Articles

Can you imagine buying groceries if boxes of sugar were labeled "peanut butter" and ice cream cartons read "chicken noodle soup"? You may laugh, but our daily lives are often adventures in just such misinformation.

My knee injury was neither serious nor permanent, but it was enough to put me on crutches and earn me a key to the elevator.

As dean of students, I’m sitting at my desk passing time one morning when my radio crackles. “There was just a fight in the courtyard,” says a teacher. “I’m bringing both of the students in right now.” I sigh in frustration and turn to watch the security-camera footage on my computer. Sure enough, there are two students facing off in the courtyard. Oh no, I think. Please don’t let that be who I think it is.

Historian Carter G. Woodson established the first Negro History Week in 1926—a celebration that later became Black History Month. The Association for the Study of African American Life and History, a group founded by Woodson, selects a new theme for Black History Month each year. This year’s theme is "Black Women in American Culture and History."

I needed to expose my preservice teachers to a real, lasting experience with diversity. I had one day. Growing up in South Dakota, where 86 percent of the population is white, my students come to college with few experiences interacting with culturally diverse students. The reality is that classrooms today are becoming increasingly diverse.

I am intellectually aware of Paola’s poverty. Nine out of 10 students at our school come from families whose income level meets the federal poverty guidelines. Paola, an immigrant from El Salvador, is one of them. The first-grader lives in a small apartment with her grandma, mom, sister and uncle. Combined, the adults earn less than $26,170 a year.

I noticed a trend several years ago. A sixth-grader tagged along with me into the school. She wanted to use a computer. “My printer is broken,” she explained. “Can I come in with you and print my assignment?” A few days later, it happened again. Only this time, another student needed to edit an essay on a word-processor.

It was Black History Month. I was working with children and youth in an after-school program in the Clarksdale housing projects in Louisville, Ky. Spike Lee's film Malcolm X had just been released. I sat around a table with a group of teenagers discussing Alex Haley’s Autobiography of Malcolm X and James Cone’s Martin & Malcolm & America.

One teacher considers how to talk with students about the idea of the American Dream.

Mention school desegregation, and most people envision the Little Rock Nine—not the Tucson Unified School District (TUSD). But Tucson is exactly where the battle for desegregation is being fought today.