Pregnant with 24 Kids....

I was talking to a friend about school starting next week.

"How do you feel about your kids coming back next Monday?", he asked.
"I feel pregnant", I replied.

I realized when I said it, that I sounded ridiculous.  How could I possibly know what pregnancy felt like? The closest I'd ever been was pretending to put pillows up my shirt at slumber parties. (Don't act like you've never done it!)

But I DO feel pregnant. Metaphorically. Like I'm waiting on my joy to come. Like nothing makes sense until my children come. Like I'm afraid to break them. Like I'm going to fix the world by bringing them into Existence. Like they are my saviors. Like I love them unconditionally before I've even met them. Like I need them.  Desperately. Now. Today.

We've been doing professional development/setting up classrooms/preparing lessons.  I've been taking my grad classes/getting my entire life together. But nothing makes sense because I need to be reminded of the WHY. Like, Why am I here? The chairs mean nothing to me without bouncing bodies sitting in them... The classroom feels so empty.

But more than anything, as a 21 year old "pregnant" woman expecting 24 kids, I also experience judgment. Questioning. Concern. Ask any teacher. I BET you, he or she will say the most loathed saying is "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach".

Trust me. I've never seen anyone as versatile as the folks who work at my school. They are teachers, they are social workers, they are nurses, they are secretaries, they are advocates, they are lawyers, they are therapists, they are mom, they are dad... All at once. More than anything, they are professional and thoughtful about everything they do. Each question has a purpose. And each purpose is questioned.

"But eventually you're gonna move up, right?" "And then you're going to do doctoral work, right?" "so you're just going to teach?" "oh that's noble" "so what happens afterwards?"

If you've EVER asked ANY of the above questions to a teacher, I'd like you to congratulate yourself. YOU are the reason why schools are in such a state of crisis today. You see, everyone hears those questions, feels that pressure, and leaves the classroom. They've paid their dues, now it's time to get a "real job". Everyone wants to be Michelle Rhee, Steve Perry, and Wendy Kopp... No one wants to be a Teacher.

It took me a while to come to teaching. As an Educational Studies major, my background was more in the Anthropology and Sociology of schools, rather than actual teaching skills. I was more about thinking about how schools serve a distinct sociopolitical purpose. (Tracking, anyone?) I kept telling myself "Yea, Administration, Research, or Policy is where I want to be". I was RUNNING from teaching. I needed to make bank. Teach? After Trinity? Wouldn't that be a waste of a degree? I wanted to be important. I was attracted to prestige and being-knowndom (I make up words, I'm the child of Pastors so... it's in my DNA).

But the more and more I dove into my studies, the more I realized that teachers have this incredible power to challenge (or reproduce) social norms. That means, the more people with "policy" and "research" leaning minds we can get into the classroom, the more we can create meaningful social change. I mean, what better place for me, a critical race theorist and feminist, than the classroom?

Now, we all know the world is not static. People change their minds. People feel a calling to different places. I never said I'd be a teacher forever... But I completely surrender myself to the numerous possibilities. And in the event that I did decide to move to the field of research or policy, wouldn't it be great for me to have experience in the classroom anyway?

But back to my pregnancy.... My scholars, my brothers and sisters, my world, my friends arrive to school Monday. I'm prepared for a labor of love. Pray for us and send us positive vibes! <3

You're A Lovely Woman: I Win

I wrote this a few weeks ago, and added some new pieces since then:

So, July 20 was a long day for me. I was at work, then we had a lil Happy Hour at Peaches, and then I ran to my sister's bday celebration in Union Square. Obviously, I had to figure out a way to make a seamless wardrobe transition from day to night. Sidebar: If I could rewrite Superman, I would make him a Working Woman. The whole changing-in-a-telephone-booth thing is soo pre-Generation iPhone.

Anyhoo, in the hustle and bustle of going from place to place, I had my mean mug on. You know which one I mean. The one that says "Don't talk to me, don't holla at me, don't ask me what my name is because I am on a mission". Ironically, that face usually prompts cat-callers to say things like "Hey put a smile on that beautiful face, fine lady". I never win.

I was waiting at the bus stop to make it to Working Woman's Changing Space (read: My friend's house in Bed Stuy) and a 40 year old  hipster invaded my mean mug to say something simple:

"You're a lovely Woman"

I looked at him, confused. What? ME? But sir, I don't have on any makeup, and my hair is in a messy bun, and I don't have on any earrings, and I smell like 8 hours of professional development/happy hour, and my mean mug.... You must be a creep to even get in my bubble like this. 

Then I stopped. And wondered why I would even challenge him. Why didn't I just accept the compliment and keep it moving? 

In this world, or at least in my world, we can never win. If you have even the slightest air of confidence, you are received as a cocky jerk. And if you ever have an insecurity, people believe that you are fishing for compliments. And as much as my parents raised me with ONLY Teresas (no Barbies) and made sure we had books like "Bright Eyes, Brown Skin", I still live in this space of self-doubt. Because, for what other reason might I think homie was a creep for saying those feared four words? 

I doubt that that man will ever read this blog. And I doubt that I'll ever see him again. But I thank you for reminding me that. So, I leave you all with this little nugget of inspiration.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."- Marianne Williamson