A Letter to Grace

Dear Grace,



I have one "Angel" of a daughter by birth and many others, including Amy, that I have adopted along the way. You see, if I adopt you (which I have; papers are in the mail), I can continue to offer you unsolicited advice about teaching (and other subjects). I shall preface my first installment of advice with stories from my past even though the stories are not really mine to claim since they have already been shaped by my culture and recorded in somebody elses' history. But this is my story. I share it with you because of your passion for (and sometimes your seemingly uncertainty of) teaching, especially in an urban classroom.

When I arrived in Milwaukee, a southern girl hundreds of miles away from home, away from all that I had ever known, no family, no friends, no "Safe House," I, too, was afraid. But not of teaching, not of classroom settings. I was confident about my subject and gave no thought to discipline. What did I know about urban schools and ghettos? I was a teacher! That was the only label I knew, the only one I needed. It is still the only one those in our profession actually need. When we start adding unnecessary labels and modifiers, we sometimes start adding doubts and often adversely affecting our own self esteem, confidence, actions, interactions, and reactions.

You may argue that it was easier for me because I was an African American teaching African American students. But what about when the tables turned and I was an African American teacher standing in front of an all white class? I stood before them, with my dialect, my southern drawl, and my pronunciations that still today defy the "standards" imposed by academia. What classes existed to instruct me on how to instruct them, how to delve into their backgrounds, how to intrude their safe spaces? Years later (Summer, 2008), some of our authors from class would imply that no such instructions were necessary.

But let me tell you another story. When my daughter was three, the two of us were returning from Chicago and I took a wrong turn onto Dundee Road. All roads do not lead immediately to Milwaukee. Angela studied me for awhile, then asked, "Mommy, are we lost?" I smiled as I admitted, "Yes, we are." "Okay," she said nonchalantly and returned to reading her book upside down. I can't help but think had I panicked or cried (loud enough for her to hear me) or cursed (no, "cussed"), she might have reacted differently. I saw myself in the realistic light as someone who was prone to get lost, but more importantly, as someone who would always find the way back. Let me idealize my story by suggesting that that is what my daughter saw in me. My point is, students, like my daughter, most often see you as you see yourself.

That is why, Grace, I want you to be ever mindful of the labels that you attach to yourself. If you see yourself as a "white teacher" in the urban classroom, your students will view you as that "white" teacher. If you deem yourself an "Oppressor," others will see you as an oppressor. Think of yourself not as "the Oppressor," nor "The Great White Hope," nor the "white teacher." Just "teacher," Grace, teacher of all students, one who enlightens, engages, and enjoys students. Let your passion for teaching and your love for students continue to guide you.



Tender moments from

Tuffteacher!