"Y'all, it's nasty!" the kindergarten class was informed.
"Go to the bathroom 'cuz I DO NOT WANT TO SMELL THAT."
The convo lasted a long time. It seemed appropriate for a shitty Monday.
February is Black History month. In the bougie schools I worked in, Black History month had been sort of pushed aside, because the idea was to have a diverse curriculum that was inclusive all twelve months of the year. I've always agreed with that and for that reason, thought "history" months were cheesy, no matter if it was Hispanic, Woman or otherwise. Though I work in a Black school now, I've noticed a resurgence in Black History month celebrations even in bougie areas or basically, my former employment district, which I still frequent three times a week to work at the Housing Authority. It's funny, Black History month doesn't seem like simple recognition or education of Black achievement because it is ordinarily not included in curriculums or life like I thought it was, but more a celebration of the culture of the varied and un-monolithic contributions of Black people. The Housing Authority opened my eyes to it and my school really celebrates it as well. It feels like Christmas week, with theme days and encouragement to dress as different things or wear certain colors, each different, every day of the week.
Black History month school celebrations also provide ripe opportunities for white teachers to Rachel Dolezal it up, and I certainly am not going to end up like that. Most of the dress up days could be addressed tastefully, but it is easy to overlook things. I just try to imagine myself pumping gas somewhere and what a random onlooker might think of what I'm wearing, obviously outside of the school context of the celebration, and usually decide to not engage in the dress ups.
"We going to have to get you a little dashiki..." Ms. Snyder said coyly, while she waited for her students to use the bathroom.
"Wash your hands!" she called, as one of the kindergartners exited.
Her dashiki was quite festive.
"No way." I responded.
"I am not going to end up on the news as the crazy white teacher, culturally appropriating everything." I responded, laughing.
"What do you mean," she responded slyly, literally looking at me from the side of her eyes with a little smile.
"I wear myself a little 'ol Rolling Stones t-shirt, what's the difference?"
"It's different." I responded.
She nodded affirmatively and continued her bathroom routine, and I felt like I might have passed a test.
"She was the first African American southeastern Congresswoman."
"Barbara Jordan." Aazim answered.
"He founded Jet and Ebony magazines."
"John H. Johnson." he continued.
I've quizzed him so many times for the Black History bowl the Housing Authority conducts that I know the answers myself. Shit I never knew before. I can recite them in my sleep.
Maybe I should have been able to a long time ago.
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