Articles

My curls tickle my face. My fingers feverishly sort though papers. I make last-minute decisions for the day. A former student, who stops by every day, chats by my side. It’s 7:30 a.m., and I’m depending on Folgers to usher me into a coherent state when I hear this student say, “Mrs. Yahn, ever since your class last year, I just can’t stop talking. I used to say nothing in class, but now I talk all the time. You taught me that.”

I felt myself straighten in my chair. I quickly shook off the tiredness of a long day of teaching when our professor explained most of us found it difficult to understand multicultural education “because our viewpoint was that of the white, upper middle class.”

We were encouraged to see that the school system in Durham, N.C., last week agreed to end discriminatory practices that prevent Latino students from receiving an adequate public education.

My journalism students were brainstorming topics for their final story projects. I urged them to come up with compelling ideas that relate to their experiences but that push deeply into national trends. “Stop letting all the midlife writers (like myself) tell your stories,” I pushed. “Tell your own.”

Teaching Tolerance recognized five outstanding educators with the first-ever Teaching Tolerance Award for Excellence in Culturally Responsive Teaching on Dec. 9th in Washington, D.C.

The explosion of news coverage over the controversial execution of Troy Davis in Georgia recently is a reminder that our students learn powerful lessons outside our classrooms. These events offer opportunities for lessons of context inside our classrooms.

The food justice unit was one of the most successful of the year. Until the meltdown. Students had watched Food, Inc., read several articles about food production and created masterful multimedia presentations on their learning. They were now presenting. Omar chose several pictures of his favorite dishes. He told us about them and how they were made. Then he interjected a seemingly innocent joke.

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.