Skin color conversations, family outreach

Last week a parent sent me a long text explaining that her son was teased by a child in another class for appearing white. She is also light skinned and offered that she has experienced similar teasing her whole life. We immediately scheduled a meeting.

In the meeting she explained that she has told her son to ignore other children when they speak to him like that, and she obviously was trying to encourage positive self-esteem at home, but she needed tools. She looked at me fairly blankly when I talked about some of my in-class strategies.

When I asked if she wanted some books she looked like I offered her money. I felt so appreciative that I had left some of my better books on skin color close-at-hand. I grabbed four and she immediately packed them into his backpack.

I hope I never see those books again.

Looking at the bigger picture makes me nervous for my students and other students like him because if this parent who is educated and engaged needs resources, what about all of the parents who aren't even thinking about it? What about the parents of the child who called my student "white" and meant it as an insult? How can I, as a white educator, support families in a meaningful, organic way?

Half of My Students are Failing First Grade

The deadline for grades and academic data is this Tuesday in preparation for Parent-Teacher Conferences after the Thanksgiving break. I'm close enough to finishing all of my spreadsheets to have a pretty good sense of who will officially be on our "watch list" for staying back and doing first grade again next year. And it's half of my class.

I woke up this morning with my brain buzzing and it took me few hours to figure out why I was on the verge of an anxiety attack: my babies are failing and I have no one to blame but myself. I was their Kindergarten teacher, and I thought I was sending them to first grade prepared for more challenging material. If half of them are failing, then I must be failing as a teacher. 

Each family of a "failing" child will receive a letter, which I would categorize as threatening, explaining that they are currently on track to repeat the grade. I will write these letters myself, write goals for each child to guide their families toward helpful intervention at home, and deliver each in a face-to-face meeting. I'm at the point where I feel like such a failure that I cannot imagine teaching another year ever again in my life. 

But there is a caveat. Almost all of my students are on free or reduced lunch. They have wonderful families who work long hours and experience all of the stress of poverty. My students often put themselves to bed. In most cases, I teach the moms, grandmothers, brothers -- anyone who is not at work at night -- how to do the homework so that they can help my student at home because they don't understand the work themselves. Honestly, I remember a similar tension in my own family when my grandmother didn't understand how my second grade math was supposed to be done. Instead she just taught me the way she remembered and then I failed a quiz. We keep reinventing the wheel in education, ahem, Common Core, so things change completely every ten years or so. And families are totally stressed out trying to learn the way that I teach so that they can help with homework. 

I am not saying that I have low expectations for my students. In fact, sometimes I feel like I push them too hard. What I am saying is that not one person in my building is talking about the role that poverty plays in academic achievement. Not one person is willing to acknowledge how much our students lost over the summer. No one wants to hear that the children who are failing are challenged every day by their circumstances because their circumstances are out of our control. All of the unspoken factors that affect our students stay invisible, and teachers are left to bear the guilt, the failure. 

Surprise! Seattle Schools are Crap

When I think of Seattle the first things that come to mind are: wet, Microsoft, progressive. Imagine then, my surprise (horror) this weekend when I had brunch with a fifth grade teacher who told me some very not-progressive anecdotes.

Some of her complaints were your run-of-the-mill urban education roadblocks:

• Large class sizes 
• No professional development
• A lack of community among teachers 
• No supplies
• No technology (Anyone else see the irony?) 
• No support for homeless students and their families

But then a couple of the stories struck me as downright shocking. First, she told me that there was no contingency plan for students who are homeless. Unlike NYC, where "homeless" usually means living in a shelter when you are talking about a student, Seattle's more temperate climate means that families actually set up tents and make their homes in temporary dwellings. I haven't done the research but it sounds like there are fewer programs to support families. Or maybe more families in need. So she says, "Take out your pencil and a pair of scissors!" and half of her class just stares at her. You either spend your own money on the supplies or you don't assign projects that involve cutting.

It gets better (or worse, depending on your sense of humor). Her next-door colleague is teaching in a room that was previously used for special education intervention groups. That means that the room was not outfitted with desks and is quite small. After he was hired this new teacher went to the principal and asked for the desks and chairs he needed. Apparently, teaching in Seattle is like clubbing in NYC: you have to be on The List to get furniture. Unfortunately, this man did not make the cut. So he had to write a grant. For chairs. 

And then the kicker. My new teacher friend came from a low-income school in Madison, WI where every child was given intensive small group and individual attention to ensure that they received plenty of academic enrichment. When she arrived in Seattle with only her car and an entire classroom library squashed in the backseat of said car, she planned to continue this sort of individualized instruction. Teachers call this "guided reading." But get this: her students were so used to sitting in rows and never being asked to interact one-on-one with their teacher that they actually refused. It took her two months to convince them that spending time with her was worth their while. When she went to ask her colleagues for advice they were appalled, "WHY are you wasting your time with groups!?" 

