I tried to take the magic I felt and put it in a jar so I could hand that in with my paper, but everyone in the class felt it, too, or at least I think so. I didn’t take off my shoes, either. I emphasized the ‘s’ in Islam.  And I flirted with the idea of dropping Catholicism right then and there for this profound experience I had there.

I never did. Which is all to the good. Because it’s important that members of every religion practice religious respect, tolerance, and consciousness, even when we disagree with the Higher Being they believe in. America’s relationship with ideas outside of the white, upper-middle-to-rich, Protestant-or-at-least-Christian male experience have equal parts ignorance and stupidity. Peace doesn’t work without fighting, but it has to be the right type of fight.

It’s not about the lesser jihad (warfare), but the greater jihad (spiritual self-perfection).

Jose, who encourages you also to go to a service than your own …

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Racing Requires Winners and Losers

by Jose 08.24.2010

On face value, getting money for education from the government is awesome. As a left-leaning voter (with no party), I should celebrate the government’s intervention in boosting the value of our schools most in-need. I should be happy that within the last few months, New York State has garnered at least 520 million dollars in [...]

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Five Blogs You Need To Have In Your Feed Right Now 2010

by Jose 08.23.2010

While working on the “magazine,” I thought I’d share some of my favorite blogs from around the blogosphere. While not all of them are education-related, all of them belong somewhere within your regular reading / watching material. I was also going to title this “Five Blogs To Read That Aren’t NYC Educator” simply because I [...]

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The Tumblr vs. WordPress Argument (and Why I Have Both Now)

by Jose 08.23.2010

At this point, there’s so many arguments over which blogging platform’s best, I decided I wouldn’t rehash those arguments as a whole. I still haven’t tried Drupal, and I don’t think Blogspot’s robust enough for me. I had four main sites in which I share my madness: Here (where I share my lengthier posts) Facebook [...]

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Book Giveaway: A World Without Islam by Graham Fuller

by Jose 08.18.2010

Hello and welcome to the fourth installment of The Jose Vilson Book Giveaway, where all summer, I’ll do my best to offer the latest and greatest books I can scrounge up … and all for free. < whooping and hollering here > The rules are as follows: 1. Leave a comment at the bottom of [...]

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