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letters

At The End of the Day [The Letters Series]

by Jose on November 18, 2009 · 1 comment

in life

This week, I’m writing a few more letters to different people, whose names shall be removed from the post, but who nonetheless are amalgamations of real characters. I won’t be mincing words this week, and in these letters, I hope to address some issues I find in education as a whole through these letters. If need be, I’ll apologize later. Actually, I probably won’t.

Barack Obama at School

Barack Obama at School

Dear Barack Obama,

It’s me again, hoping you’ll soon respond to my letters. As always, I have respect for you and what you’ve done thus far in office (most of the stuff anyways). At the very least, you’ve brought many issues into the national zeitgeist in ways only few have the power to do, particularly education. My letter comes on the heels of a Meet the Press interview with your Secretary of Education Arne Duncan in tow with Al Sharpton and Newt Gingrich. As the video plays, I found myself shaking my head at almost every assertion these men made. While I expect a shallowness over educational issues from afternoon specials and morning wake-up shows, I still don’t expect that from men who have positioned themselves as “educational gurus.”

Very little about their collective histories build confidence in me or many others in their ability to understand the intricacies of the classroom, from the pedagogy and praxis of the everyday K-12 classroom and the management of an actual school because and despite restrictions from underfunded districts to the egregious practices of college loaners and their universities and the ultra-selectivity of the economically and / or racially underprivileged into post-graduate programs. Even if these individuals have tried to make a conscious effort to discuss the numbers behind their message, they sound more like they’ve dined at the corporate line table rather than actually having thorough conversations with people on the ground.

Let’s say we actually took the socialized system of public schools and turned them all over to private corporations and “non-profits.” When the next recession hits, as capitalism is prone to do, will we finally see a bailout then? Will the government have to step in and tell these “CEOs” to take paycuts but turn their backs when they take private trips to islands for professional development? Will our children have to shred all their papers and use the remaining documents for ticker tape, too? Will some of us teachers walk out with only socks and remaining curriculum in our suitcases? Or will we have a situation akin to Major League Baseball where we’ll hire “scabs” like proferred by Teach for America in lieu of qualified teachers with masters and / or years of experience in their profession?

A big part of me gets it, too. The one thing that most people seem to agree upon is that student achievement trumps everything else when it comes to education. However, the ends doesn’t always justify the ends, especially if the ends depend on unsustainable means. When I heard “Teachers have to come into a classroom and believe that they’re going to be ready and disciplined,” it says to me that we have yet to understand the conditions in which our children grow up and how so few actually make it out of the same system we come out of. When I heard “If the schools are failing, we just won’t give them money,” it sounds like it’s a problem that’s already been happening and it’ll continue promulgating the difference between the haves and the have-nots (for that matter, the halved or the halved-not).

To wit, in New York, we had plenty of schools who received the highest rating possible from the NYC Department of Education’s grading system, an A. By plenty, I mean 77.6%. Conversely, we only had 2 schools who received an F. Now, looking at the metrics, one might think NYC has done rather well, and deserves the monies from the Race to the Top fund. At a second glance, we see just how these numbers have manipulated so many of us. Our overcrowded, underfunded, parted, and soulless edifices can’t compare to the gloss Bloomberg’s coated over his office.

But maybe asking those three to visit a very low-performing school, even with Secret Service in tow, would mess up their shine. At the end of the day, as in the beginning, sunshine doesn’t gleam on brick and mortar. Yet the new glass ones aren’t so transparent either …

Mr. Vilson, who wants nothing more than Obama to read …

{ 1 comment }

G-d Takes Care of All [The Letters Series]

by Jose on November 17, 2009 · 5 comments

in life

This week, I’m writing a few more letters to different people, whose names shall be removed from the post, but who nonetheless are amalgamations of real characters. I won’t be mincing words this week, and in these letters, I hope to address some issues I find in education as a whole through these letters. If need be, I’ll apologize later. Actually, I probably won’t.

P.S. – As a special note regarding this particular note: any immature or ridiculous comments concerning my relationships with my students will get rebuked. There’s a reason I left my last blogging environment, so let’s not take it there. Thanks.

