I Got Nuttin' But Love For Ya - The Jose Vilson

I Got Nuttin’ But Love For Ya

by Jose Vilson on November 8, 2011

in Mr. Vilson

from Wikipedia

Musée de la Bible et de la Terre Sainte

I wear a mask when I go to work. It’s the Mr. Vilson mask, and it provides me the distance from people that my age (and respect) otherwise wouldn’t give me. I wear it when I get off the A train on the Dyckman – 200 St. stop. I wear it as I race up the stairs out of the train, aware of the teachers and students behind me. I wear it past the supermarket, the car wash, the library, the parking lot, and the custodians working around the garden in front of the school. I wear it past the school safety agents, down the hallways, and into the main office. I wear it into the office I share with the principal and a few others. I wear it all the way to the classroom, in the classroom, into the professional development I’m about to run, during the plethora of errands I run, while putting out fires I never started, and under immense amounts of pressure.

It’s not that I’m not smiling because I’m sad. I’m not smiling because I’m reserving the energy I’d expend on smiling and joking for the work of the people.

The way the mask comes off is in the small pockets when order ensues. In no way do I mean to keep the mask on for prolonged periods of time. It’s as necessary as my OCDesque routine of checking for my wallet, belt, watch, cellphone, and keys. As I try to navigate my position as a math coach, a liaison between teachers, students, and administration, the one piece I’ve learned is that, despite the negativity, I had to be the better person. I have to upgrade everything I’m doing because it’s my professional duty.

I don’t chill.

None of this reflects what I actually feel about people. This wasn’t more evident than today’s baby shower, where some of the people I have a great relationship with came to the shower that was evidently just for me. On an Election Day PD day, I didn’t expect anybody to actually go to it, honestly. As people trickled in to eat Dominican appetizers and drink soda with us in the teachers’ cafeteria, I remembered to be myself. There was a certain sense of relief taking off my mask and reminding people of Jose, the outward version of the person who still looks out for people. As we joked and laughed, I didn’t even care how many actually showed up because the people who made it made me feel like I mattered in someone’s life. That’s good enough for me.

I got nuttin’ but love for my people, even when I have a hard time showing it.

Jose, who thinks the importance of Heavy D’s music cannot be understated …

{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Jim Cavallero November 9, 2011 at 2:03 pm

A shock that he is gone and he will be missed. My 11 year old daughter recently saw Heavy D on one of the awards shows and asked me about him. Broke out the Heavy D stash and listened to it with her. Can’t believe I never shared it with her before. Maybe I need to start doing that with her more often.

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teachermrw November 13, 2011 at 9:30 am

Jose, I think that we as people of color wear the mask in our respective environments, and this is something that Whites cannot fundamentally understand.

Reply

Jose November 13, 2011 at 6:53 pm

There is that, too. My school’s predominantly “of color,” but yeah …

Reply

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