Although this past year living in Selma has left its mark with many poignant memories, there is one that touched me so deeply that it continually reminds me why I'm here. First a little background: I'm a teacher at a small high school in the country, a school with a 100% black student population and only one other white teacher. These kids didn't know what to do with all my quirkiness at first, but they never judged me because of the color of my skin; instead, they showed a lot of interest in my background, my culture.
This came full circle one December afternoon. I was talking with a student I'll call Sam. Sam is an aspiring rapper and he had often shared his creations with me. This particular afternoon, however, brought an unexpected comment. With a serious look on his face, Sam explained that the day before he'd been listening to one of his favorite CDs. All of a sudden it hit him that the lyrics he'd been quoting for so long were derogatory toward white women. In his words, "When I realized, hey, that's Ms. G they're talking about, I took the CD out and smashed it." He went on to explain that he'd never really known anyone white, but when he met me he started to realize that he'd been making a lot of judgments about a whole group of people. Sam’s life has drastically changed – in more ways than one.
But the deepest change I feel personally is in me. I have grown to love the kids as if we truly were family. The Freedom Foundation is about finding hope. And in bringing hope, I have also greatly received.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Giving What I Received
When I was in high school, I had a volleyball coach who saw I had a lot of potential, and who took the time after practice to run extra drills with me and push me to become the player he knew I could be. He chose me as a sophomore for the varsity team – not because I was as good as the seniors, but because he saw talent that he knew he could develop. He told me one day that when he recruited players, he didn't look at the 18-year olds who were heading into college, but at the 12 and 13 year olds - the ones with big feet, who he knew would grow tall, and the ones with raw athletic talent who could be turned into volleyball players. Some girls could be shanking volleyballs left and right into the stands, or serving it straight under the net, but he wasn't concerned about where they were at – he looked at where they were going.
It meant a lot to me, especially at a young age, to have someone take the time to invest in me. That experience stuck with me through the years since high school, and it wrote a lesson on my heart that I needed - that I could be somebody worth investing in. So partway through college, when things in my life weren't going the way I had hoped they would go, it meant something to me once again, to run across someone who found greater potential in me, and could help me develop it.
It's that love and dedication that we’ve received from people who've invested in us that has made us want to give that help back to others. A little love and understanding can go a long way, and it is now our commitment to pass along the same help onto others – simply because we're grateful that somebody else did that for us.
It meant a lot to me, especially at a young age, to have someone take the time to invest in me. That experience stuck with me through the years since high school, and it wrote a lesson on my heart that I needed - that I could be somebody worth investing in. So partway through college, when things in my life weren't going the way I had hoped they would go, it meant something to me once again, to run across someone who found greater potential in me, and could help me develop it.
It's that love and dedication that we’ve received from people who've invested in us that has made us want to give that help back to others. A little love and understanding can go a long way, and it is now our commitment to pass along the same help onto others – simply because we're grateful that somebody else did that for us.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Footloose - Opening Night
One of my most memorable experiences in Selma so far was the opening night of “Footloose: the Musical.” Most of the students in the show had never been in a play, and all the hours of rehearsal, painting, construction, and team building lead up to this night. With a rough dress rehearsal and some major technical difficulties the day of the show, none of us really knew what the outcome would be. The directors were simply praying that everyone would remember their lines and that the set wouldnt fall on anyone, but what happened that night was truly a miracle.
I was waiting to open the curtain when the house manager called places. All the kids rushed onstage hugging, high fiving and wishing each other a good show. I saw the energy and excitement in their eyes - a beautiful blend of fun and terror like the one you see on a childs face as he jumps off the diving board for the first time.
The audience cheered and clapped as the band struck up the rockin musical intro. The light show began and the curtain rose to reveal students from different schools giving their best to the community. The whole night was electrifying as the students performed their hearts out for a diverse and enthusiastic crowd. When the cast sang the final phrase of the show “Everybody cut footloose, yeah!” the crowd jumped to their feet and clapped and cheered for ten minutes.
The lobby was full of hugs, photographs, flowers, and laughter. No one wanted to go home. Now, months later, when someone mentions “Footloose” in Selma people remember that night. A night when people came together, students gave their best, and love showed up in a very special way.
