How Having A Black Woman As A 3rd Grade Teacher Secured My Future

by C. Isaiah Smalls, II

Just three years after Art Shell became the NFL’s first Black head coach in the modern era, Kay Mason was hired by Columbus Academy in 1991, effectively making her the school’s first full-time African-American teacher. After 22 years of teaching, Mason was promoted to the head of the lower school in 2013, again becoming the first African-American hold that position.

When she was initially hired, Mason endured her share of struggles. Some parents stared at her in bewilderment; others even asked demeaning questions that they would not dare ask her white colleagues.

This, however, was not new for Mason. As one of the first African-American graduates of the Columbus School for Girls, she was used to this behavior and thrived in discomfort. Patience, according to Mason, was key to her longevity.

It was no coincidence that I first met Mason as a third grader in 2005. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was placed in her class at the special request of the Columbus Academy Admissions Office. I failed the admission test the previous year; after realizing I had focused more on recess than the evaluation, I was pleading with the teachers to not tell my dad. The following year, however, I was admitted and they placed me in Mason’s third grade class, hoping her presence would ease my transition.

“For all of my classes,” Mason said when I called and interviewed her this week. It’s the first time we’ve spoken in more than a decade. “I always tried to create a community that felt family-like. For you, as a new student, I wanted to make sure that you felt comfortable.”

Coming from a montessori school, I initially struggled with the curriculum. When I was overwhelmed, I would concoct an illness out of thin air and venture to the nurse’s office. Rather than dismissing my behavior as neurotic hypochondria, Mason saw a child who was putting too much pressure on himself to succeed. With time and some extra help, I began to grasp the concepts and my trips to the nurse significantly diminished.

Additionally, it was Mason who first taught me about the horrors of racism. As delicately as possible, we learned about the Civil Rights Movement and key figures like Martin Luther King Jr. and Ruby Bridges.

I was the only Black student in her class. When she first began to teach us about racism, I was horrified and embarrassed because of my black skin. I had never noticed the differences in skin color between me and my classmates. At all times, the eyes of my classmates felt as if they were burning holes into my skin.

I was ashamed of my blackness because I did not want to be different. As a new student, you try so hard to fit in. You are always one peculiar action or comment from being labelled as an outsider forever. I started to believe there was something wrong with being Black, especially when she alluded to the fact that prejudice was still prevalent. How could something so maleficent still exist without it somewhat being our fault, I naively thought to myself.

Although my classmates had welcomed me with open arms, the more Mason taught about prejudice, the more isolated I felt. She, however, was no stranger to isolation:

“Being an educator here, I didn’t realize how isolating and alone and lonely I felt until I went to the National Association of Independent Schools’ annual People of Color Conference. When I went to that first conference, which was my first year teaching, and I went almost every year after that for at least 10 or 15 years, I would be in sessions with other faculty of color who were all sharing the same experience. It made me think that it’s not just me. This is real; this feeling is real even though I’ve grown up in this. I shouldn’t feel so awkward at times. It became really clear.”

The more time I spent with Mason, the less isolated I became. We were kindred spirits. She fully understood my plight because she too had been there .

Mason was my first black teacher, something I did not realize the significance of until later. What ultimately separated Mason from my previous instructors, however, is her empathy. In a world that devalues the Black experience, Mason served as a prime example of what I could accomplish with hard work and perseverance. She made me proud to be Black.

Therein lies the importance of Black teachers, especially for boys. According to 2014 study on racial profiling by the American Psychological Association, black boys, as young as 10, are viewed as less innocent than their white counterparts and are more likely to be held responsible for their actions by police. With Black teachers only making up 7 percent of the elementary and secondary school workforce, the need is apparent.

Black teachers share a distinct commonality with their students. It allows them to have a unique perspective of their students uninhibited by stereotypes. Assata Shakur alluded to this her self-titled autobiography stating that black teachers took a special interest in their students because they “lived in our world” and “knew what we were up against and what we would be facing as adults.”

The most accurate way to measure a teacher’s impact on his or her students is not through test scores or GPAs. In fact, it cannot be quantified or measured; only through reflection and introspection can the full gravity of a teacher’s impact be discerned.

Mason’s empathy and patience were vital to my development because she opened my eyes to the beauty and importance of my blackness. For me, having a black woman teacher during a transitional phase of my life made all the difference in my academic career.