Am I Black Enough?

Am I black enough?  I used to ask myself that question throughout my elementary and high school years. The question became even more pressing during Black History Month.  Each year Black History Month came rolling around, I always learned about Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman and George Washington Carver.  After a while, I hit a "back of the bus" and peanut overload.

I began asking myself the following questions:
1.  Were those the only black people who contributed something to history?
2.  When we celebrate Black History Month, do we only pay homage to the accomplishments made by African Americans?
3.  Have Haitians and other people from black nations ever contributed something to history?  They're black too...
4.  Since I am Haitian American, am I not black enough?

While I was growing up, question #4 definitely weighed heavily on my mind.  I am a Haitian American.  My parents were born in Haiti and I was born in the United States.  My skin color is black, but my ethnicity says something else.  Am I black enough?

My parents had always taught me to be proud of who I was and the rich history behind me.  And I was very proud, but I was not ready for the way my peers would treat me when they found out that I was..."different".  It hurt to hear someone who I thought looked like me, say, "You're not black, you're Haitian.  Haitians are different from blacks."  It came to a point where I was embarrassed to say that I was Haitian.  It was a secret that only my closest friends and family knew.  I would even whisper it to my teacher when she took her survey to find out our backgrounds.  After a while, she knew that I was embarrassed about it.  I felt even worse in February.  All of my classmates were learning about "their history" and the contributions that were made by "their people".  While I sat back wondering why Haitians never contributed anything to history.  Maybe Black History Month was only for Americans????

As I look back in retrospect, my parents did their part by being my first teacher.  They taught me about my heritage and to never be ashamed of myself.  They made it their duty to let me know that I come from a proud race of people.  My teachers thought they were doing their part by teaching a lesson on Black History.  Unfortunately, they didn't realize that my educational needs were not being met.  They never seemed to figure out how painful it was to be "different" from the other children in my class and that if they had added a little diversity to their lesson, things would have probably been a little easier for me.  I just needed someone to help boost my self esteem.  Eventually as I progressed through school, celebrating Black History became easier, I began to feel accepted by some of my peers, and I no longer questioned "being black enough".

Now that I am on the other side of the classroom, I try to rectify some of the mistakes I feel my teachers made with me.  Since I began teaching in 1998, I have always had quite a few Haitian children in my class.  Black History Month would come along and I would only focus on African Americans.  For a long time, I didn't realize that I was making the same mistakes as my teachers in the past.  This February, I thought about the make up of my class and I decided to introduce them to Haitians who have contributed to history.  They were exposed to Edwidge Danticat, Michaelle Jean, W.E.B. DuBois, Toussaint L'Ouverture and a whole host of other Haitians that have definitely impacted the world we live in today.  It was great to see the level of interest from the American children and the proud smiles of the Haitian children in my class.  It makes me feel good to know that I may have boosted a child's self esteem and taught something new.

Something To Think About...

When I started this blog, my intentions were to share a funny moment from my teaching career.  Unfortunately, the events in Newtown, CT brought me to a place of fear and sadness.  This horrific tragedy made me think about the kids in my class, my own child, and children in other parts of the world.  We live in a very dangerous and sick society.  It's a shame these babies have to be brought up in such a world.  I cannot fathom dropping my child at school, assuming that I will be picking him/her up at 3:00 pm, and getting a phone call about a shooting at his/her school!  If there is anywhere that should be a safe haven for a child it should be a school.  Our children are already robbed of their innocence and youth, and now a place that should always be safe is being ripped out of their reach.

This brings me to a conversation one of the children in my class had with me.  In Science class, we have been observing the phases of the Moon.  The children are supposed to go outside and observe the nighttime sky.  I didn't realize how excited they were about watching the Moon go through its different phases and actually knowing some of the terminology.  This is one of those moments I adore in teaching.  It keeps me from throwing my hands up and finding a position in Corporate America.  While we were talking about the phases of the Moon, one of the kids in my class told me he was having difficulty completing the log.  I asked him why and he told me that his mother would not let him go outside.  He had to try to make his observations from inside the house.  I immediately knew why.  When he told me that his mother told him that it was too dangerous in their neighborhood for him to go outside and make his observations, it broke my heart.  This little boy has been on my mind all week and today's events just opened the flood gates.

This little boy has a thirst for knowledge.  He asks me questions that make me say, "I'll get back to you on that." or "Let's research that together."  He can't even go outside to grasp the entire concept of observing the night sky!  Our world has become so corrupt that we have completely robbed these children of their innocence.  We've taken the fun out of being a kid.  When are the adults going to wake up and realize that we have to give these kids a chance?  When will we finally give them a chance to enjoy life?  Those innocent babies had nothing to do with that mad man's issues!

I read something today..."Our children are the future.  Once you start taking them, we'll having nothing left."  I just wish we all could understand that.  Give them a chance and stop robbing them of a bright future.

