east meets west: Hero down the hall

Mrs. "Smith" is in her late 50s and has been working all her life. She isn't well traveled or terribly well learned. She takes in stray dogs and walks with a slight limp. But Mrs. Smith, a Special Education teacher, has a secret. Mrs. Smith is a heroine.

Growing up in Amarillo, Texas in the 1960s, Mrs. Smith was part of the desegregation efforts. Born and raised in a white family riddled with lifelong racists and members of the KKK, she decided to take part in the sit-ins and marches of the time to end the Jim Crow laws in the South. She clapped and sang alongside everyone else—black, white and every shade in between— risking their lives to uphold the 14th Amendment.

At 15, she was trained in non-violent protests, had cocoa powder thrown in her face (“You want to be a n----- too?!”) and endured countless verbal attacks from folks refusing to permit equal opportunities to black Americans.

Today, my class ditched our lesson plans and spelling tests to take part in Mrs. Smith’s commemoration of Black History Month. We took the day off and re-learned the N-word. She taught us what prejudice is by randomly assigning each student a shape when they walked through the door to my room—triangle or square. The squares were the “special” students. They got the bean bag chairs. They got to answer the questions. They were praised and loved. They were special because they were Squares.

On the other hand, the Triangles were shunned. They were yelled at, ignored and relegated to sitting on the floor. They Triangles, three of my seventh and eighth grade boys, were not pleased. They didn’t want to play in our simulation. They were frustrated and pissed off—just as they should have been.

Mrs. Smith explained what “prejudice” and “racist” and “equality” meant. She then shared her own experiences as a student not much older than them being harassed. She explained that her family, despite being white, had their windows shattered by rocks because her parents had helped their neighbors, who were black, move. Their neighbors were moving because the Ku Klux Klan had burned a cross on their lawn.

Mrs. Smith, with her limp and sling for her broken arm, then led these unruly teenage boys around the classroom in a protest. Enchanted, they followed her, clapping and singing (more like mumbling), “This Little Light of Mine.”

After the introductory discussion about racism and the Civil Rights movement, the class watched the video, “Freedom Song.” This was easily the best part of the day. I wrote them all passes to be excused from their classes so they could complete this film on desegregation in the South.

We didn’t practice our multiplication today. We didn’t take our spelling tests. We didn’t even review open and closed syllables. Instead, we learned how life was like for folks of color mere decades ago. We learned about frustration, blood and patience it took to engage in nonviolence when someone spits at you.

I hope they learned the deep roots of the N-word. I hope they remember that prejudice and respect can seep out of the most mundane activities—like the names we call each other, even jokingly. We learned how regular people, like a Special Ed teacher across the building, can be heroes. We may have lost out on one day of reading, writing and arithmetic, but we hopefully we learned why we’re doing all of this at all.

Comments

What a beautiful story! Yes, there are a lot of everyday heroes, and we need to celebrate them more. History is made by a lot of courageous acts of civility, not just the words of a few great leaders.

Keep up the great work and writing!

Posted by: Phil Nash | February 24, 2006 at 10:24 AM