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- Class Divide in Emergency Learning: A Crisis Overseas - September 10, 2020
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- Do the Work: Equity Symposium for Teachers - August 23, 2020
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- The Day of Teacher Self-Care is Happening August 1, 2020 - July 21, 2020
- Do the Work: A Conversation Around Anti-Racist Teaching in K-12 Schools - June 14, 2020
Being a teacher is both a curse and a blessing to my 12 year old son. On one hand I can help him with his homework, but on the other hand I tend to stress about things that other parents sometimes do not. Take for instance the observance of Dr. King 's birthday on today January 21st. A couple of weeks ago when I told my son that he would not have to attend school today he responded like any normal 12-year-old would—he shouted in excitement. To him, it was just like any normal day except he didn't have to go to school. However, I was disturbed. Is that all this holiday had become to our children? Do they have any idea of the struggle people endured during the Civil Rights Movement just to have the right to sit at the front of the bus and vote? Angry, I decided to go in 'teacher mode' and give my son a lesson in the Civil Rights Movement. We went to a place where I taught for many years, Memphis, Tennessee and went to place where Dr. King was murdered.
Things had just got gotten real for my son.
On the plane my son was full of questions. Why were we suddenly dropping everything and flying to Tennessee? Had someone died? Why weren't his little brother and sister coming? Why wasn't dad coming with us? What was going on? I was vague at first but as I thought about his pointless excitement to be excited about not having to go to school, I got angry. As the flight ended, I looked at him and told him, "I’m going to make you understand why Dr. King’s birthday is so important."
Knowing we’d only be in town only for a day, I decided to forego seeing family and opted to check into a hotel near the Civil Rights Museum. As a child, my son went there often but there’s a difference in going when you’re five and when you’re twelve. As we entered the museum, my son's mood changed from boredom mixed with curiosity to amazement. It's like we were transported back to 1968 in the deep American South. As we walked the museum, I made it a point to stop at every exhibit and read and meditate on those moments in history. My son followed my lead.
As we were walking I noticed that my son was quiet and reserved. As he was reading the exhibits, he kept shaking his head and saying, “Mom, is this true? Why were people so mean?”
For the next five hours we talked about the exhibits and what they meant not only to my son but to all brown boys everywhere. I made my son sit on the bus that Rosa Parks sat on and listen to the men ordering her to the back. He sat on the counter where many Freedom Riders sat, demanding to be served. He saw the sanitation truck and read about their strike and the reason why Dr. King had been in Memphis. Then, we visited the hotel room where Dr. King stayed the night before he was murdered. As my son read the exhibit and listened to the audio I could see something in his demeanor change. When we got to the part where you can see the blood stains from Dr. King's murdered body, I could see tears in his eyes. I think at that point he understand the importance of this piece of history. As we walked to the final part of the exhibit, we were able to see where the killer, James Earl Ray, shot Dr. King and even had a chance to look at his getaway car.
At the end of the day I noticed my son’s demeanor had completely changed. He suddenly was full of questions about the Civil Rights Movement, Dr. King, racism and about himself. We decided to go out to eat and discuss the day. We discussed why Dr. King’s birthday may get him a day off from school but the decades of history behind the Civil Rights Movement. My son even suggested that instead of us sleeping in on that cold, Monday morning in January that we get up early and go and do some community service since that’s what Dr. King was all about- service to people.
On the plane ride home later that night, I looked at my son and I was proud. I was proud that he was starting to understand the seriousness of historical events in America. When we got home that night my son was bursting with joy telling his dad about the trip and even trying to convince his 4- and 2-year-old sister why they needed to visit the museum. He finally got it- the observance of Dr. King’s birthday is a holiday that should make us reflect on the struggle of not only his life but what his death has taught us.