A Real Pablo Picasso

When I come in from work, I like to take at least an hour to reflect on my day, past experiences, some of the kids I've worked with, etc.  Today my thoughts floated to a real Pablo Picasso I had the pleasure of working with.  I actually saw this child walking home from school the other day and I must admit that I had to pull over and laugh hysterically.  I'm laughing now, just thinking about him.  

It is well known among my friends and colleagues that I can speak French and Creole.  On many occasions, I have been asked to translate for a parent or teacher.  At times, co-workers have asked me to call a French or Creole-speaking parent and I am always willing to lend a helping hand.  Unfortunately, this was a time in which I wasn't so eager to help translate.

Pablo (that's what we'll call him) decided to explore his artistic side with one of the Resource teachers.  I guess he figured he should channel his inner Seth (from "Superbad") and draw some very detailed "male parts" (if you get my drift) in class.  His resource teacher intercepted the note like a solid running back and proceeded to call the parent.  My esteemed colleague knew she would have a hard time talking to the parent so she decided to ask me to call the parent and relay the message.  After getting the story from the Resource teacher, I practice what I'm going to say to the parent and then come to the realization that I do not know the "PC term" for that "male part" in Creole.  It's sad to say that I knew every derogatory term for that word, but could not even think about the right way to say it.  Of course, I found this to be hilarious.

Before calling Pablo's mother, I figured I should find out the "PC term" for "male private part" in Creole.  My dear mummy came to my rescue.  However, not before flipping out and asking me why I have to use such language with a parent.  I explained the situation to my mother and after calming her down, I am finally ready to call Pablo's mother and inform her of her son's artistic endeavors.  Or so I thought...

When Mrs. Picasso came to the phone, I immediately got very nervous and started whispering into the phone (I made the phone call in the school office. Did I mention that I was speaking Creole? No one, but the parent could understand me!).  I began to inform Pablo's mother of his activities and for some odd reason, she didn't seem to understand the "PC term" I was using. The best part was that Pablo's mother did not understand the "PC term" I was using.  I made an executive decision and used one of the many vulgar terms I knew for "male private part" (my older brother and cousins would be so proud).  Needless to say, Pablo's mother definitely understood the word "zo-zo" (my older brother and cousins would be so proud)! She immediately started wailing on the phone and telling me that she was going to beat the crap out of him and ship "bounda li Haiti" (Translation: ship his butt to Haiti).  

That was quite an unforgettable teaching moment for me.  I don't think I can ever look at Pablo and his mother with a straight face again.  My question is...Why in the world was I whispering?  No one knew what I was saying, except for Pablo's mother!

Ti Fi Ayisienne Kap Di Betiz (Little Haitian Girls Who Say Bad Words)

I must say that I was blessed to be born into a family with a rich, cultural background.  Unlike some of my friends, I learned French and Creole and surprisingly I am very fluent in both languages.  Not many people know how I fluent I am, so I love to surprise them.  I especially love surprising the Haitian children and parents from my class.  Since I use my married last name at work, it takes a while for the parents and children to find out about my background.  I usually like to let the parents talk junk about me and then hit them with my little secret.  I listen to the children speak their "secret language" and drop the bomb when I reprimand them in their native tongue.  I actually find it very amusing.

The Haitian children in my class already know that I can speak Creole.  From time to time, they will speak to me in Creole.  They also love the fact that their teacher can understand where they are coming from.  It's not often that they come across a teacher who can really relate to them.  I have four Haitian children in my class this year.  Three of them are girls and they act like "madam nan mache kap fe feze" (women in the market causing trouble or spreading gossip).

Today, one of the little boys in my class (we'll call him James) was whining and screaming, "Stooooooooooop iiiiiiiiiiiiit! I don't want to heeeeeeeaaaaaaaaar iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!  Stop being nas-teeeeeeeeee!"  Of course, the whining was really irking my nerves, so I asked what the problem was.  James responds, "Bianca is being nasty!  She keeps talking about girls' body parts in Haitian."

Of course, I used this as a teachable moment and told James that "Haitian" is not a language.  I told him she was speaking Creole and then asked him what she said.  Of course he became very embarrassed and was afraid to tell me what was said.  I reassured him that he would not get in trouble and asked him to tell me what she said.  I know he knew what it meant because he looked around to make sure no one was close by and whispered it to me.

"She said, boubounne kale." (which means shaved <insert name of female body part here>)
At this time, my eyes got wide and I responded, "Excuse me?!?!?!"
James repeated it again.

At this point I was speechless, for a few reasons!
1.) I couldn't believe this little girl was teaching the kids to say nasty things in Creole!
2.) I couldn't believe James knew exactly what it meant!
3.) How long could this have been going on under my nose?!?!?!

Well, after meeting with James, I met with my three cackling hens and two of them were quick to sell the culprit out!

