Lassos & Tasers

Been a busy month, and a quick one. The first few weeks was a flurry of state test preparation; instructors trying to cram every last bit of knowledge into the brains of our kids before offering them up to a higher power. I hated administering the test more than I hated preparing for it. It seems such a damned waste, to spend so much time drilling and training our children rather then helping them really have a valuable and valued education. Pass the test, pass the test, pass the test. My students, for the most part, cannot comprehend what they read. They can read, but they don’t understand. This is true for so many aspects of their education; they can do, but there is no deeper cognizance of what they are doing or why they are doing it.

While not testing, we festered in the loud, hot and musty gymnasium for the rest of the day. I don’t even want to attempt to estimate the amount of time wasted in the gym throughout the course of this school year, educational time most of these kids can’t afford to waste. At one point, we spent a whole afternoon in the dry spring heat practicing a welcoming outside in the school’s front parking lot for the “pioneers of integration” in Indianola, who were to come the following morning. I might have been one of the few people there glad I was getting a tan, and I couldn’t help but wonder at the irony of celebrating the anniversary of integration at a public school that is nearly 100% segregated; no longer legal, but definitely social. The only white I saw in the sea of students was their white uniforms and the few interspersed TFA or MTC instructors probably all wondering at the same things. Is this what those pioneers expected years ago when they first walked into the front doors, in those moments before all the scared white students walked out the back doors to start their own schools or moved to other communities that are more homogenous? Recently I had one of the best conversations of the year in one class. We talked about fear being the opposite of love, and the greatest impediment towards social progress. I didn’t let them answer without thinking, asking why, why, why until they got frustrated with me … but also got to the heart of the matter. People don’t just hate, they fear. And the only way to overcome that fear, is to love. Or something like that. Before the bell rang, one girl raised her hand and asked innocently, “Mr. Doyle, why ain’t white people in Mississippi as cool as you is?”

I told her I’m not cool; I’m a teacher.

Post-test has been a struggle, too. I’ve lost another 2-3 kids per class who have essentially stopped coming to school. I started the year with over 30 students in all but one of my classes. These days, my classes usually have fewer than 15. That’s half that have dropped out, or are consistently absent or skipping (and naturally, failing; the passive drop-outs). The students that are present, “aren’t fi’n to do no work anymore”. They do end up working, but I spend at least 5-10 minutes at the beginning every period lecturing and getting them on task. I had, for the most part, succeeded in getting my classes focused in the past couple of months. I’m trying out a short journalism unit in one class, with the end result a class generated newspaper (our school does not have one). Articles are to be written outside of class. I hate to have low expectations, but I don’t think I’ll get more than a couple turned in.

Off to New Orleans for the weekend to groove to Damian Marley, John Mayer, John Legend, the Allman Bros. and others at Jazzfest. Just a couple of weeks left of school. Life goes by too damn quickly. I’m not ready to say goodbye to these kids, but I sure am looking forward to this summer, and all that goes after.

Raisin in the Rain

“Wake up in the morning and I ask myself …”

Last night I chaperoned my first field trip, aside from away games in the fall, and will admit I was more than a little apprehensive of being responsible for a group of students after school hours. My costume is half-way off then, and so is theirs. We had sixteen in all, pants sagging or skin tight, caps and pumps on, busing them all over to Greenville for a nighttime performance of ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ put on by the Delta Center Stage.

It started with a deluge and a detour. The sky opened up just as students started to arrive in front of the school to meet the bus. Girls screamed and ran for cover with permission slips held over their heads. Everyone was wet and out of breathe when we pulled out of the parking lot after waiting for a few stragglers. Two of the girls brought their babies with them. Both children were at least three, while the mothers couldn’t have been more than 17. Then, our driver remembered he left a crock-pot of potpourri on his oven with the burner on low and had to “stop by quickly to make sure the house don’t crsip” – ten minutes later, far more time than I’ve ever spent turning off a burner, we were back on the road.

The kids were fine, and I was glad RJ came. RJ had a stroke a few years ago and is now confined to a wheelchair. It’s his senior year, and he only comes to school for half a day at a time because he needs to rest in the afternoons. His body is frail, and one side is almost completely limp. When he is in school, he is often stuck in the office with his aunt who works as a secretary. This means he sits in the side room where angry parents who have come in to meet with our principal must wait, or where students who were tossed out of class stagnate. Not a great place to spend your days to say the least. Around December I started meeting him during my prep period and wheeling him down to my room to hang out for a while and get away from all the negativity. He’s a great kid who never complains, but you can tell his condition wears on him.

We got there just in time to find our balcony seats in the old high school auditorium. The first half was alright, dragging in places but I was impressed by more than one of the actors/actresses. The kids were more impressed with the bathrooms, which had couches in them. They were pretty respectful, keeping the talking to a minimum, but we had the whole balcony to ourselves so it didn’t really matter. Just before intermission, I heard some chatter and hushed them a couple of times. When the lights came up, I walked up to the back row where most of our students had lined themselves against the far wall. Both babies were sound asleep. Then I saw a couple of the girls were crying and on their cell phones. While I worked my way between wooden seats, one cried out and collapsed to her knees sobbing hysterically. The others rushed in, forming a circle of hugs and questions. The most I could make out of it all was that someone had been shot that a few of the girls new, one intimately. We worked our way outside to get some fresh air in the hopes of calming them all down and figuring out what was going on.

Outside, the hysteria rose as the reality of the situation sank in. A girl’s boyfriend had committed suicide; shot himself through the heart. Her sister had called to inform her. Girls sobbed in each others arms while the guys stood by in silence or held onto them and attempted to offer words of consolation. Other families attending the performance who had also stepped outside for some air stared out our group, huddled in the rain that had turned soft and gentle and was now more of a mist than anything. I did what I always do when I’m nervous; act busy. I bought them some bottles of water, since one girl had started hyperventilating and I knew she had asthma. The police officer/coach who had driven the bus confirmed her sister’s phone call. I made a few phone calls and offered some words of my own. Eventually, another teacher in attendance offered to drive the girl back home, along with two of her friends. We all eventually filed back inside and up the dark stairs to our seats, the show well into the second half post-intermission, and sat in the dark each thinking our own thoughts but none really paying attention any longer. Aside from a few sniffles and whispers they were silent. A few fell asleep. My head started to nod as the play dragged on. It wasn’t until after 10:30 that we piled back onto the bus and headed home, while the rain picked up outside and whistled with the wind against the thin glass windows, and it wasn’t until after 11:30 that I dropped off the last of the students at their homes and headed back home myself.

Mike was passed out on the couch and rose to talk some nonsense before dropping back down to spoon the cushions. I didn’t make it much farther, collapsing on my bed fully dressed only to wake up the next morning with just enough time to throw on some clean clothes and run out the door.