Man's Heart

Man's Heart

Dear Student,

Tonight, I probably had one of my most humbling moments when your parent told me that the reason why you even came to school was me. At first, it took me aback because I’m always shy when it comes to these sorts of compliments. Your parent told me stories about how you gush when talking about me in school, how you show your father your math grades online after they start doubting your excellence, how you get embarrassed when you get low grades in his class, how, when you moved, you begged to stay in the school you were in because of me.

When I first thought about becoming a teacher, I knew I wouldn’t be perfect, but I tried my absolute best. Even to this day, I don’t have it as great as I’d like. You’re the good student, too. You’re one of the students I’ve relied on so thoroughly, one who actually does what’s asked without being submissive. You’ve grown so much academically and personally, and I believe in everything you do from here on out. I’ve spent more than the 45-90 minutes most teachers have spent with you because we’ve hung around after school, sometimes during lunch, on trips to the Old and New Stadium, through exam after exam.

Each instance gave me a chance to love what I do, and thus give so much of myself as the student body. While so many of us teachers believe in full detachment, and I see the value in that, when one teaches with all they’ve got, it’s HARD to not care at least a little bit. You need more than just the academic development. Much of your personal development comes from understanding that your teachers care about you, and the more your teachers care (with variation about how your teachers show that love), the more you respond in kind.

Your heartbreaks, your pain, your greatest moments, your aches, and your griefs, I’ve heard them all.

Even the time when I thought you’d move. I heard. I responded that I’d think about adopting you for a year just to keep you here. I was totally kidding and never told your mom, but in my heart-of-hearts, I totally believed I’d consider it. Hearing today that your mom heard about that and that’s why she opted to keep you in the school says a lot about my relationship with you. You could come to me for anything within my reach, and I’d make it happen.

I don’t always get to say this aloud but thank you for you. Thank you for allowing me into your life and letting me bring you more than just math. Thank you for the pride you take in this journey we’re taking until June. Thank you for being part of my G-d …

Mr. V, who had a hard time writing this without choking up …

{ 5 comments }

No Hammocks, No Papers [The Letters Series]

by Jose on November 16, 2009 · 7 comments

in life

This week, I’m writing a few more letters to different people, whose names shall be removed from the post, but who nonetheless are amalgamations of real characters. I won’t be mincing words this week, and in these letters, I hope to address some issues I find in education as a whole through these letters. If need be, I’ll apologize later. Actually, I probably won’t.

Wimpy Asks for a Bailout

Wimpy Asks for a Bailout

Dear Mr. Sleep-a-Lot,

In the smaller scheme of things, you really don’t matter as far as my work with the math department or my work with my kids. You come briskly in and briskly out, saluting the strangers in our school while the rest of us consider ourselves family, dysfunctional and all. There’s a sense that you don’t want to be here, and I fully understand. When the principal makes his presence felt around you, you’re quick to pat him on the back, tell him you’re working hard for him, and should he need anything, you’ll take care of it. When asked to come through on this promise, you fall. Flat. Hard. With no remorse.

Good luck with that.

First, I gotta say I’m annoyed with your lack of care for our students. You let them pretty much run all over you, and you almost purposefully ignore the hard work the prior teacher left up on the board just so you wouldn’t have to collect the residual class work from the students. You call them all types of names without actually knowing who they are, and call in others to help solve your discipline problems. You sit in the hallway desk reading the paper, never minding the students fighting right across from you or the loud sounds coming from the boys’ bathroom right next to you.

People throughout the district know all about your incompetence, and yet, you’re so happy to deliver your [lack of] instruction to our students who need this so desperately. It’s even worse because you have a similar background to the students we teach, so your employment under the school system is as much a swindle of your culture as it is of the area’s taxpayers’ hard-earned money. You’ve learned every trick in the book when it comes to keeping yourself afloat, and I can’t imagine you ever having been a competent teacher on any level.

The worst part is: you’re the teacher who makes veteran teachers look like the problem in education.

