Posts from — March 2008

Mike Jackson once dedicated himself to a lady in his life.I’d like to extend a similar offer.

Today, after a little contemplation in school, I realized how blessed I am to have the women in my life, and how they set a precedent for not only how I interact with women who are complete strangers, but how I’d like to see the very young women maybe grow up to be. Strong, independent women who at least give off the impression that they have their priorities straight. At parent-teacher conferences, I highlight to the parent of many of the young women my resolve to help them see that road at least as far as I can (which the moms appreciate usually). In turn, they even feel comfortable enough to tell me things they wouldn’t share normally, like pregnancy scares, their crushes, and other things they may not necessarily share with a male teacher. After all, I already have a set of women who’ve helped me understand what I need to say.

I can’t form any one specific image of what “strong and independent” looks like. Some might refer to that as “sassy“, but that’s only a part of the whole picture. But I’m also fortunate that I got lots of love for those inspirational figures. I’m definitely not one to deify the women. I learned long ago that that kind of attitude usually leads to misogynistic tendencies. It’s just that not enough dudes celebrate the women in their lives, mainly because we don’t know how to handle that mush. We’ll give a headnod, or say something privately, but maybe if we can reciprocate that love and respect, we’d get that back.

I mean, I love the woman who birthed me, because even through some of our issues, she was / is everything for me. She’s the first woman I ever knew, thus I have no choice but to compare every woman I’ve ever met to her.

I love the women who took on the role of a mother for me at times. The first was more than capable, but a woman who temporarily treats her man’s child as her own gets respect from me.

I love my girlfriend who redefines that word every few months or so. I try not to bring her up in these parts, and she’ll probably get the hardest cheese after reading this, but I appreciate the example she sets for me, and the other little nuances that make this relationship more than worthwhile for me. I love her writing, her pragmatism, her drive, her heart, and her cooking, none of which she doesn’t think is that great, but I tend to disagree. She’s a beauty to behold from the outside and in, and she makes me want to protect her.

I love the women in my inner circle, the ones who stuck by me through the successes and the defeats of the last 3-4 years of my career. They all have found ways to challenge me, to the point where they made things difficult just to keep me on my toes, and I respect that. They also show me the most love and praise when my confidence starts to suffer a bit. Most of all, they still have this determination that makes me want to do better for self. Only one of you can claim me as an actual sister, but the rest of you are sisters in soul. Much love.

I got love for the women who inspired me to write and write on, too, especially Sonia Sanchez, Staceyann Chin, and Tara Betts, who I’ve had the great pleasure of not only meeting but having solid interactions with. Their lyrical talents and sound advice made me want to write my poetry more raw, more potent, and certainly more verbose, bringing power into my prose as well.

I got love for the lady bloggers here too, because you tend to be the ones who write the more extensive comments to this blog, the ladies who put me on their blogroll, and the ones who’ll write me a letter or a note outside of this blog and tell me how you enjoy my content. The fellas are cool, but that’s not how we roll. We’ll link each other in our posts, maybe do the blogroll thing, and if there was a poignant idea or conversation to be had from a specific comment made in either one of our posts, then they might write. The ladies who read this, and I’m sure this goes for everyone else out there, far outnumber the men in my comments because they don’t have to have a specific reason to comment other than to say “Thanks” or “That was dope” or even to recall an experience shared. It’s powerful stuff.

Secretly, I love the first girls I ever taught. I grew up with them for 2 years, and really, they taught me a lot more about the older women in my life than the aforementioned women could have told me about themselves. I’m not afraid to say that, but anytime a male educator says they have love for one of their female students, alarms go off, another reason why there’s a dearth of male teachers. Really, I was their father figure much the way I am with my male students. I watch them mature and hopefully they look at their futures past the boys, bubble gum, and drama that they delve into for the grand majority of their junior high school years. Of course, I don’t involve myself in any sticky situations (i.e. no R. Kelly antics here), but they were the glue when I needed this job to stick. The birthday party planners, award givers, and the ones who ran after me to get their picture taken before they left graduation.

They each have their own purpose, and the definition of love in each case varies from person to person, but frankly, I love (or got love for) the women in my life. Sometimes they frustrate me with their … inability to translate their actions into man-speak, but damn, I’d be 1/2 the man I was without them. When I have one of my own, I hope I can bring up that girl to be strong like her momma (whoever that person is), her grandma, and the other women who’ve inspired me to write this note.

