Sunday, January 25, 2009
Skepticism or Practicing What I Teach
Each morning with the news on as we get ready for work, my husband acts as a commentator of the commentaries on the TV. Like someone reading a newspaper article aloud, sure you want to hear what they are reading, I have just grown to tolerate it, or more honestly ignore it.
This past week he has had quite the list of comments on Obama and the inauguration. He will tell you he is a voter of issues not parties, but that is not true, proven by his comments. I wish he would just get over the fact Obama is now the Commander in Chief and move on. One afternoon as we running about for errands, he engaged me in a conversation about the cost of this inauguration as compared with Bush's back in 2004. He was very persuasive, very knowledgeable and conversed with great confidence and examples to support his position. I began thinking this would be a great blog topic especially after our live blog at school on January 20th. Several students addressed the cost of the inauguration and wondered why we are still spending on the war for example, and why all that money on inauguration events?
I tend to take shortcuts and do lots of things and quickly. Needless to say, the end result is often full of mistakes only having to be done again. Preparing the discussion in my brain I decided to research the costs of inaugurations. It was only a matter of time after browsing and reading that I decided to abandon this idea--another media myth. The end result? Skepticism made me practice what I teach.
This past week he has had quite the list of comments on Obama and the inauguration. He will tell you he is a voter of issues not parties, but that is not true, proven by his comments. I wish he would just get over the fact Obama is now the Commander in Chief and move on. One afternoon as we running about for errands, he engaged me in a conversation about the cost of this inauguration as compared with Bush's back in 2004. He was very persuasive, very knowledgeable and conversed with great confidence and examples to support his position. I began thinking this would be a great blog topic especially after our live blog at school on January 20th. Several students addressed the cost of the inauguration and wondered why we are still spending on the war for example, and why all that money on inauguration events?
I tend to take shortcuts and do lots of things and quickly. Needless to say, the end result is often full of mistakes only having to be done again. Preparing the discussion in my brain I decided to research the costs of inaugurations. It was only a matter of time after browsing and reading that I decided to abandon this idea--another media myth. The end result? Skepticism made me practice what I teach.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Remembering on Martin Luther King Jr.'s Birthday
Each year when Martin Luther King, Jr. is remembered by the holiday we have today, I find myself in deep reflection of what all of this means. I remember at the end of 6th grade the big news was schools would be integrating. Many of my friends would go to school south of where we lived, which had been the “white school”. I would go north a bit to the “black school”….Frederick Douglass Jr.Sr.High. It wasn’t just that many of us would be divided between boundaries and schools, but many of my friends’ families literally pulled up roots and left Maryland to move to other southern states that had not yet followed integration, to avoid being immersed into having to send their children to integrated schools.
The first day of 7th grade I remember looking down at my feet—trendy penny loafers with socks (I could just die, but my mother would not yet let me wear stockings) and standing off with my white friends from 6th grade. We were going to miss the friends who moved…especially Lisa, her parents had horses and we were often invited over to ride. Many groups were gathered all about as friends do, and clearly there were the black groups and the white groups (only to be followed in time to come the “greaser groups”, the “collegiates”, the “farmers”, etc).
I didn’t really get it…what was all the commotion about? Up until 6th grade I had been traveling and moving about as a Navy brat…did I miss something?
I was excited about going into junior high and with grades 7-12…cool! I joined band and this was probably my greatest passion for a few years. The Douglass Marching Band under the direction of LeRoy Battle was famous, or had been famous at least up until the school integrated.
For the first couple of years most of my teachers were black….and damn hard as I recall or honestly perhaps I was just not a strong student. I have remotely kept up with Mr. Battle over the years; He is now in his upper 80s. He had a jazz band that made the club circuit for a long time, he was a Tuskegee Airman, and he has authored two books….only a few things I know about this remarkable man and teacher. He pushed us so hard, I never valued that then, but when I reflect, how fortunate I was. Mr. Stephenson, Mrs. Pinkney, Mrs. Goldstein, I remember all those 7th grade teachers…..they were pretty strict and had very high expectations. Clearly, that being said validates that they influenced my education, and how lucky I am.
I rambled a bit off topic…I don’t ever remember any friction between the races in school, I don’t remember any name calling, at least in my circles of friends. I do remember when I started at Douglass there were about 25% of us that were white, and 75% black (isn’t it funny how statistics that are buzzed about stays in your brain?) and by the time we graduated….oh I don’t know, who cares what the ratio was. There were 123 of us and we all knew each other, if not as a good friend, at least by name so we could say hello when we passed in the hall.
My dad was from Georgia, my mom is from Tennessee. Since we were now in the states, and my dad about to retire from active duty, Maryland was going to be our home. So, we went to GA often. As we drove south and stopped in the Carolinas I do remember the signs at gas stations over the bathrooms and the drinking fountains marked “whites only”. In my dad’s small southern town, one of my uncles had a filling station and we would go there as kids to get a bottled pop and hang out. There were not just the signs for “whites only”, but a sign with an arrow directing “colored” towards the back. My Granny had a “woman” who came in to help her with the cleaning and laundry in her home. I think I only caught a glimpse of this woman; she stayed and worked at the back of the house. When we would go into town with my dad, we would pass an ice house and I remember seeing the black workers sitting on the dock off by themselves. There was a cotton gin across the street….I had read about Eli Whitney and remember feeling happy that a cotton gin was there because when I envisioned slaves working in the cotton fields, it tugged at my heart. We also spent hours at the swimming pool with my cousins, and it was for “whites” only. So my ignorance of what was happening in our nation was subsiding and I was getting educated on the realities of the civil rights movement.