The ratio of excellent vets to people like you could be 234850298345 to 1, but because of you and your inability to adhere to some semblance of educational pedagogy, those other great teachers have to constantly prove their worth when they always had worth in my eyes. You’re the reason the edu-deformers have attacked the union so thoroughly. You’re the reason why some people in the new teacher programs chastised newbies who followed the veterans and create schisms between staff members. You’re the reason why edubloggers always have to go on the offensive when it comes to their own pedagogy. You’re the reason why The Simpsons had to make Mrs. Krabappel. Frankly, you’re the reason why the conversations about tenure and salary differentials exist anyways.

If it was up to me, we’d raise the years needed for tenure to 5-6 years, the average time for a teacher to leave or stay. I’d probably lower the length it takes to give a teacher “due process” to 2 years. I’d probably ask for clearer definitions of competency since 90% of all teachers in this country get satisfactory ratings throughout the year (which either means we have a lot more competence teachers than the edu-deformers admit to or the people who administer these ratings don’t always know how to measure teacher effectiveness, a discussion for another time). I’d increase the amount each school gets in their budget so they’re less tempted to cut out highly competent vets who can then mentor younger students, producing more whole school communities rather than the current schema.

Lastly, I’d have a “no hammocks, no papers” rule. Just for people like you.

I’m not saying you’re not human, and that you don’t have a family to feed, your own issues to take care of, or your life to sustain. You could have been an ambitious and idealistic teacher who fell by the wayside from a system that still fails to support teachers enough for true teacher retention.

Yet, teachers fuel the schools’ bodies, and the weakest blood vessel can disrupt the whole body of work.

No administrator would give you a U rating because you’re either too nice or they don’t want to go through a 3-year process to dismiss you thoroughly. No union member will actively fight for you because in the national scheme of things, you’re making us look bad. No student will vouch for you because you read the paper before, during, and after class.

While you’re in tune with what’s going on in the world outside of school, you’ve completely missed the boat on transforming the world inside the school for those who need it most …

Jose, who’s as pro-union as they come, but recognizes the need for change …

p.s. – In related news, check this post by Larry Ferlazzo on the myth of “teachers coming from the lowest third of graduating classes” …

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Letters: Why I Don’t Just Color In One Crayon

by Jose on July 10, 2009 · 9 comments

in life

Audre Lorde

Audre Lorde

Dear Random Commenters and Viewers of My Blog,

In my last post, I contended, from personal experience and other sources, that Black and Latino males were definitely needed as participants in schools across the nation, especially in the role of teacher, head figure of most people’s experience with school and the man or woman in the front lines of this proverbial war. While it may be true that the teaching field needs more teachers, a point I alluded to somewhere in my last scribe, I find the particular dearth of males of color within the school systems with a high percentage of people of color a bit troubling. Many of you corroborated this theorem, from Henry Thiele who provided this wonderful article along the same lines to Sharon Elin who provided this great comment about how the lack of balance and experiences in the urban school setting in terms of sex, gender, and race often leads to an instability amongst the students. In the writing, I hoped to achieve a semblance of objectivity and pragmatism in my line of thinking.

Naturally, some of those who read were quick to say “Why you gotta make it racial for?”

Even without saying it directly, the way some of you reacted shows some troubling trends and why this issue is an unspoken passion for the tons of people who retweeted, posted, and e-mailed my post all over the web. And in no way am I angry, mad, pissed, or even disappointed. I’ve become matured in this dialogue to take offense to this sort of thing. Plus, some of this comes from people who I actually respect for their work. Thus, I write this as a piece for thought. Here’s a list of burning and non-rhetorical questions to consider:

1) How much does my own skin color affect my decision to write this post? I sort of mean that question tongue-in-cheek: there’s a direct correlation between my personal expertise in the topic and the reason I wrote it. But I’m puzzled by a caveat in this matter: I was mentioned as an African-American writer when the original blog was linked. While well-intentioned, I feel that those who aren’t comfortable with race issues use very PC terms to not offend me but end up making a gross generalization anyways. If the person said Black, I wouldn’t be offended. Not that I’m offended by being called African-American either, but if he had read the whole post, he’d see in the first line nearing the end of the post, I clearly give an identifier to my background. This matter is a whole ‘nother post in and of itself.