With love,

jose

I know I might lose a few subscribers off what I’m going to say, but fu … gettabotit:

1. I don’t do pair testing; it’s just too weird for me.

2. Homeroom is very necessary for children who never have any other source of stability in their lives.

3. It’s important for teachers to inspire as well as elevate our kids’ thinking, by any means necessary … and plausible.

When I look at the various teachers on my floor, I see a range of experiences, and with that, a range of classroom management / discipline styles. One thing that they all have in common is their love for teaching. Most of us come in understanding our roles as molders of young minds, and not just static figures from 8am - 3pm. Some of us are more practical, focusing on the actual job and not worried about whether the kids remember you or not. The problem with that, and I’ve found this especially true over the last few years of teaching, they always remember.

ALWAYS.

Especially with middle school, because these are their formative years. Just when you think you don’t have a grip on them, you get that little feedback you need to reinvigorate you. Teachers who’ve been in the system for at least 3 years have enough stories to last them more than a few rounds of beers. For instance, I had this one girl who many of us saw as such an airhead. For a good 6 months of her 8th grade career, most of us were under the impression that she was far too infatuated with boys to tap her potential. She was bright to no end, even earning high scores on her math and ELA tests. Then, for 3 straight months, she finally showed us how hard she could work and eventually graduated, ditzy personality intact, and left the school without a trace.

She stayed in the back of my mind because I always used to see her friends around, and wondered if she ever made something of herself. Then, this year, when I logged onto my teacher MySpace (yes I have one of those and no you can’t see), I noticed a strange bulletin from her. It was about our school. At first, I was expecting one of those typical “I hate my former school” bulletins, but as I kept reading, she really seemed to enjoy her 8th grade year. And guess who she put down as her favorite teacher? Me. Yeah, my jaw dropped at that very moment. I definitely messaged her back with a thanks. Truly humbled.

And that’s just a tidbit of the love I’ve received from my kids. I still get visits from my alum, even when I least expect it. People drop me messages, post stuff on my door, and even try to run into me before I go to school. For one reason or another, I have an amazing rapport with them, while never sacrificing my academic rigor. They always come back with stories about how easy freshman year math is. Granted, some of them do come back telling me that, despite that, they’re still not doing well because of whatever personal problems they were going through. It’s probably the saddest part of the job. I’ve seen the triumphs and the defeats first-hand. Sometimes I wish I could do something about it like reach out and help my former student out.

But the most I can do is pack as much learning as possible in one year (if you’re lucky, 2), and hope they learn something directly about math, but implicitly about life. I have a captive audience, I might as well give it all I got. I can proudly say I provide an answer to the question “What if you had a 12-year-old’s ear for just a second? What would you do?”

What do you think? As an educator, do you find it important if not worthwhile to inspire your children or young adults? Let me know in the box.

jose, who loves it when kids ask questions like “Have you ever farted so hard, you shiver?” after class …

p.s. - After reminding him how to convert degrees to radians on MySpace, one of my alums wrote me tonight,

“oo ok thanks man…i wish i had a teacher like u now…all these wakk teachers in highschool…wish i had some1 to tell me 2 shut up…lmao”

My hip-hop heads know that, over the last weekend, many of us commemorated Christopher “Biggie Smalls” Wallace’s (a.k.a. The Notorious B.I.G.) anniversary of his murder 11 years ago on March 9th, 1997 in Los Angeles, CA. Unfortunately, the murderer still roams free (or so we presume), and while the lawsuits are still ongoing, many in the hip-hop community already have tons of conspiracy theories, none of which have proven solid enough in the court of law, or in the ever-bungling LAPD. He still remains a legend, ranking in almost every hip-hop aficionado’s Top 5 rappers of all time, and his legacy continues in everything from the club to the studio, where even the most popular artists borrow portions of his lyrics to this day.

The one thought that came to me this morning was “What if Biggie was living today? At 37 years old, his point of view would most likely be completely different than at 25, still fresh out of crime. It’s similar to something that was said about Tupac Shakur upon his death: Martin Luther King was still a small town preacher at 25, and Malcolm X was still hustling at 22 before he was incarcerated at multiple prisons. Yet, I’m definitely not somebody who wants to put words in someone else’s mouth. Rather, this is an exercise in trying to understand the complexities of his persona and the lyrics that he left for us to ruminate over. Others may simply disregard his lyrics because of their misogyny and negativity, but rather than ignoring them, understand where they come from, and let’s find solutions that hip-hop yells about.

