The Other Side

I was really tired this afternoon. Not in the way that I usually am (and I definitely usually am), but in a way that made me want to fly to Alaska. Okay, maybe not the normal response to a tired feeling, but let me explain, because it really was how I felt (as ashamed as I am to admit to that).

At school, I'm kind of in the thick of a lot of stuff going on. There's a huge cultural difference between my school's neighborhood and the places I come from. My kids deal with things at 7 years old that I've never encountered my whole life. I'm definitely the odd one out, from my skin color to my family background. I always knew from the beginning it would be this way. But today it really hit me. 

We had recess outside this afternoon, and our kids ran up and down "the grassy pasture," as our school likes to call it (I like to call it "the dirt patch"), for about 15 minutes.  About 2 minutes before we had to go inside, I heard some extra commotion rising above the usual din of recess. It was coming from across the street, and it was between a mother, her son, and two men (in their thirties-ish?). Apparently the two men were from the boy's school and had just escorted him home after he got in a fight and was expelled for it. The mom was yelling at the kid, the kid was yelling back at the mom, the school officials were throwing their two cents in (although it sounded more to me like a few dollars worth) when they could possibly get a word in. The screaming got louder. Then the F bombs started flying. Then the slapping and hitting started. After talking back one too many times, the kid (a sixth grader?) pushed his mom to the limit. The men started making their way back to the school, but kept yelling like crazy as they walked and the mom and kid continued at it. 

Now this elicited a number of responses from my students, who were making their way to line up. Some of them didn't even notice and continued talking and playing with their friends. Some of them grew immediately silent, and took the commotion as a cue to break up the fun and get inside as quickly as possible. And then some of them gawked and laughed out loud at the kid across the street as he got disciplined by his mom, pointing fingers and telling their friends to look too. 

In the moment, I was just focused on getting all of my (now hushed) kids back in the door and upstairs. As I thought about it though, I replayed the episode over and over. My mind was sort of racing. The kid did get expelled from school. He had it coming right? But I would never treat my kid that way! But then again I haven't had him as a kid. And I haven't ever grown up and lived in this neighborhood and had her skin color so who am I to say something like that? But then again he got expelled for fighting, where did he learn to deal with his problems like that? And what does it do to a 12 year old when this is the nature of his relationships at home? But then again do I really have the right to make a call on the nature of his home life after a 5-minute snapshot from 20 yards away? 

And those thoughts went on. Now you get why I felt tired. This situation wasn't just this situation. It symbolized, for me, THE SITUATION. And not in the Jersey Shore sense, but more like the whole reason why this Teach For America thing exists in the first place. I don't like getting into debates when it comes to race, because race is about people and not politics. Maybe I'm reading a little too far into it all, but this afternoon was one of the first times I witnessed firsthand some of the realities of my kids' lives. Even this morning one of my second-graders shared how she babysat 4 of her little cousins all day on Saturday. By herself. Last I checked, 7 and 8 year olds need babysitters themselves. What is her mom thinking? But I don't know her mom's story. I haven't lived it. And while I do my best every day to be gracious to things I don't know and haven't lived, it's hard to know what to think and feel when the brokenness yells from across the street with a voice louder than 23 second-graders and demands your attention. I wish I was one of those inspirational people who is confronted with cultural difference and knows exactly what to do and is energized by opportunities to solve society's problems at 1000 miles per hour with a big beauty-pageant smile on her face. But I'm not. I was confused and did my best in the moment, which I'll admit was not a whole lot. 

It all goes back to the idea that there are two worlds here. There are two cultures. And there are two sides to every story. I don't have the skin color, address, or last name to understand the other side. And that's fine. I don't claim to know or understand everything. I never ever will. 

But I refuse to let that keep me from affirming those things that aren't split down the middle. There is too much in common to NOT work at it.  There are families, there are hopes and dreams, there are sports, there is food, there are laughs, and there is a God who we all share in common. There are enough fun personalities, great senses of sarcasm, and personal style in my room alone to show that there is more to an individual than what meets the eye and where he or she comes from. I guess it's both; we are where we come from, but we get to make something out of it too. We can't choose the hand we were dealt, but we get to decide what we want to do with it. 

This last part is what sort of keeps me from hopping on that flight to Alaska. Maybe it's that I feel sort of a kindred spirit with my kids: I'm not doing exactly what my background expects of me either (Have you noticed all the friends' weddings I attend?) and I'm trying to let them know that this is okay to do, to break the cycle of what's expected of you. It's a hard thing to do, but I think the secret lies in celebrating what you already are, yet never stopping at that point to figure out who you are going to be.   It's okay to be yourself, whoever that is, wherever that is, and however that is, to the best of your ability. And that goes for all people, whether they be white, black, green, blue, or purple. 

So I'm tired. But so what? That can be addressed with a large Coke during my lunch break. I don't really know exactly how to start addressing all this brokenness or even if I am the one equipped to address it in the first place. I don't know where to even start. 

So I guess I'll start with tomorrow.