2) Why do some of us try to generalize an issue when there’s a discussion about a specific group of people? For instance, if we were discussing the disparate rates of pay between men and women in the same position, where women may get paid anywhere from 10%- 25% less on average for the same positions men hold in the United States, it would be implicitly chauvinist or even sexist of me to counter-argue  that everyone’s wages are either staying on level or decreasing as the US as a whole has become mired in debt and other monetary ailments, because it suggests a fatalism about the disparity, as if there was MORE equality when the economy was in better shape. In the same way, I think after bringing up the need for more Black and Latino males in this country, bringing up that we need more teachers in general sounds at least avoidant, as if tackling the issue at hand would be too much.

3) In turn, how can anyone of any color expect children to be interested in the teaching profession when they’re dissuaded from becoming teachers by their primary teachers? In a way, I understand: the school system has a way of making too many teachers scapegoats for the very deceitful policies that ostracizes too many of our talented and bright youth. No one wants to work in a place where all of the blame and none of the aut0nomy goes to the teacher. Conversely, I can’t understand how the solution to this problem is to boycott the profession. Unlike any other business of employ one boycotts, vacating education positions has and continues to have devastating effects on the lives and images of many underrepresented youth. Those in more affluent neighborhoods and better school systems see the value in education because a) they see people just like them and people who support them actually showing them how to become successful in very meaningful ways and b) they have the appropriate funds and structures in place to facilitate success within their edifice. I’d be dumb to say the same about some of the school systems in which we work.

But not once did I think to myself as a teacher, “My job is useless. Why even do this?” Never once did I back down when my mom, who probably thinks along the same lines some of you think, said, “Why even do this?” Even when people put me through hell, fire, and brimstone to see if I could stand the heat of an nontenured NYC Teaching Fellow, I never once told myself, “I think I’ll just quit tomorrow.” Maybe a couple of times, I felt like blaming myself for not being able to push all 90 students into the stratosphere where I think they belong. I just couldn’t see myself going up to someone with my aptitude and attitude about children of color and telling them, “Teaching? Just don’t.” Rather, I mentor as many as I humanly can, answer as many letters and e-mails as possible, comment on as many teacher blogs as possible, and maybe even do an interview or two, just to make sure people like me continue to pursue the classroom, even if it’s for a 5-6 year stint.

I’d never ask any of you, my readers, fellow teachers, and those interested in education, to color me in any crayon besides the one designated brown. As a Black Latino, I have my own set of experiences I share with no regret or remorse. I also just don’t see myself settling for anything more than true progress. Many of you continue to inspire me with your actual concern about the plight of urban students as I mentioned before. I encourage anyone who’s truly committed to helping children succeed to get into education to do so. Hopefully this letter clarifies the backbone from which I speak. As we expect our students to raise their hands and respond to our questions and speak from their own expertise and experiences with the material we present, we teachers have to do the same with what life deals us.

And even having said that, something still itches me about this issue …

Jose, who had an Audre Lorde moment a few hours ago …

{ 9 comments }

Letter: Man In The Mirror

by Jose on June 25, 2009 · 7 comments

in life

Michael Jackson's Moonwalker

Michael Jackson's Moonwalker

Dear Michael Jackson,

First, let me say that I’m deeply saddened by your death. Your passing ranks up there in the moments where people had to remember where they were standing when they heard the news. On a day when a fellow 70’s-80’s icon in Farrah Fawcett died and so did Ed McMahon, the news of you dying seems to have washed away most news about Middle East and Asian conflict, the NBA Draft, and second-to-last day of school for NYC students. And deservedly so. You were a legend of immense proportions and even with your less favorable traits you still managed to inspire, mystify, and amaze so many of us who only wished they could maximize their potential.