Ed. Note: I didn’t use any material post-Life After Death. If he didn’t want it out, then I wouldn’t use it.

Without further adieu:

Sup, y’all? It’s the Notorious One a.k.a. Mr. Wallace.

(::applause and screams::)

Mr. V wanted to talk to y’all about school. My mom already blew up my spot years ago, but I used to be a straight A student in high school. I wasn’t a geek ::ahem:: but in school, I put it down. My mom used to be a teacher, and she got her masters, so I was chillin’ in Bed-Stuy, BK. We didn’t have money like that, but we was aight. It wasn’t until late in high school I was messin’ up my life, runnin’ around, doing drugs, and other stuff you don’t really need to be playin’ with. For all my grades, though, I got a scholarship, and a good one, too. Planned to go to college, too, but I lost my scholarship money to pay for bail. No regrets, but that area in my life was dark.

So aight, I got no job, no school, and my moms ain’t too happy with me, so what I do? Sell drugs. I can’t front; sometimes it was fun, but for the most part, I hated it. All the ugly things I seen, the people I shot, and having to stay up at night scared for my life didn’t help. I slept with a glock near my bed, but still had no peace. When jail became a revolving door, I did what you know me for now: rap. I rapped on the corner, rapped at the burger joint, rapped wherever you wanted me to. I even made a demo under the name Biggie Smalls, and DJ Mr. Cee, a legend, got it, who passed it on to The Source, who put me onto “Unsigned Hype” section of the mag, and that’s when I said, “OK, this could work.” Cats was gettin’ me gassed, but I kept workin’ at it.

Then somebody called me up and said, “Somebody wants to speak to you.” Turns out, it was dude Puffy from Uptown Records! Puffy came up to me, called me in for a meeting, and signed me on the spot like “Here you go.” He wanted to make me a star, and I was down. I won’t talk about the particulars, but I didn’t care, I was hyped, like “I’ma make it.” Record after record, I kept at it. Oh you want me on a Mary J. Blige record? No doubt. Heavy D? Aight. Super Cat? Let’s go. Dudes was hot, but I wanted to be the best. Puffy told me he was gonna make a new label, but I’d have to quit the crack game. I mean, I handled my business, but at the end of the day, you’d have to be a fool to not stick to the rap game. I had to make money to feed my daughter, and I was hot. I even had a new girl and she was on the label too.

But the more money you get, the more problems come around, and jealousy and envy is part of the game, but it’s something that cats gotta deal with. Just then, 2Pac, who was my dude for a while, we were comin’ up in the game, started cuttin’ on me on records claiming I got him shot, this, that, and the other, but then at awards shows, he’d come up to me, and say “Yo, it’s about sellin’ records, man. I ain’t mad at cha.” Then again, I had my own part in how that turned out, ’cause whoa, that coulda gotten ugly. I ain’t trying to go too deep into that, ’cause whatever problems was happening because me and Pac ain’t nothin’. I wouldn’t want to wish death on nobody ’cause there ain’t no coming back from that.

All I know is, I’m good, livin’ good, you can see, eatin’ good, but rap is what I do. Some of you got it confused; rap ain’t my life. It’s my hustle. I’m a father with kids, and I got bills to pay. I gotta pay back that advance I get from the majors, plus I got another family to run, my Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique. They all doin’ their solo thing too, but I’m the head of my own label and my clothing line. I’m doing concerts, shows, TV appearances, guest records, and a million other things y’all can’t understand right now. Plus, when I was young, I didn’t know anything else besides rapping, selling crack, and all the temptations that come along with that. If I was flippin’ burgers at McD’s, I’d rap about Big Macs, word to my moms.

I went through a lot, and right now, my daughter’s livin’ good, eatin’ good, my family’s good, too. I’m having a hard time not cursin’, but it’s all good to me, you know? Selling drugs and all that, that ain’t the life. I’m not doing it anymore, and I would never go back to that life. I still got stress, but 11 years does a lot of good to a young man. But like I said before, sky’s the limit. Once you think you’ve stopped going, naw, keep going. I still made it after all my hardships, so if you keep at what you’re doing with the school work, you’ll make it too. Don’t let anybody stop you from dreaming B.I.G. Aight, peace …

federal agents made cause’s jose’s flagrant, tap his cell, and his blog from my basement …

The leftovers:

1. Wait, you mean Obama actually won Texas? Well then, maybe the MSM (mainstream media) has a lot to think about when it comes to responsible journalism. Not that I’m for or against either candidate, but it’s important to present the facts.