We lived only about 20 miles outside of DC…if you were to get on Pennsylvania Avenue and head east, it will bring you to my town. Watching the news at night was a ritual in my home. I grew up keeping pretty aware of national and international events. When King was assassinated we were glued to the TV for several days. When events happened in DC, it was like it was happening in our backyard. The Poor People’s March was King’s last organized event before he was assassinated. When the Poor People’s March ascended on DC and Resurrection City evolved, one of my teachers, a National Guard Reservist, was called to active duty. We kept very close to the TV to watch how the mall had become a home for the protesters. It was devastating to see the beautiful mall converted to a city of tents immersed in mud due to the rains. This brought the seriousness of fighting for equal rights more real than ever. Bobby Kennedy was then killed. The footage on TV of the ransacking and looting that followed the closing of Resurrection City left me not just feeling sad but now frightened.
My journaling about this is not especially unique, but it is mine….my memories, my emotions, mine. I don’t want to ever let it go, I share with students each year at this time, I share with my sons, and I choose to remember because this is such a significant piece of history that should never be forgotten. I continue to have great hope that we can be tolerant of differences and always strive for a better society, a peaceful world. Tomorrow’s inauguration of Obama is tangible evidence that our nation has grown. Whether we voted for him or not is not important…what is important is that we move forward together with unity.
For more information on The Legacy of Resurrection City:
http://weekendamerica.publicradio.org/display/web/2008/05/08/1968_resurrection/
The first day of 7th grade I remember looking down at my feet—trendy penny loafers with socks (I could just die, but my mother would not yet let me wear stockings) and standing off with my white friends from 6th grade. We were going to miss the friends who moved…especially Lisa, her parents had horses and we were often invited over to ride. Many groups were gathered all about as friends do, and clearly there were the black groups and the white groups (only to be followed in time to come the “greaser groups”, the “collegiates”, the “farmers”, etc).
I didn’t really get it…what was all the commotion about? Up until 6th grade I had been traveling and moving about as a Navy brat…did I miss something?
I was excited about going into junior high and with grades 7-12…cool! I joined band and this was probably my greatest passion for a few years. The Douglass Marching Band under the direction of LeRoy Battle was famous, or had been famous at least up until the school integrated.
For the first couple of years most of my teachers were black….and damn hard as I recall or honestly perhaps I was just not a strong student. I have remotely kept up with Mr. Battle over the years; He is now in his upper 80s. He had a jazz band that made the club circuit for a long time, he was a Tuskegee Airman, and he has authored two books….only a few things I know about this remarkable man and teacher. He pushed us so hard, I never valued that then, but when I reflect, how fortunate I was. Mr. Stephenson, Mrs. Pinkney, Mrs. Goldstein, I remember all those 7th grade teachers…..they were pretty strict and had very high expectations. Clearly, that being said validates that they influenced my education, and how lucky I am.
I rambled a bit off topic…I don’t ever remember any friction between the races in school, I don’t remember any name calling, at least in my circles of friends. I do remember when I started at Douglass there were about 25% of us that were white, and 75% black (isn’t it funny how statistics that are buzzed about stays in your brain?) and by the time we graduated….oh I don’t know, who cares what the ratio was. There were 123 of us and we all knew each other, if not as a good friend, at least by name so we could say hello when we passed in the hall.
My dad was from Georgia, my mom is from Tennessee. Since we were now in the states, and my dad about to retire from active duty, Maryland was going to be our home. So, we went to GA often. As we drove south and stopped in the Carolinas I do remember the signs at gas stations over the bathrooms and the drinking fountains marked “whites only”. In my dad’s small southern town, one of my uncles had a filling station and we would go there as kids to get a bottled pop and hang out. There were not just the signs for “whites only”, but a sign with an arrow directing “colored” towards the back. My Granny had a “woman” who came in to help her with the cleaning and laundry in her home. I think I only caught a glimpse of this woman; she stayed and worked at the back of the house. When we would go into town with my dad, we would pass an ice house and I remember seeing the black workers sitting on the dock off by themselves. There was a cotton gin across the street….I had read about Eli Whitney and remember feeling happy that a cotton gin was there because when I envisioned slaves working in the cotton fields, it tugged at my heart. We also spent hours at the swimming pool with my cousins, and it was for “whites” only. So my ignorance of what was happening in our nation was subsiding and I was getting educated on the realities of the civil rights movement.
We lived only about 20 miles outside of DC…if you were to get on Pennsylvania Avenue and head east, it will bring you to my town. Watching the news at night was a ritual in my home. I grew up keeping pretty aware of national and international events. When King was assassinated we were glued to the TV for several days. When events happened in DC, it was like it was happening in our backyard. The Poor People’s March was King’s last organized event before he was assassinated. When the Poor People’s March ascended on DC and Resurrection City evolved, one of my teachers, a National Guard Reservist, was called to active duty. We kept very close to the TV to watch how the mall had become a home for the protesters. It was devastating to see the beautiful mall converted to a city of tents immersed in mud due to the rains. This brought the seriousness of fighting for equal rights more real than ever. Bobby Kennedy was then killed. The footage on TV of the ransacking and looting that followed the closing of Resurrection City left me not just feeling sad but now frightened.
My journaling about this is not especially unique, but it is mine….my memories, my emotions, mine. I don’t want to ever let it go, I share with students each year at this time, I share with my sons, and I choose to remember because this is such a significant piece of history that should never be forgotten. I continue to have great hope that we can be tolerant of differences and always strive for a better society, a peaceful world. Tomorrow’s inauguration of Obama is tangible evidence that our nation has grown. Whether we voted for him or not is not important…what is important is that we move forward together with unity.
For more information on The Legacy of Resurrection City:
http://weekendamerica.publicradio.org/display/web/2008/05/08/1968_resurrection/
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