You were often this caricature of yourself, and the older we got, the more your public persona became a caricature of the last image we caught from scenes all over the world. Even still, the music always kept hitting us hard. You already had #1 hits back in your childhood with your brothers as part of the Jackson 5, and as you grew older, to make up for that missing childhood, you pushed the limits of your stardom. For a good two decades or so, you captured our imagination and had the nerve to call yourself the King of Pop, busting through the doors of MTV when they wouldn’t play your videos (they apologized by stealing the whole theme of your greatest contribution to dance).

Personally, Michael, you’re easily one of the greatest musicians ever. I still remember the Moonwalker video and wishing I could lean really hard to my side in a primped white suit, blasting guns into my enemies in slo-mo, or walking through the world made of clay and manipulating my shape however I pleased just to get myself through life. Or how about the time you went into space and spent $10 million to collaborate with your sister on a song where you tell the media off once more? And remember when you scared every person aged 17 and under but had such a fly rhythm you made us all wanna wear red jackets, tight jeans, and cat eyes? Remember when you gave Blacks a social consciousness song  or two every album just to let them know you were still down, plastic surgery and all?

Isn’t that what you were all about, though? While on the one hand, your musical genius is almost universally unquestioned, the personal sacrifices you made to reach that pinnacle (some from you, some from your family) almost made it not worth it. It’s almost as if to say, “You mean, to be like this Mike, I gotta do THAT?!” While many have tried to replicate your successes, or sample from the tree you planted, they fail in ways only true fans comprehend. There’ll never be another Mike, on any end and all ends of the spectrum.

What’s most striking about you Michael, more than anything else, is the reverence people have for you as a legend and man. Your dominance was unmatched, and as the media and others in the general public made you into a leper and a circus creature all at once, you still managed to touch the hearts of so many of us who grew up idolizing you. With every child case, your fans surrendered their innermost wounds and exposed them in some sort of catharsis, forming a crowd of the judges versus the pardoners.

You indeed were the man in the mirror, making us take a hard look at ourselves, attempting to answer those questions by looking backwards and moving forwards at once …

Jose, who’s remembering the time …

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Letters: No, Your Hips Aren’t Enough

by Jose on June 22, 2009 · 3 comments

in life

Rodney Dangerfield by Harville

Rodney Dangerfield by Harville

Dear Political Volunteer:

I’m going to say it: there’s no situation under which, when you have a serious proposition for me, you can nudge me with your hips while I’m trying to drink a rum and coke. None. I know who’s reading, and I can’t say I care much who it offends, or even if they’d like to get offended for none of their doing.

It’s after work, slight chance of showers, but a humid day nonetheless. My throat’s a little parched, but moreso, my mind is fried from another long work week. One of the school aides comes to me and says, “Mr. Vilson, are you going to the happy hour?” Feigning that I had any idea what she was talking about, I said, “Sure I am.” Then, “Wait, a minute: what happy hour?” She tells me that it’s at a nearby restaurant, a usual spot for the school aides’ crew. I told her I’d be there, in my mind thinking that maybe I shouldn’t. I was a bit ambivalent, but I sought this as a great opportunity to become more familiar with the school staff and show them I could drink with them as well.

Here comes the fun part.

As I’m sitting there, I look around the bar area and see a certain person’s face plastered all over the wall. He happened to teach at my school and he’s running for some office. Props to him for chasing his dream. He wasn’t there until later, but sure enough, his people were shoring up volunteers. One of them kept yelling, “I wish I was a teacher” and “one day, I’ll become a teacher,” to some peoples’ screaming and applauding and others (i.e. me) rolling their eyes secretly. I wasn’t in rebel-rousing mode and my rum and coke kept hitting the spot time and again. Cheers.

Then, the other assistant came through. At first, she completely ignored those who she didn’t deem “Dominican enough” (I’ve grown accustomed to the look). Again, I have no issue with that. Sometimes you have to go with what’s comfortable. Then, I see her heading my way. I’m at the corner of the table, sipping on my drink, and all of a sudden, I feel this nudge. I look to my left and she purposely nudged me. She doesn’t even say a word to me, but keeps nudging me with her right hip and putting her volunteer sheet in front of me. I gave her a look that said, “not really,” but I was thinking, “Hell no.”