2. My impressions of Squidward and Gary of Spongebob Squarepants fame are becoming impeccable.

3. I finished Ch. 1 of my manuscript for the WOW Project. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be giving updates on that until I’ve personally handed in my manuscript to an agent, but I’m really excited.

4. JD and Taylor, I’ve already answered the Blog Evolution Meme and Top 5 Posts Meme I think, and in style …

5. My brother’s forearms are bigger than ever. I might have to check if dude’s on that HGH.

6. No really, my Apple Jacks actually have a nice apple taste, but it’s overpowered by that cinnamon.

6. Tamara and Ilana, I got you right now (re: Passion Quilt Meme).

Here are the rules:

• Post a picture or make/take/create your own that captures what YOU are most passionate about for kids to learn about…and give your picture a short title.
• Title your blog post “Meme: Passion Quilt” and link back to this blog entry.
• Include links to 5 folks in your professional learning network

Are you surprised? This iconic image is the representation of a freedom struggle of living in this country. On one end, they represented America in grand fashion, delivering 2 of the 3 top medals in their contest, and on the other end, they knew that their country wouldn’t afford them the same rights as Whites were during that period. If I showed this to my kids, I’d want them to understand that their strength didn’t just come from their superior athleticism, but also their heart and love for their people, and the intelligence to make a stand in the greatest world stage. (It’s also important to know that there were 3 protesters there. Peter Norman also wore a protest badge to show support for Tommie Smith and John Carlos.) The opportunities they’ve received wouldn’t have happened without the struggles that people before them faced; now it’s up to them to carry that torch.

As for the people I want to pass this onto, I got nothin’. Take it on if you want to.

7. At first I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve officially been linked on not one but two (mostly) gossip sites: Nicole Bitchie and MzVirgo. Shocked? Yeah. Appreciative? Certainly. I must be taking tips from Gangstarr.

jose

p.s. - Anticipate a positive post, a post about why your future’s so bright, you need to wear shades, and a post about NYC. I’ll definitely need your participation on that last one.

“The more you try to erase me
The more, the more
The more that I appear
Oh the more, the more
The more you try the eraser
The more, the more
The more that you appear …”- Thom Yorke, “The Eraser,” later sampled by CRS (Kanye West, Lupe Fiasco, and Pharrell) in “Us Placers”

I try to never ever talk about my place of employ. It makes sense because, despite the lack of consistency with my kids, I’m pleased in general with how things have shaped up recently, and am always happy with the communication between my co-teachers and I (at least the main ones). However, I can’t help but feel some sort of empathy when I hear of someone who tries their hardest to maintain a sense of self while everyone around them tries to crush that identity. In other words, what’s with all the hating?

There’s the light sort of hating I usually engage in with my friends, throwing soft jabs at one another just for fun. That’s all well and good, because it’s necessary to bring that sort of levity into any amicable relationship. As long as there’s no sense that one is trying to alpha dog the other, or mortify the other person completely, then that’s fair game. There’s also the case of the teacher like me, who hates on his kids all the time, simply because I really want to see them do better. I need to keep them humble and critically thinking about various aspects of their lives, and not just the math on their sheets. Again, these are rules of engagement.

However, there’s also the sort of hating where people really try to bring you down for no apparent reason other than to further some selfish agenda, even if the first person’s trying to better the collective. I’m always amazed at the stories some of my fellow teachers tell me. Some of the anecdotes I hear compare readily to stories you hear from war veterans and seafarers. Stories of mutiny, tyranny, incompetence, and betrayal make me think that this world really is on a downhill slope on skates with no protective gear.

Granted, some people exaggerate. For instance, all those little twits on MySpace who generate hatred towards them because it’s the only way for them to get messages / page hits / friends in general and thus garner the attention and hate they so desire (versus let’s say, apathy) don’t count. Others still deserve to be hated on for the dumb trends they start like a Paris Hilton, a Cam’ron (no pink on my person), or political figures like Clarence Thomas, or a Condoleeza Rice, considered amongst the worst race traitors of all time.