When I looked up recent news articles I found this one which includes an anecdote about a parent donating $70K to a school so that a teacher could stay in their position.... 

So, why is no one talking about Seattle? 

Micro-aggressions on Picture Day

Today was a special day in Room 314. Mothers frantically snuck into our room during breakfast with only one thing on their mind: PLEASE PUT LIP BALM ON MY BABY BEFORE THIS PICTURE. Normally our children aren't allowed to have lip gloss with them at school because it's a distracting status symbol among 6 year olds. On Picture Day, though, everything is different.

So, we collectively primped. Even I ran to the Teachers' Office for a quick swipe of chap stick. As we headed downstairs everyone was filled with visible pride, as if taking your first grade picture officially makes you a first grader.

We lined up by height, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the photographers were efficient and friendly. Picture day has probably not changed a lot since you were 6, although these days you are given a barcode which is scanned for payment, scanned again to choose your background, and then scanned again as you actually take the pictures.

The woman in charge was middle-aged, wearing far too large a diamond to be a school photographer, and had a freckled tan that hinted at lots of summer sun plus maybe a little extra in a tanning bed. She appeared to be white. She came to hand out barcodes. About halfway through calling out student names, she said loudly, and to no one in particular, "Where do mothers come up with these names?" 

One of my little girls happened to hear her. And crestfallen doesn't even begin to cover the look on her face. All of the work I did on the beauty of your own unique name was completely undone in a moment. And then, I did the most despicable thing I could have possibly done: I gritted my teeth and smiled.

Afterwards, I ran up behind my sweet girl and reassured her that she has a beautiful name. I watched her shoulders noticeably relax. She let out a nervous laugh that was almost a sign of relief. But what did I teach her? That sometimes people are ignorant and you must grin and bear it.

What could I have said to that woman to make her understand her comment as racist without making her feel attacked. Or should I have attacked her? I'm left wondering, how is this kind of micro-aggression still happening in 2015? What should I have done?

UPDATE as of 10/29/15:

A few days later, I had a conversation with someone in our administration about what happened on picture day. She assured me that if I was willing to write it up, she would pass it along to our point person from the photography company. So, I wrote an email. And she forwarded it. But, I'm still left feeling like it wasn't enough.

Book Review: All the Colors of the Earth

All the Colors of the Earth by Sheila Hamanaka reinforces the idea that people are many shades of brown, using natural imagery to reinforce positive skin perceptions.

"For love comes in cinnamon, walnut, and wheat..."

The prose is poetic and bouncy, full of many positive representations of children and families. Because this book short and the images are engaging, it would make an excellent beginning of the year book when you introduce skin color pencils. On the other hand, it's a great book to have on hand in case students make comments about someone being "black" or "white" in order to offer them other skin descriptors. Many of the words used for skin are excellent opportunities for expanding vocabulary and the entire book is set in many shade of brown.

Reflection: colorism as teasing

Most often I hear students engaging in basic categorization of themselves and their peers. "I'm white. You're black." But, over and over I am reminded of the ways in which society reinforces light skinned privilege. (If you need some information on colorism within the African American community, read this article for context.)

A few weeks ago I heard one of my students taunting another, "You're white." My first reaction was to feel frustrated. We have been talking about the ways that all of our browns are beautiful since the beginning of the year -- nearly nine months ago.

My next reaction was to pull them aside and talk about what they were saying and why. Turns out, the student was feeling frustrated and spoke from a place of hurt. We talked about how to handle when someone is bothering you, and about how all our skin is beautiful.

Neither of them could name a skin color other than black or white, but one student offered to get the skin colored pencils. We spent some time talking about each color and how to find a match. I did it for myself first and mentioned that I could never quite find a perfect match for my skin so I just narrowed it down and picked the closest one. On reflection, I wish I had had them draw a picture of themselves together with some positive skin labeling, but it's not too late. I could talk to them about it again today.

Just like when you teach Kindergartners any abstract concept -- a question versus a sentence, long and short vowel sounds -- you need to repeat yourself. Some children will need small groups. Others will need one-on-one time with you. Promise yourself that you will address race every time it comes up in your classroom for a month and see what happens.

Reflection: Studio Museum field trip

Last night I spoke to one of the educational directors at the Studio Museum about a field trip my class took that I was very disappointed with. She started the conversation by thanking me for sharing my feedback. Specifically, she said that her team has needed to address issues with the educator who gave our tour before and my email provided them with specific information that they could discuss with her. 

When I wrote the email, I worried about paraphrasing the educator or seeming too forward. Speaking to the educational director, I realized that the Studio Museum can't fix problems that they don't know about. Both the director and I have the same goal: to educate children about art from artists of African descent. We could work together on that goal. 

In June we will return to the museum for a second tour. I will be able to speak to our guide beforehand so that they know about what we have learned and what we are interested in learning. I'm excited to share with you!