Naturally, I’ve told this to a couple of people and that got mixed reviews. The one negative aspect I got that struck me was, “Well, you don’t want to upset the volunteer of someone who’s so well connected, and you don’t know the politics of what you’ve just done.”

In a way, the person’s right. The things I’m about to get into may have political implications for the school (as everything education has become political), and I wouldn’t want my career to suffer because of that nonsense.

Forget that.

I want my respect. If someone wants to ask me to volunteer for their organization, they’re coming up to me and saying, “Hello, my name is … Would you consider joining our campaign for …?” My manhood and respect aren’t optional traits. Do and say whatever you like behind the scenes, but if you’re going to talk to everyone else and nudge me, then I cannot accept that. If they’re not happy that I shook my head at them and want to tell their well-connected friend about me, I’m resigned to that. I have no beef with people, but communicate with me.

Lady, your hips are not enough.

Signed,

Jose, who can’t believe I have to wash watch my ass rear like this all the time …

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A Letter To The Black Star, Mos Def and Talib Kweli

by Jose on May 31, 2009 · 2 comments

in life

Blackstar

Blackstar

Dear Mos Def and Talib Kweli, (or whoever decides to read / respond / reflect)

Your concert piece last night reminded me why I’m such a big fan of yours. A myriad of followers from all over the Tri-State area, of all different backgrounds, ages, and cultures came through to show these two Brooklyn men love. Without any songs on the radio or much publicity, you turned out 2 sold out shows, one of which started close to midnight. And we waited for you. For that alone, I can assume you’re ecstatic and grateful to your fans for sticking around that long.

Meeting you, Talib, always came at the weirdest times. The first time I met you, it was in Union Sqaure while you were running around with your friends (literally). I remember just a really cool, humble Brooklyn dude, but little did you know this came right before I was going to purchase Quality, and since then, I was sold. I’ve converted many a non-believer with that one alone. I saw you at Syracuse University’s Block Party in 2004 with Wyclef, saw you at your free concert in downtown Manhattan, and even at a Barnes N’ Nobles, where you were getting some books with your kids. In all those moments, you never came off as larger than your fan base, never too cool to speak to anyone.

Same with you, Mos. You went and did a couple of solo joints, but have been equally as memorable for all your outside endeavors. Top Dog / Underdog. Def Poetry Jam. Brown Sugar. 16 Blocks. OK, maybe not the last one. But we dug the episode of House. And your random appearances on Talib’s materials. Again, all good to us. For some reason, your affable nature makes it easy to like you. If you walk down the street, you don’t consider yourself too big to walk down a street and grab a slice.

What’s weird is that, maybe you two never got that, but the rest of us, as anticipatory as we were, started losing our patience. Like how we got irritated with 88-Keys for being the second opening act when we were all there to see Blackstar. Like how we got irritated at the sound crew and everyone else who walked on stage before you guys, making us wait so damn long  for you all. Like how @realtalibkweli and @mrbey at first didn’t reply to fans at all, but your fellow celebs and hip-hop intelligentsia. And when @realtalibkweli started to, you sounded a lot like @rhymefest, asking us questions about trivia. Like how we only had you two in concert for exactly an hour and not a minute longer. Like how there hasn’t been a (joint) Black Star album since the first one, even with such visible chemistry on record and in real life.

And yet, here there we were, bopping our head to every damn song, 40$ a pop in the hole, making sure we had our cell phones, cameras, and camcorders out for this event in hip-hop.  We could care less about the people who appeared at the event, or the VIPs crawling the space. We just wanted that raw NYC hip-hop. We thirsted for those lyrics, and a reminder that the intelligent hip-hop fans / geeks matter, too. We wanted to dance, sing, rap along, and not feel like subservient model chicks and posers, but people of a movement that almost seems long past us.