But within that realm lie people who don’t deserve some of these peoples’ spew. Hypothetically speaking, if another teacher decided to discredit my teaching skills simply for my physical appearance, my skin color, or my perceived accent (it’s not that strong at all), then I might have to get gangsta up in the place. If someone decided to try and tell me how to do my job when I’m more qualified, have more years of experience, have more degrees, garnered a better reputation, and don’t have a scuff on my record whereas the hater does, then I’d have a hard time biting my tongue. Even when times call for a more professional attitude, sometimes I agree that we need to show people we can step out of that realm so they won’t get too close to our person.

It’s like the more they try to erase you, the more you appear, and the more they use the eraser, they more they show their true colors. The sweetest part of it all comes when, after all the defamation and derision, you’re left standing on the heap of their rotting defenses, the sweetest aftertaste in a dish best served cold.

jose, who is definitely nervous about the state math test, but did as well as he could with what he had …

p.s. - Carnival of Education, EduWonks is the sponsor … 

On Friday, our grade / floor celebrated Dominican Independence Day / Black History Month, through a series of performances, from song and dance to Powerpoint slides and poetry (including yours truly.) I wasn’t bothered at all by the performances or even the more pro-Dominican stance the school usually takes. It’s ingrained nationalism, and perpetuated by their insular neighborhood (Washington Heights, if you must know). What that implicitly means is a denial of their African roots, an unfortunate side effect of the white supremacist agenda of Rafael Trujillo, thus creating an identity of anti-Black or “as close to white as possible.”

Then on the flip side, I went to an event on Little W. 12th St. sponsored by La Raza (which colloquially translates to “The People”) entitled “A Dominican-Haitian Invasion”, and naturally, I was insistent on going. The mix of African dance, merengue, salsa, and zouk made for a good evening. I even got to meet the guy who invited me there (shouts to Santiago, a talented artist in his own right), and we discussed the Dominican-Haitian divide in brief. What really got to me in this outset was the anti-Dominican sentiment in the crowd, particularly because so many Dominicans were there.

I’m not often a centrist, and don’t always believe in compromise, but this, once and for all, has to have some finality. How can two countries that reside on the same island and have such a thorough history still divide each other even when so many of the proletariat look like each other? Even if that wasn’t the case, I find it annoying, especially as a descendant of both countries, that these countries can’t find a means of coexisting without continuing the ignorance on both sides. Yes, many Dominicans would prefer to curse me out than acknowledge that they have African ancestry, but there’s also the part where, during Haitian rule, many of the matters between the two sides of the island were mismanaged by the Haitian government. What will Haitians say about that? There had to be something awry for the Dominicans to beg Spain to become a colony again, and we can’t just point the finger at white supremacy.

Whatever the case, I just think about those countries’ histories, and this country’s history, too, and wonder if we’ll ever reveal to our youth more of the truth and understanding behind the revolutions that existed, and not the idealistic and grandiose images we paint for our youth, so when independence day celebrations come around, they’re not simply yelling and cheering shallowly, but at least make informed decisions about what they’re truly proud of …

Here’s a metaphor I heard during our fabulous faculty professional development:

No matter the type of shoe, they all get laced the same way.

And it was used in the context of our children’s learning. I laughed a little after I woke up from my coma. It didn’t come from our principal, so thank goodness for that. If I understand what the presenter’s trying to convey by this, not only is this completely contradictory to the ideas of differentiation that we’ve been inundated with for the last couple of years, it’s also another hint as to how the Bloomklein administration perceives many of our children. Let’s extend the metaphor a bit.

Not all shoes are the same. Some are made for running, high jumping, basketball, football, soccer, walking around, chillin’ on a Saturday, teaching, doing some dirty work, working out, and just lookin’ fly. And since we’re on the subject, there are 33 different ways of lacing up shoes, along with a variety of laces to choose from, depending on style, appropriateness, and affordability. Already, we have a few things to take into consideration. Then, even if we laced them up all the same way, we’re not even sure if the knot will stay on long enough for the person wearing the shoe. Some need a double knot while others need those knot clips. Some others need to have their lace tips mended, others still need to be washed after a long week, and then there’s that section of shoes that don’t even have laces and just need to be slipped on, though they’re the minority (no pun intended whatsoever).