Unbelievable!  I must admit that I had been laughing hysterically since 11:30 this morning.  I am not going to say I was an angel.  I did my fair share of speaking "my secret language" with my Haitian friends in school.  It was great knowing that I shared a special bond with some of the kids in my class.  Although part of me was mortified over the incident today, I must admit it did bring back some happy memories of my childhood.

I Like Bad Boys!

How many women have had a thing for the bad boy?  Every woman has definitely gone through that stage.  I must say I have had my share of bad boy crushes.  Mark Wahlberg, Robert DeNiro (when he's playing a gangster), Jason Statham (he just gives off the bad boy air), and Ed Norton (when he was his alter ego, Roy in Primal Fear) are just a few.  And I am sure you will laugh when you hear about this one, James Gandolfini (as Tony Soprano).  I think I just loved how much of a bad guy he was. Trust me, it had nothing to do with looks.  But, I digress...

The student council at my school has decided to celebrate Valentine's Day by selling Candy Grams.  The kids have the opportunity to send one to their teacher, parent, friends, etc.  It was a cute idea, but of course it turned into a source of comic relief for me and the subject of tonight's post.

Most of the Candy Grams send the usual Valentine's Day message.  It's very rare for us to come across one that becomes a topic of conversation in the teachers' room.  Today was one of those rare occasions.  Apparently one of the little angels is quite smitten with a "bad boy" in her class.  She decided to use the Candy Gram as a means to profess her love for her "Rude Boy" (as Rihanna would say).

Dear Frankie,


I love you because you're a bad boy.  I really love bad boys.  That's why you're my Valentine. 


Love, Nancy

I must say that I was extremely relieved when the Candy Gram was intercepted.  Had I have missed the opportunity for that interception, Little Nancy would have definitely made a 100-yard touchdown and did Victor Cruz's dance in the end zone.  Who could blame her though?  Every girl needs a little bad boy in her life.

I am from the hood!

The children never cease to make me laugh.  Well, it must have been an awesome day, because I've been laughing since 8:20 am!  Now, as you continue to read tonight's post, you might say that I shouldn't laugh.  It's not what happened that was funny.  It's what was said that made me laugh hysterically.  So, here it goes...

I have a future chef in my class.  She wants to be a baker when she grows up and always writes about food.  This little chef is also a busy body.  She's like a little old woman who absolutely cannot stay out of anyone's business.  I guess you could call her "everybody's momma" and I am constantly telling her to mind her own business.  Yesterday I think she learned her lesson.

A new girl was added to my roster and all the boys are now starstruck!  Of course, Little Miss Busy Body had to stick her nose where it didn't belong and try to tell this new little diva what to do.  Our new little diva was quick to let her know that she would not stand for such nonsense.  Miss Diva responded with this, "I will punch in your face! I am from the hood and I will get my family to beat yo a**!"  When Little Miss Busy Body informed me of this incident, I maintained my composure and told her I would speak with Miss Diva.  Of course Miss Diva looked at me with her big, brown eyes, batted her eyelashes and told me she did no such thing.  I spoke with her about bullying and told her we don't do this at our school.

I also spoke with Little Miss Busy Body and told her that she had to learn to stop sticking her nose in everyone's business.  I hope Little Miss Busy Body learned her lesson, but I have a feeling the soap opera between my busy body and diva is just beginning.

You Don't Follow Directions!

Alrighty guys...I want to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich! Unfortunately, I don't know how to make one.  Do you think you can help me out?

That was the opening for writing a how-to.  The goal of this opening was to model how your instructions must be clear and detailed in a how-to.  I already knew I was going to act like Amelia Bedelia and take their instructions literally.  The children were really excited and couldn't wait to teach me how to do something.  Here we go...

I laid my ingredients on the table and waited for my instructions.

Students:  Get 2 slices of bread and put the peanut butter on it.

Me:  (I take 2 slices of bread, the jar of peanut butter and put the jar on top of the bread.)

Student #1:  Mrs. Daley! You don't put the jar on top of the bread!

Me:  Well, that's what you said!

Student #1:  No! You take the knife and put some peanut butter on it.

Me:  OH!

Student #2:  Yeah, then you put it on the bread.

Me:  Put what on the bread?

Student #2:  The peanut butter.  Spread the peanut butter on one slice of bread.  Spread it all over.

Student #3:  Then get the jelly and put it on the bread.

Me:  (I put the container of jelly on top of the bread)

Student #4:  Oh boy, Ms. Daaaaalllllleeeeeeyyyy! You don't listen or follow directions!

Me:  WHOA! I don't what?!?!?!

Picture that!  The children told ME that I don't listen or follow directions!  Look who's talking!  Welcome to my world!  I could put them in a million situations like this and they still wouldn't understand my pain!  I must say that I was very amused at their frustration with me.  You think they wanted to inflict pain on me?  Most likely...