My privilege

Olivia and I door knocking for Bernie Sanders in February 2019.

I can remember the exact moment when I realized how privileged I was to be white.

In 2015 I was teaching high school Mathematics at an alternative high school in Clovis, New Mexico. This was the place students who were expelled or who were severely off track to graduate with their peers were sent. It was an entire campus that consisted solely of gang members, druggies, homeless and troubled youth, teen mothers, and all around “bad kids.” The bathrooms had no doors on the stalls and the mirrors were graffitied and scratched pieces of plexiglass bolted to the crumbling walls. No student was allowed to carry a backpack in order to protect themselves and the faculty from any violence involving a weapon. Unfortunately, this also meant that we could not assign any sort of homework. We even had to provide all of the materials for each student to use for the class period each day and the district barely covered that expense. I went through thousands of pencils and was given 12.

Security was in the halls at all times and the campus was locked down during the school day. Once a student entered campus they were not allowed to leave the property until the last bell rang for the day. Many days involved police officers and K9 units sniffing up and the down the halls. As an educator, I learned to never go to the bathroom between the hours of 7 AM and 3 PM. This wasn’t out of fear, it was simply because the students were not allowed to be left unattended at any point so we had to eat our lunch with them in the classroom.

I remember my first couple days in the classroom I was faced with attitude and behavioral issues galore. I had students who would rap non-stop and cause constant disruptions. One girl would bring her hair straighter and blow dryer to class… I even had students who would move their desks in order to not face me. When I confronted Angelo on the second day of school and kindly asked him to stop rapping and to get off of the counter, he lunged at my face and screamed, “YO! You need to CALM DOWN.” In an instant I knew how I reacted would affect the way the rest of the school year was going to be. I had a total of 80 students that I saw everyday and many of my students had me for two or more periods. I also knew that the only people these students trusted and respected were each other. So I had two options: demand their respect or earn it. I paused for a second and took a step back. I calmly and quietly replied, “calm? I am calm. I’m not raising my voice, am I?” The class erupted into a sea of “OOooo’s” and “Damn’s.” The next thing I knew his best friend, Daniel, who was actually sitting in his desk and observing the entire scene spoke up, “yeah man, she is pretty calm. Sit yo’ a** down.” From that moment on they knew I was different than the other authority figures in their life. They started calling me “Miss” and over time I earned their trust and respect. I learned these students were not “bad” kids at all. They were simply kids in situations out of their control. They had such hard lives and more often than not, the adults in their lives were constantly reminding them they wouldn’t amount to anything. They needed so much love, nurturing, kindness, respect, and someone who really cared about them.

Fast forward to the end of the school year. The guidance counselor cracked the door open and called Josh into his office. Unlike most of the students, Josh was not rowdy and did not call attention to himself. He worked hard in class and had a full time job working at a dairy in order to support his two year old son and girlfriend. He was a senior and the only English speaking family member in his household. He was already making more money than me and could have easily dropped out of school when his son was born. He was the only student I allowed to keep his phone on him during class in case he needed to be contacted about his child. We didn’t think anything of it when he got called into the counselor’s office because this happened frequently for many of the students throughout the day.

He returned to his desk minutes later. He was pale, in shock, and couldn’t speak. When I asked him if he was alright he started to cry. Slowly at first and then he couldn’t control it. Between his sobs he managed to assemble the sentence, “Miss, I’m going to graduate high school.” I was excited for him, just like I was when any student found out they were going to graduate. It didn’t hit me how important this was to him until he calmed down and finished saying, “I’m the first person in my family to graduate.”

He was the FIRST person to graduate HIGH SCHOOL. This was 2015. I had no idea kids today were sometimes the first person to graduate high school in their households. I started crying and gave him a hug. Nobody in room 4 had a dry eye during fourth period that day. I don’t even remember what we were covering in class, but I do remember how incredibly privileged I was.

I grew up in an extremely abusive household and as a military child. We moved every two years for my entire life until I was 18. I had to leave friendships and schools behind over and over again. I never wanted to be home and participated in as many extracurriculars as possible. It made my transcripts and resumes impressive. But this was simply to spend as little time as possible at home. I have very few positive memories from my childhood. But I can also tell you, for me and all my peers, we were expected to graduate high school. I never knew a single person to drop out or fail a class. As a military community, we all excelled and graduated. Because ultimately, if we were not successful or if we caused problems, our sponsors (enlisted member of the military) could be reprimanded for it. So everyone graduated.

Teaching at Choices was the most eye-opening and harsh reality I had the privilege to learn. I was showed daily the impacts and differences the color of my skin made. The only white students enrolled at Choices that year were because they were raging against their well-off parents. The other 99% of the student body was there because they had no other choice. This is the place where I learned sharing our stories makes a huge difference. I used to believe that everyone had a story so nobody wanted/had time to listen to mine. But that was not true at all. Everyone has a story and its important to share our perspectives so we can better understand each other and not feel so alone. This is the place where I learned a little kindness and a lot of love can go a long way.

I will never forget that day and I will never stop using my privilege to do the most good.

Olivia and I working as a vendor at the Market in the Alley in Dowtown Fergusons, June 2021, for their PRIDE and Juneteenth celebration.