Come to think of it, teachers aren’t just the shoe lacers. We’re often part of the long line of shoe makers, adjusters, and inspectors these shoes go through. Even if Bloomklein would prefer to have 90% of our shoe company make black boots (perfect for manual labor), we as teachers have to do our best that we understand the diversity in the brand of shoes we make. Our customers depend highly on our product, and only until we learn how to do our best when we run it through our inspections will we make a good shoe.

Then again, I wouldn’t necessarily call my students a shoe per se, since they aren’t to be worn. Then again, I don’t go to some educational administration school where they give me talking points to push onto my teachers in a professional development. Quotes from random people don’t impress me; action does. When we use quotes, we should invoke the spirit of the quote, and substantiate them with our actions. Otherwise, they’re just hollow words.

I’m a simple teacher, and my business is strictly in the classroom, so maybe I’m wrong. Then again, since I’m on my feet all day anyways, I might know a few things about what’s on my size 13s …

jose, who wants to give a shout-out to one of the best photographers on Earth as far as I’m concerned, and a group of women doing some sassy things …

A few notes as usual:

0. I have a new e-mail for this blog. The blog’s gotten so big as far as the communication I’m getting from some of you, I had no choice. It’s all about growth. Feel free to shoot me any tips, comments, or suggestions through the e-mail in the sidebar. Just don’t spam me, please.

1. Still bumpin’ that Janet album, Discipline. My new favorite song on there is “So Much Betta.” I’ve also redeveloped an appreciation for Jay-Z’s Reasonable Doubt.

2. I do a mean impression of Squidward.

3. The Firefox developers really need to improve its English dictionary. Even the word “Firefox” is coming up as an error when I type it in this box.

4. I just bought a new book entitled The Freedom Manifesto, by Tom Hodgkinson, which seems to align with my non-fiction / self-help / history inclinations, though currently I have a good 25 books and 14 CDs on cue and a book outline I haven’t opened up since early January. More on that later.

5. This week, I’m focusing completely on education in my blogs. I got a couple of barn burners, I believe …

6. So here’s another confession:

If you don’t ask me the right question, then you’ll never get the right answer. I’ve become more aware of my difficulty with just rambling on about myself, no matter how difficult or trying my life becomes. On my blog, I’m a totally different person, able to spout verbs and nouns about damn near everything. In real life, though, the right question usually leads to a good answer, and then we can have good and honest conversation. What essentially makes a good question is what we expect from our kids: the truth. The more explicit the question is, the better I can answer the question. As cool as inference is, it doesn’t come close to clarity.

7. Oh yeah, by the way, I performed on Friday for my grade’s Dominican Independence Day / Black History Month Celebration. More on that later, but for your enjoyment, here’s the poem I read. I got my Michael Corleone on for this one.

“I Am”

I am the man
I am the promise of previous generations to make the world better
I am the stage performer, the fan, and the audience
I am the math teacher who teaches more than math
I am fresher than the freshest sneakers out
Without a doubt,
I’m the guy parents confuse for just speaking one language
When I speak two
¿El habla español?
Si, yo soy el maestro de tu hijo o hija en el quinto piso
Yo existo en mi propio mundo
And I am el rey of everything I see
From Brooklyn to Queens
I am the orgullo of all my people
El poderoso del barrio
The remembrance of 50 million people who look like me
Crossing the Atlantic on ships not meant for real people
But didn’t quite make it
I am stronger than the fiercest chains strapped to my wrists
Faster than the dogs chasing me
Brighter than the dark skin I lay in
I am the man, so I’m not kidding
I am the rock in the roll of the melody in your guitar
The soul in your body dancing to the rhythm
And the sole of your shoes holding the millions of people who protest
For people like you
To sit here in front of me
Tapping with your feet to a hip-hop reggaeton beat
I am the first me
The superstar who once traded stories with Jesus, Malcolm X, and Biggie
With Hector Lavoe, Juan Luis Guerra, and Che Guevara
With Dolores Huerta, Sojourner Truth, and Celia Cruz
I am a salsa, merengue, bachata swinging
Rapping, beat-boxing, mathematics teaching,
Jazz, funk, samba, African dance, iPod listening
Coaching, writing, child inspiring
Winning, graduating, Penny Harvesting
Well-dressed, well-spoken, but still very much hood
Soul man
I am not your n-word or Spanish cuss word
Reminding you of how people want to treat you
I am a man
And you?
You are the future I hope I’ll be proud to promise to the next audience …

jose, who will eventually answer all those memes out there …