Ever been up the down escalator? Seems pretty futile, but that's how I feel everyday the bell rings and the school day ends.
Everyday the bell rings to end school and the children are sent home. Sent to a cold, dark and non-nurturing environment. Many have to fend for themselves because mom or dad is working late. Many have to fend for themselves because there is no mom or dad at home. Many have to take care of a sibling while mom and dad are working, or mom and dad just want to put the responsibility on the child. I enjoyed my childhood, because my mother told me that my job was going to school and getting good grades.
Everyday the bell rings to end school and children are sent home. Sent home to violence. Sent home to a community that teaches values of the street, not the suite. Sent home with a mean look on their face, because a smile means you're soft. We teach students skills that would get them hurt in the streets. It's fine to say sorry, please, thank you, and excuse me, while at school. Unfortunately, many of these same skills that are welcomed in mainstreet are discouraged in MLK boulevard.
Everyday the bell rings to end school and children are sent home. One day they won't have to go home to the empty house or the rough streets. One day, they'll go home with me. They'll go home to the dorms of my boarding school. A school that will nurture all the behaviors that truly lead to success in the suites, not the streets. I would staff my boarding house with college grads who cannot afford to buy a house or pay rent. There would also be veteran teachers who want to dedicate themselves to a great cause.
Each day, students would receive intense life building, study, communication, and career building skills. The onsite social worker and psychologist would assist with behavioral issues. Since I'm a realist, I know my utopia will have its share of problems. Students would be able to go home after school Friday and return by 3 pm Sunday.
I can't tell you how many times parents have come to the school after the child was involved in a fight, and tell me; "If a bitch touch you, whoop a bitch ass."
Friday, February 6, 2009
Mend the chain
Two weeks ago, I went to my 95 year old uncle's funeral. During the eulogy, well it was actually a sermon preached by my cousin, I became both sad and proud. Other family members and friends were talking about the past and remembering the good times. As time past, many stories seemed to create links and draw me limbs on the family tree.
This was the part that made me sad and proud at the same time. First the pride..
I am so proud of the accomplishment and roots of my family. I am so proud that I can draw the tree and connect many of the branches. I am proud that my family has valued "family". I know what profession my father and mother had. My first name, Allan, was my grandfather's name. Six men in my family are named Allan. George, my middle name, is my father's name. Shervington, my other middle name, is my great-grand mother's maiden name. Other members of my family are also named Shervington. As far as I know, my mother's maiden name Jacobs come from our Jewish roots. According to tale, my great-grandfather was a Jewish and married my great grandmother who was from Antigua. Oh, Annie Shervington was her name. That's were the shervington comes from and also Anna, which is my cousin's name.
The web of family is important. At least it is to my family. I could continue with the family tree and all the relationships, but the sad part is why I'm writing this blog.
The sad part....
As an educator in an urban high school, I talk to kids everyday who have no relationship with one of their parents, any of their parents or don't know that parent at all. I almost never assume that a parent's last name is the same as the child. I almost never assume that both parents live in the home.
Children today have issues that we can't begin to comprehend. They look to us for love, belonging and stability. So many children yearn for caring and a parental figure in their everyday life. Many of them are very angry and at it out every single day. If one of my parents didn't care enough to love me, stay with me or be in my life, my anger would consume every interaction.
How would you feel is you had no clue who your father was? Just think about that question. That thought consumes me and my heart goes out to all those who didn't have the support I had. My heart bleeds for those who ache, cry, scream, and yearn for the love and caring that only a teacher or staff member can give.
As usual, I just stop typing mid-thought, before the rambling really gets bad.
This was the part that made me sad and proud at the same time. First the pride..
I am so proud of the accomplishment and roots of my family. I am so proud that I can draw the tree and connect many of the branches. I am proud that my family has valued "family". I know what profession my father and mother had. My first name, Allan, was my grandfather's name. Six men in my family are named Allan. George, my middle name, is my father's name. Shervington, my other middle name, is my great-grand mother's maiden name. Other members of my family are also named Shervington. As far as I know, my mother's maiden name Jacobs come from our Jewish roots. According to tale, my great-grandfather was a Jewish and married my great grandmother who was from Antigua. Oh, Annie Shervington was her name. That's were the shervington comes from and also Anna, which is my cousin's name.
The web of family is important. At least it is to my family. I could continue with the family tree and all the relationships, but the sad part is why I'm writing this blog.
The sad part....
As an educator in an urban high school, I talk to kids everyday who have no relationship with one of their parents, any of their parents or don't know that parent at all. I almost never assume that a parent's last name is the same as the child. I almost never assume that both parents live in the home.
Children today have issues that we can't begin to comprehend. They look to us for love, belonging and stability. So many children yearn for caring and a parental figure in their everyday life. Many of them are very angry and at it out every single day. If one of my parents didn't care enough to love me, stay with me or be in my life, my anger would consume every interaction.
How would you feel is you had no clue who your father was? Just think about that question. That thought consumes me and my heart goes out to all those who didn't have the support I had. My heart bleeds for those who ache, cry, scream, and yearn for the love and caring that only a teacher or staff member can give.
As usual, I just stop typing mid-thought, before the rambling really gets bad.
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