For that feeling alone, and for keeping those flames, then, Talib and Mos, we have to thank you. Sometimes, we have these unrealistic expectations of our Black stars, especially those that touch our lives so profoundly, who write letters to their grandmothers that sound like ours, who offer us a way to get by and reach for the stars, who define and redefine our beloved music for us, who challenge us on so many levels, like we’re asked to simultaneously look at your humanity while we all reach for a divinity of sorts.

You’re truly Black Stars, against the canvas of an NYC night, appearing a curious celestial phenomena …

Jose, who’s all about the K.O.S. …

{ 2 comments }

Before You Become President (Dear Barack Obama)

by Jose on January 15, 2009 · 3 comments

in life

Barack Obama, Lincoln, Experience

Barack Obama, Lincoln, Experience

Dear President-Elect Barack Obama (or whoever handles your mail),

Like you, I’m just one man
A writer with a vision, a community organizer with dreams
Of an America where my President and Governer are Black in skin
Wise in their decisions
Vigilant in his ways
Persistent in his pursuit of justice
To do right by the American people
But sometimes I wonder if I’m asking too much from a man
Who preached change and hope to this author
When the sun rose over the White House,
It dawned over America the constant shadow
The last incumbent left upon the land
We live in a state where his ashes from the leaves in his stems
Float from sea to war-torn sea,
We see no refuge, but plenty of refugees
Your former opponent had enough houses to provide them shelter
And your future crib has enough rooms to put over a roof over these babies,
While water washes over former Cajun homes
Earthquakes crack brick
Brisk match-quick winds conflagrate rooftops of the rich and poor
Mayors and governors ignore the people’s will
Turn local governments into fiefdoms with a little money and a lot of PR
JESUS!
I’m not expecting you to work Messianic miracles
Walk across the Mediterranean,
Bring peace to Gaza and the holy lands,
Rub bandages to the Chinese protester prisoners
On their knees hoping for some restitution from this dictator authoritarianism
Sweep poverty from Russia and the Phillipines
Hold hands with the victims and survivors of diseases, infections, and afflictions in Darfur,
Zimbabwe, South Africa, and all points in between
Though I might ask you to pass around a basket with 1 loaf of bread and 1 fish,
And in the time it takes you to get a million or so fans on Facebook,
Have it FedExed to Oakland, CA,
with enough produce to feed the mourners
Of Oscar Grant and every dead civilian killed on account of their skin
Or their will,
Or their economic status,
Or who they choose to love,
Or whether they look like they belong in the land that postpones equal opportunity at will
So before you get cozy in the Oval Office,
Where many men have either uplifted or destroyed the lives of millions in one fell swoop
I want you to know that I’m proud of your successes
I want you to know that the shades that the White House now produce
I want you to know that this country, more than ever, needs your calm demeanor
Your spirit
Your willingness to listen
Your ability to champion the people as much as you champion yourself
As the sun sets, the shades on the other side of 1600 Pennsylvania now dance in your honor
Those shadows really the souls of MLK, Rosa Parks, Robert F. Kennedy, Madelyn Dunham
And the thousands of people who were laid to rest just for the one moment
And I want you to know that the Bible you’re asked to put your hand on,
You can hold
Wrap your fingers around it
Seize it for yourself first
But seize it for the rest of us who never could
Seize it for the rest of us who can’t
Seize it for the little boys and girls who haven’t yet …

Jose, who doesn’t want to wait …

{ 3 comments }

Little Miss Bittersweet

by Jose on January 8, 2009 · 2 comments

in life

Crumbled Brownies

Crumbled Brownies

Dear Little Miss Bittersweet,

Let me get to the point because, honestly, children only have an attention span of next to nil. I understand your situation: a boy who you once got along with is now treating you like you’re next to nothing. You’re usually really sensitive to everything and anything negative, and really, really persistent (on the ledge of annoying at times). You’re intelligent and sweet, but get too caught up in things to really calm your little self down.

