Articles

I was putting my 6-year-old son to bed recently when he excitedly announced that he was going to be in the school play. “Peter Pan,” he said.

I see my cocoa brown hand grab the handle of the door. I take a deep breath. I already know what I will see and I am sure I will know what I feel. I step into the room and professionally scan the room so fast no one even knows I am doing it. It’s what I expect. I accept I am the “only one” with a tan that never goes away. I am the only African-American in the room.

I do a lot of things in my classroom to teach, manage and assess my students. Countless assignments, procedures and projects are designed to keep the academic machinery of my classroom running smoothly. But when I want to know what my students really think about the world, I ask them to write a play.

Sometimes teaching at my magnet arts school in Alabama, I can imagine the worst days of racism and intolerance are behind us. Most of the roughly 500 students have genuine, deep friendships across racial lines and very rarely do the old racist memes and tropes raise their ugly heads.

Teaching is a tough profession. We know it. It comes with a lot of responsibilities and challenges. Nevertheless, teaching is a very rewarding life path. Perhaps equally as tough is teaching teachers to be culturally competent. For the last six months, I’ve led a book study at my school on Gary Howard’s We Can’t Teach What We Don’t Know, which looks at cultural competency programs.

When my daughter pulls hard on the heavy glass doors of the Martin Luther King Jr. Laboratory School and races upstairs into her fifth-grade classroom, she is living my dream.

The month of Ramadan comes upon my classroom slowly. The non-Muslim students don’t notice the changes at first, but soon the little things start creeping in. They see that the classes are smaller, because more students are staying home. Or they might notice that the Muslim students are a little more tired than usual, or that when offered food, they politely put up their hand and say, “No food for me, I am fasting.” This is when the questions start.

Explore our turning points from the last 20 years.

"She's just trying to act white." I remember those piercing but confusing words cutting me like a knife. I clinched my Super Reader certificate. My puzzled expression was taken as bravado by the African-American girls, who responded with a threatening question, "Do you want us to fix your face?"

Alternative certification gives educators a different route to the classroom. Does it make them fish out of water once they get there?