thoughts and poetry

devoured my courage empty stomach i starved  myself of my present i hid for too long from terror, but i will no longer allow it to  consume

my heart off beat  lungs tighten my world meanders in loops, reoccurring dreams, chest heavy bad prophecies, the inevitable is always  the worst

before the panic, i must

(pause)

the smell of alcohol crawled similar to  my former demons that haunted me when I was your age. your head down on the table, i’ve never seen rush so softly from such hard eyes

my hand soothed your back and you sank into the seat you rarely filled. you have always asked to sit by the door to feel the breeze and now you weep oceans  into my classroom, washing away the  smell of the devil.

i know your hurting

i know i’m here

holding the ether

tightening my fingers curl

as if i’m holding something real

but i keep onto

your fantasies

as you cry

tears

of letting me go

letting you go

Today was one of those days that puts me back to my first years in teaching. No matter how much experience is under my belt, I come across these moments of novice challenge. The first years' tears were those of utter incompetence, a type of paralysis where I was stuck in my own self-depreciation and allowed students and teachers to take hold of my esteem and dignity. 

The cost of my dignity is not always a reflection of my incompetence; I’ve come to learn that--and this is what separates the adversities I face now in comparison to then. I am no longer a novice. But the wisdom I gained has been toughened skin from shanks from shards jagged out of a broken system. 

There have been two students in my class who began this year with high hopes. My class is known for second chances, so often times I have students who have experienced the brunt end of the school system, stigmatized as trouble makers, gang bangers and “slow,” finding their way into a “maybe I can” in my classroom. 

These two students I have seen commit to their work and take pride in our positive relationship. Yet as the semester progresses, I feel the strain of my effort increasing and their wandering growing.

As I notice this, I too feel the tension of keeping them in class and focus. I become the “punching bag,” and as I bring a soft discipline in their behavior, I am slowly flagged as the other. 

Love is a double edge sword. It is both compassion and hope, but equally as important is discipline and accountability. I inhale in and take a breath. Processing internally why they are acting out and initiating multiple conversations outside of the class to extend an olive branch. With every conversation, we begin to learn together.

I learn about the expectations they have to face as young black men, as they learn that I am not their average teacher who will single them out. I love all my students equally and want them all to succeed, including them.

These are the very anxieties that make me want to run out the classroom--the pushback and confrontation. But it is the shared experience of walking into the dark places of our youth, that are often times predispositions given by adults and the system, and turning on the light together to their fullest potential, that brings me back every time. I don’t know how I have stayed a teacher this long, but must have to credit the tenacity of our youth people to overcome their fears and develop new mindsets because they trust me as their teacher. 

Some of my most powerful revolutions begin in my most quiet and secluded moments, designing a new mindset and stepping into a paradigm of “Yes, hope is now.”

In the silence, I can feel and hear the calling to my own liberation. A declaration of freedom that echoes along with souls who have found the same highway. My hands and feet set to move and work to the highest peak on earth. It is in this highest calling that we commit to the most challenging of journeys--here we are precisely defined through the embrace of our lessons, in becoming the fullest of our potential; both in independence and in community. 

Hope comes from revolutions that are hidden and quiet, just as commit comes from a personal decision to unwaver and believe. 

So I just read an article about neoliberalism and I was quite intrigued.  I want to use this space to flesh out my thoughts and analyze the impacts of a free market on education.  That term “free” is quite deceiving.  A free market with no regulations is not a fair market at all, considering that most of the bonds and control belong to people who are already in power.  It really eliminates the need for the public good and community. 

Though I appreciate this new form of entrepreneurship,  I feel that this new market builds a greater pull into establishing our business, while neglecting our social institutions.  Public agencies do not get recognized; citizens become reduced to mere consumers.  The problem with this is that corporate forces begin to increasingly define the formalities and functions of public spaces--for example schools/education.  

Schools are a domain in which students are on a journey of experiencing the dimensions of politics, power and authority.  They question and distinguish the future form the past, the restore and hope in the new.  They don’t overlook the mistakes of our history, nor should they romanticize the future. If we want to cultivate our schools into place of hope, we must teach them to raise those confrontational questions that push orthodoxy and shift the public intellectual to be inclusive of the current diversity of social values and identities--isn’t this our moral and civic obligations as citizens?

Schools need organization.  We need accountability.  We shouldn’t all be hippie teachers who throw out the rules as radicals--but these kinds are still appreciated.  However, the free market is lending more opportunities for businesses to undertake public affairs, limitting the potential of pedagogical practices that flourish in a setting that focuses on the needs of the community and aims to enrich students with knowledge to negotiate circumstances in life.

I bang against your door

and you open your oppression

and my freedom enters your room--

here is where you will find your peace.

In this peace,

you give me the keys to your shackles

that lock around my wrists.

You’ve tasted my freedom

that still awoke when I was enslaved,

and you no longer need me to be

in your chains.