I was waiting to open the curtain when the house manager called places. All the kids rushed onstage hugging, high fiving and wishing each other a good show. I saw the energy and excitement in their eyes - a beautiful blend of fun and terror like the one you see on a childs face as he jumps off the diving board for the first time.
The audience cheered and clapped as the band struck up the rockin musical intro. The light show began and the curtain rose to reveal students from different schools giving their best to the community. The whole night was electrifying as the students performed their hearts out for a diverse and enthusiastic crowd. When the cast sang the final phrase of the show “Everybody cut footloose, yeah!” the crowd jumped to their feet and clapped and cheered for ten minutes.
The lobby was full of hugs, photographs, flowers, and laughter. No one wanted to go home. Now, months later, when someone mentions “Footloose” in Selma people remember that night. A night when people came together, students gave their best, and love showed up in a very special way.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Piano Gathering
A few notes drift from the piano. It’s a recognizable tune, a love song by KC and JoJo. The usual key master isn’t at the piano but rather an unlikely character plays with heart and soul unusual for the countenance he normally displays.
He’s tough and cool and always connecting with someone on his cell. Today a group of kids are lounging around the piano; his backup singers are a mixed bag from elementary school through college. They are white and black, rich and poor. Until this theatre production of Footloose, many of them had never spoken to a kid of a different race before. They were awkward in the beginning and are now producing a harmonious blend of music; it’s the type of music that cannot be created by trained talented voices.
The music heard today came from voices that had found a common ground to connect on. Walls and judgment that had once been in their hearts and minds have now all but faded and this is the place where they are singing from. It is a place of freedom where they can be themselves. This is a good place to sing from. This is a good place to be.
He’s tough and cool and always connecting with someone on his cell. Today a group of kids are lounging around the piano; his backup singers are a mixed bag from elementary school through college. They are white and black, rich and poor. Until this theatre production of Footloose, many of them had never spoken to a kid of a different race before. They were awkward in the beginning and are now producing a harmonious blend of music; it’s the type of music that cannot be created by trained talented voices.
The music heard today came from voices that had found a common ground to connect on. Walls and judgment that had once been in their hearts and minds have now all but faded and this is the place where they are singing from. It is a place of freedom where they can be themselves. This is a good place to sing from. This is a good place to be.
Monday, February 11, 2008
What Can I Give?
Rather than asking "What can I gain?" I've chosen to ask "What can I give?"
Until July 2007, I was a salesperson and had won a national award in a large corporation. I was gaining favor with company leadership and had bought my first home in a beautiful Colorado suburb at age 22.
But one weekend in February 2007, when I volunteered for a youth talent show in Selma, Alabama, changed the course of my life.
Driving home from the airport, I saw all the conveniences of a modern suburb. In my rearview mirror, I saw the beautiful mountain range and a lush golf course in the rolling hills. I stopped a moment and thought of the struggling kids in Selma. I knew that many would never have the money to spend on a day of golf and would never see the mountains. If they weren't given another option, they would continue the destructive cycles: they'd continue using and dealing drugs, and the teen pregnancy and violence would continue too. It was time to stop asking what I could gain and start asking what I could give.
With a Bachelor's Degree in English and no experience, I pursued becoming a teacher. I put my beautiful house on the market. I quit my job to try to make a difference. This low-income school was in desperate need of teachers and hired me unequipped, nervous, and full of hope.
I found out what I love: I love people. I love making a difference. I love hope.
Until July 2007, I was a salesperson and had won a national award in a large corporation. I was gaining favor with company leadership and had bought my first home in a beautiful Colorado suburb at age 22.
But one weekend in February 2007, when I volunteered for a youth talent show in Selma, Alabama, changed the course of my life.
Driving home from the airport, I saw all the conveniences of a modern suburb. In my rearview mirror, I saw the beautiful mountain range and a lush golf course in the rolling hills. I stopped a moment and thought of the struggling kids in Selma. I knew that many would never have the money to spend on a day of golf and would never see the mountains. If they weren't given another option, they would continue the destructive cycles: they'd continue using and dealing drugs, and the teen pregnancy and violence would continue too. It was time to stop asking what I could gain and start asking what I could give.
With a Bachelor's Degree in English and no experience, I pursued becoming a teacher. I put my beautiful house on the market. I quit my job to try to make a difference. This low-income school was in desperate need of teachers and hired me unequipped, nervous, and full of hope.