As far as the boy, there was never really any attraction (as far as the eye can see), but now that he’s part of the school, he’s found a way to be dismissive and even demeaning towards you. You two have apparently had your arguments during lunch and in other places around school, and that’s too bad Ms. Bittersweet because, honestly, I thought you were a little better behaved than that. You’ve taken this fight to your teachers, a couple of social workers and counselors, the dean and to the assistant principal, and even with our best efforts, we’ve all come to the same conclusion: you need to learn to let go.

Not that I’m condoning (approving of) what he does, but I don’t think the way you have been acting around him is in your best interest. Letting the boy get to you will really make the situation worse, not better. In days past, when you were younger (much much younger), maybe it was easier to resolve problems by having you and the boy sit down in a chair while the teacher tells you that you have to act friendly. These days, especially since you’re both at an awkward age, maybe you should reconsider that strategy.

Now, if he’s bullying you or bothering you, then that’s something the staff (including me) need to take care of, but if he’s just ignoring you, not being friendly to you, or hasn’t even provoked you, then don’t provoke anything. Why start something that you’re going to have a hard time finishing? Do you think that making a list of everyone in school that you have any relationship with (including your teachers) and making a mean list is going to improve things (I’m glad I got a 6 out of 10 at least)? Do you think calling up his girlfriend to talk to him and trying to influence her to somehow coerce her into making you friends again is going to work?

By continuing this behavior, you’re handing over your power over to him, and I know you better than that. You need to be strong, and simply ignore him. Easier said than done, I know, because he’s in your class. Yet, you don’t sit together, you don’t eat together, and you share no friends.

And really, things change. Soon, this will pass, too.

Jose, who needs to write more letters …

p.s. – I’m not going to actually send this one to her. I might just sit down with her. I’m actually thinking about sitting with her parents and such. Thoughts?

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A Letter To My Former Student

by Jose on June 17, 2008 · 4 comments

in life

Hey former student,

I just wanted to say that it was great seeing you today. You’ve grown so big. Your shoulders are bigger, and you’re a little reminiscent of your mom. Your vocabulary’s grown a lot, and I already have a sense of how you’ll sound when you become a young lady. I always knew you had it in you. I’m not surprised that you ran and screamed my name in the middle of Harlem just to say to me since you’ve always liked me as a teacher, but I’m surprised to have even seen you since I had just thought about you and the rest of the students in my very first class at our school.

With all that’s happened to me recently, from the visit to the ER for my heart problem to my cousin’s death, I reminisced about some of the last few events over the past week. In particular, I started to focus on the 8th graders vs. Staff basketball game (we won), and the recent prom. Then I remember how you were the prom queen, and how so many of my kids were there, so well dressed and so impressive.

Then, I reminisced back to when you were 7th graders, my first homeroom. You were the only class who’s ever thrown me a birthday party, and a surprise one at that. Your class is the only class I felt like getting gifts for as a whole. Your class is the only class I cried for because I was so proud of you all. I could talk to all of you about anything, especially the news, and many of you appreciated those words of wisdom. I developed great relationships with almost all of the parents in your class, and almost felt like that second father, or even the father that some of your classmates never had. I could be everything in front of you all, and still feel like what I said would resonate in your minds.

Even during our rough spots, I never felt anything short of love from the majority of you. Now, it seems that the students I teach have become less appreciative of the teachers who care for them. At least on the surface. In two years, after I’ve been their math teacher for 3 years, I wonder if they’ll make me as proud as you have. I wonder if, when I go to their proms, I’ll have secret moments when I wish I was still sitting next to you reminding you to multiply the variable with all the inside terms, reminding you why you can’t calculate the slope the way you did, or pumping my fist in excitement over you knowing that there is a relationship between multiplying two variables with each other and finding the area of a square.

And seeing you today kinda makes me miss that feeling of pride. I know I still see some of you, strolling by 52 with parents or not-that-significant others. Sometimes, I even get to catch you on my Teacher MySpace, seeing you throw up deuces like you’re that cool. Even if most of you don’t end up remembering me decades from now, I’m still grateful to have had the opportunity to not only teach you, but hopefully inspiring you to become better people and not just students. You all weren’t always the perfect class, but I still miss you all …

mr. v

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