
Black Educator, White Space
White kids’ gaze: Philly’s speech and curly hair
Part 1: My interesting introduction to being a young black male teacher leading in a predomintly white classroom.
The picture above is of me in the library of a K-12 independent school, which I interned for in southeastern Pennsylvania. From September to June, I interned as a teacher, after-school help, and a dorm parent. The school is predominately white, and is doing better than other schools in diversifying and including everyone in their population. Out of approximately 600 students 26 percent of their student body are students of color. Looking at their staffing, I am one of the few Black faculty there, and was the only Black (Afro-American) male teacher in the Middle School. The rareness of my position as a teacher paired with my idenity and experience as a young unapologetically educated and accomplished black male from the hood, welcomed the opportunity to offer perspective-shifting lessons and interactions with my white students.
Before I went off to college in Vermont, I have always been surrounded by people who look and act like me. I was born and raised in deep Southwest Philadelphia. I attended and volunteered at public schools my entire life; most of the people were from the same culture as me. Our main genres of music were hip hop, rap, r&b, jazz, and oldies. We went to school with similar hairstyles, such as cornrows, plats, box braids, locs, twists, afros, curly tops, fades, or waves. Our syntax, accents, and dialect consisted of abbreviated or slurred-together words and phrases like “jawn,” “youngbull,” “olehead,” “whachumean,” “whichamacallet,” “ard” “we bouta route,” and “nomsay” or “nommean.” This was the norm for me.
Everyday I walked into my sixth grade math class, which was filled with eleven 11 and 12 year olds who are about half my height. Most of them had pale tan skin, straight brown or blonde hair, blue or brown eyes, and narrow noses. Many of the students rarely listened to rap or hip hop, unless it came with a catchey dance that made its way into “popular culture” or “mainstream society” via social media; e.g. Look at my Dab, Walked-In that includes the dance hit the folks, ju-ju on that beat, and nae-nae. They articulated their words. There was little to no slang or slurr in any sentence, but they occasionally did use mainstream words like “lit” or “turnt”. They wore clothing like Vineyard Vines, Patagonia, L. L. Bean, North Face, American Eagle, Ugg, and H&M. It was appearant that they came from a completely different world than me. However, what was more apearent is that I might have been the first interaction these students ever had with a young unapologectically educated and accomplished black male teacher from the hood.
At this age, they were starting to become more aware of themselves and others. Everyone, espceially adults were under constant observation by these students. They looked to certain people as role models and examples to shape their lifestyles after. I was closer to their age than the two lead teachers that I was paired with this year. I knew and understand all the mainstream hip hop and rap dances and songs that they listened to. They could relate to me on a social level, which made me cool and fun in their perspectives. Considering that I was more relatable, they constantly examined everything I did. As a result, I heard the most hilarious and surprising questions about my identity.
Most days, this class met at 8:00 am. I was often times the first adult in the room because I was in charge of warm-ups, which takes up the first 5–10 minutes of class. Throughout the 43 minute-long period, I walked around and assisted the students on problems. The classroom size was small, so I was always in the student’s view.
Once I stepped foot in the door, most students looked up and greeted me with an enthusiastic “Teacher Corey!” Then, the interrogation began, “Teacher Corey what’s that in your mason jar today? Why do you carry around a mason jar? T. Cizzle what’s the warm-up for today? Can we play a game?!” I politely laughed and responded with either, “You have to guess,” or I’d directly answer their question. The mason jar thing is a habit and useful trick I got from Vermont.
Occasionally, some students would ask questions about my characteristics like my hair and speech. One of my first few weeks in the classroom, I was helping my led teacher run an activity. I spoke to the class and said “y’all” multiple times. The students giggled after the first couple of times. I asked why they laughed and they all responded “y’all” in a country accent. Then, I laughed and stated “Oh y’all making fun of how I talk? That ain’t right, y’all bullying a teacher.” They responded, “Noo, it’s just funny that you talk like that, it’s different. Never really hear people use that word before.”
“Really?!” I was surprised and was laughing out loud. But I continued the activity.
Afterwards, I helped a student with a problem and she asked, “Why do you talk like that?” I looked at her with a “why are you asking me that question” face. She reacted “I mean, no, it’s not bad, you just sounds funny. I like it.” I understood what she was asking, so I answered her, “My accent is a combination of the Virginia, Baltimore, Delaware, and Philadelphia’s accent because those are the places my family is from. I also have a Philly slang to my talk too, so you could be hearing that as well.” She smiled, listened, then responded with a simple “okay” while continueing her work.

Some days I used to go to class with uncombed hair because I rushed in the morning; a chosen style for the day, curly top. However, one day, I went to school with my hair neatly picked out. A student was doing his work, then stopped to look up in my direction. He noticed something about me today. His face squints up as he focused on me, “Teacher Corey, how do you get your hair puffy?” I smirked, and responded, “It’s naturally like that.” Afterwards, he asks, “How can I get my hair like that?” I start laughing, while shaking my head. I never heard questions like this from kids before. He was more interested in my hair than he was in his work, which I didn’t have an issue with because he was young and curious. He gets out his seat and approaches me with a grin that was inspired by my laughter. “Why are you laughing? I’m serious, how can I get my hair like yours? It’s cool.” I laughed even harder, “my friend, you can not get your hair like this because you’re not of African descent. You’re White.” The lead teacher, who is a white woman, overheard our conversation and added, “It’s impossible for you to have hair like that. You just don’t have the genetics. You’re white.” She was smiling too because it was enjoyable seeing how interested and naive he was.
The following day I came into class with my hair twisted. He noticed my hair again.
“Teacher Corey, what did you do to your hair? Did you get a haircut?”
“Nope. I just twisted it this morning. But the rain and cold weather shrunk it.”
“Wait, I’m confused. How did you get it to be puffy yesterday?”
“I pick it out.”
“What do you mean pick it out?”
“A pick is a wide tooth comb created for people of african descent because a standard comb can’t make it through our hair smoothly unless our hair is moist. So instead of saying ‘I combed it out’, ‘I picked it out’ because that’s the type of comb I used.”
At this point many students were joining into to the conversation. “I’ve never saw one of those. Can you show us a picture?!” “How does your hair shrink?”
I laughed again. “I’ll bring a pick in one day to show you. My hair is curly and dry, so the curls tighten up throughout the day to retain the moisture.”
“Ooh cool. I never knew that.”
To shift focus back to their math problems, I stated, “Alright class, let’s get back to work.”
I glanced over at the initial student, who was playing in his hair trying to twist it. Then, he suddenly stopped and asked “Teacher Corey, can I touch your hair?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want anyone touching my hair, unless their hands are clean.”
“Awee, dorn it. I can go wash my hands!”
“My friend, I’m not letting you touch my hair.”
“Noooo, uh dorn. Come on.”
He felt defeated, but still interested in my hair. But the conversation stopped.
These conversations occur very often. It’s extremely important for me to be there to answer those questions and provide knowledge for my students in their japs of missing information. It is NOT my responsibility to teach them these simple things about my identity, nor is it priority in my life. I am not anyone’s token or prize. I am a teacher and I have full control of my agency. Also, I assumed that they would already know about black bodies because I knew about whiteness my entire life, even when I was in the projects. But I do welcome conversation where it’s needed. Though my two examples above are not crucially important, I just wanted to paint a humorous picture of my first semester as a teacher in a white space.
Thanks for reading. Look forward to more short articles on my Black Educators, White Spaces topic.
With Love,
Teacher Corey

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