I found out what I love: I love people. I love making a difference. I love hope.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Raising a Standard...And Rising to It!
The semester was filled with frustrating stories...students fighting in the middle of class, walking out and slamming doors, demonstrating attitudes reflective of deep hurt and anger. Each day seemed like a battle - a battle where the goal was just to survive the day! Then the last day of the semester a note was given to me by a student I will call "Kelly".
Kelly was one of my best students - smart, polite, diligent, obedient...the kind of student every teacher would like to have. So when I intercepted a note she had written, I was shocked to discover the highly inappropriate language and content of the note. I decided to show the note to a trusted colleague hoping to get some advice on how to handle the situation. This particular colleague laughed when she read the note and said, "Oh, she's not old enough to even know what she is writing about...just forget about it. Give her a warning or something, but I don't think you need to contact her mother."
I knew enough to know that if my child had written this note, I would have wanted to know about it! I brought Kelly into my room and told her that I was going to have to call her mom. After begging me not to and shedding a few tears, she stormed out of the room, not agreeing with the standard I had set. The next afternoon I had a very direct conversation with her mother. She appreciated our meeting and promised that she would talk to Kelly when she got home. I wondered what Kelly's actions would be like the next day. Would her silent treatment toward me continue? Had my decision given her an attitude of resentment that would continue throughout the year?
It was the last day before winter break. I saw her coming down the hall toward my classroom. She had no smile on her face and it appeared as though she was going to just walk right past me upon entering the room. However, before she came through the door, she handed me a note, smiled from ear to ear, and said, "Thanks so much."
I read the note after school and cried.
"I just wanted to tell you thank you for telling my mother. I know that one of my teachers might not have told her. I was pissed off at you about telling her because I was afraid of what she might say or do to me. I felt so relieved when you told her and it was all over. I appreciate you telling my mom because it shows that you really care about me and my life. I thank you again for just caring about me as much as you do. My mom also said thank you. We had a GREAT TALK last night. Sincerely, Kelly"
What touched me the most about her note was the last sentence. Many of these kids do not have the opportunities to connect with their parents on a deeper level. My heart's desire was for them to connect as mother and daughter.
To me, the note represented a child's heart to be cared for, even if it hurt. Many students would not have risen to the standard, but she did. And if the standard made a difference for her, isn't that enough?
Kelly was one of my best students - smart, polite, diligent, obedient...the kind of student every teacher would like to have. So when I intercepted a note she had written, I was shocked to discover the highly inappropriate language and content of the note. I decided to show the note to a trusted colleague hoping to get some advice on how to handle the situation. This particular colleague laughed when she read the note and said, "Oh, she's not old enough to even know what she is writing about...just forget about it. Give her a warning or something, but I don't think you need to contact her mother."
I knew enough to know that if my child had written this note, I would have wanted to know about it! I brought Kelly into my room and told her that I was going to have to call her mom. After begging me not to and shedding a few tears, she stormed out of the room, not agreeing with the standard I had set. The next afternoon I had a very direct conversation with her mother. She appreciated our meeting and promised that she would talk to Kelly when she got home. I wondered what Kelly's actions would be like the next day. Would her silent treatment toward me continue? Had my decision given her an attitude of resentment that would continue throughout the year?
It was the last day before winter break. I saw her coming down the hall toward my classroom. She had no smile on her face and it appeared as though she was going to just walk right past me upon entering the room. However, before she came through the door, she handed me a note, smiled from ear to ear, and said, "Thanks so much."
I read the note after school and cried.
"I just wanted to tell you thank you for telling my mother. I know that one of my teachers might not have told her. I was pissed off at you about telling her because I was afraid of what she might say or do to me. I felt so relieved when you told her and it was all over. I appreciate you telling my mom because it shows that you really care about me and my life. I thank you again for just caring about me as much as you do. My mom also said thank you. We had a GREAT TALK last night. Sincerely, Kelly"
What touched me the most about her note was the last sentence. Many of these kids do not have the opportunities to connect with their parents on a deeper level. My heart's desire was for them to connect as mother and daughter.
To me, the note represented a child's heart to be cared for, even if it hurt. Many students would not have risen to the standard, but she did. And if the standard made a difference for her, isn't that enough?
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