More than a sweet treat
Apple pie is pretty delicious on its own, but wrapped up in this particular dessert are unexpected changes, relationships, lessons and a job I value more than I realized.
I teach history at an alternative high school in Charlottesville, a town that has now become synonymous with a violent alt-right protest. The events of August 12th shed light on the pervasive institutionalized racism clearly thriving in America. The unfortunate reality is that we would not collectively be discussing this inherent discrimination and prejudice if Charlottesville had not happened. As an educator, it is strange to even write that sentence. People no longer associate these beautiful Blue Ridge mountains with the mysticism they possess, but with hatred, violence, bigotry and a police force that failed to act.
How do I feel about this invasion, this blatant manifestation of what is wrong with humanity? I feel guilty. The guilt, the regret for having been in Washington D.C. will not subside. Every morning when NPR or CNN mentions Charlottesville, I cringe. I failed my students and myself. There are very few issues that move me to pick up a sign and adamantly express my First Amendment rights. However, the alt-right, the white supremacist movement, is not one any sane individual can or should ignore. These people spew archaic lies that have no place in a country made up of beautiful diverse people. I am reminded of this beauty everyday at school. I work with at-risk youth who have been pushed out, alienated, and rejected at every turn. I struggle to say I teach, because I have learned more about myself, and about resiliency than I ever thought possible.
The majority of my kids are the ones teachers kick out of the room, the ones who are consistently suspended, who do not show up and who are ultimately sent to the alternative school (my school) as a last resort. At graduation last year, teachers consistently turned around questioning, “How did you get ‘jim’ to pass his SOLs? Wow, ‘jane’ actually finished?” It took every ounce of my mama bear instinct to keep from snapping. Instead I responded by explaining that ‘jim’ and ‘jane’ showed up and did the work. They fulfilled their potential; they set goals and achieved them, not me. I was merely a cheerleader along the way.
Now, what do the previous two paragraphs have to do with an apple pie? I threw together this hopefully scrumptious dessert for a student who turns sixteen tomorrow. This student holds a special place in my heart. Three years ago I was subbing, tutoring and essentially begging for a full-time teaching position. While subbing for a middle school history teacher, I like so many other teachers, kicked this kid out of the room. He failed to follow simple instructions; he had an attitude and I did not know how else to save face in a room of 25 thirteen year olds.
He didn’t have an attitude. I was an asshole. I was wrong.
Three years later, this realization is unfailingly poignant. I have learned that my decision to remove him from the classroom is one of the biggest problems with education today. Instead of asking what was going on or if this young man needed to talk to someone; instead of introducing myself and greeting him, I asked him to leave. I rejected him like so many others had before me.
He has experienced more challenges in his young life than most successful adults. The fact that he shows up to school everyday is more than I could manage if our roles were reversed. He is one of the strongest and most resilient kids I have met. I credit my small alternative school for teaching me these lessons. My school uses a trauma-informed approach. What does this mean? A trauma-informed approach means meeting kids where they are, saying ‘no’ as little as possible, supporting kids and loving them even when it’s hard, even when it seems impossible.
Food is the way I externalize care and compassion. In turn, my students have learned to alert me when it’s time for a school wide breakfast or birthday celebration. They would rather plan meals, snacks and candy than chat about everything that is wrong with society. I cannot blame them. I do not pretend to walk in their shoes or know their reality. As a result, I naturally turn to meals, desserts as a way to commune over something satisfying and simple.
My students are tired of discussing the events of August 12th, and when they do- they say it’s horrific. They also question what would the dialogue be if a black woman had been killed and not Heather Heyer. Some ask, “what if the protest had been peaceful? What happened on the 12th is awful, but I deal with so much shit that I ain’t got time to think about that. I ran those racist ass-holes out of this city. Why are people still going on about all that bull shit?”
I have stopped bringing up specific events in my classroom. We discuss social injustice on a larger scale. We talk about the white woman who yelled racial slurs walking down the street. Students open up about the challenges they face on a daily basis- not enough food, dad’s dead, dad’s in prison, I’m in foster care, I’m anxious. This classroom is closing in on me. I choose not to say much; I listen and offer candy and kindness. Most of the time, the kids need a space to speak or vent, but not necessarily a place to process trauma (the classroom is the wrong setting). The single most important lesson I have learned this year is to be kind, to say yes to kids, and to show that I care in one of the only ways I know how- food. What does this apple pie have to do with the alt-right? with the heartache our small city continues to experience? I think we need to move beyond the stereotypes, to act with kindness, without malice, but with an abundance of love.
There are only a few rules in my classroom.
- Do not swear at each other
- Do not swear at me
- Do not use the word hate.
The kids understand the first two rules, but are initially confused by the last one. My response: there is far too much hate in this world to invite any more of it into a classroom. Sometimes there are battles over earbuds or volume or closing your chromebook. However, when it comes to saying the word hate in my room, the kids immediately start to self-correct. Why do my kids self-correct? Why do they choose to follow these very simple rules? They do not seek to live in a community saturated by hate. The self-awareness they exhibit when they replace ‘hate’ with ‘dislike’ or ‘disdain’ reflects why I choose to teach, and why I have the privilege to continually learn from my students. We have to intentionally remove hate from being a socially acceptable expression before seeking to make change. And sometimes, this shift in perspective starts with the simple gesture of an apple pie.
