One of our most challenging students met me coming in the door at work today, taking my bag from my shoulder to lighten my load, he followed me into my office. As he sat, I discovered his plan to exit and go back home. This student is facing the pull between our school and the streets, so I decided to pull with him. I shut my door and we reset. I loved on him (mediation, clean uniform, school supplies) and eventually hand-delivered him up to class. Before that, I listened to him groan about not wanting to be in school. He expressed his feelings that he is a bad person who no one even wants at school. He explained that he believed in God, but they “just are not cool right now “because of his mistakes, “Prayers go up, Big Dawg (his name for me), but they don’t get answered.”
Whether a child contributed to their predicament or not, does not change or dictate my response. It hurt me to hear him open up about his hopelessness, disappointment in his choices, and the realities to be overcome in order for him to be successful. Our time together connected with something I am feeling very deeply as a mother and as a professional in this season. So, once again I must respond to this urging to excavate the unsaid in order to inform, remind, and/or encourage those professionals on a similar battlefield. Urban education is indeed challenging. When you do it in Chicago, depending on where you serve, that challenge can be multiplied.
Whether it is the seemingly unreal expectations to do more and more with less and less in every aspect of your work or in the level/amount of intervention it takes to keep the ship afloat, it can be absolutely daunting. I will never take that away from the educators who do this very challenging work in the most difficult of contexts. I see you and I understand. I will say and say again that no amount of teacher education or professional development will prepare you for the days that can knock you off your feet from what you can encounter in a day’s work. You are never ready and there is no script for some of the roles I have had to play since stepping into the arena that is Chicago Public Schools. It takes love. It takes courage. It takes strength.
There is no manual for how to capture the hearts and minds of the children and the adults working under your steed while being knocked down walking in the door—daily. This is a ministry one has to accept and embrace because it is worthy. I cannot speak for others, but when people ask me how I do what I do and why I do it where I choose to do it, I have a simple answer. It is in Him that I move, breathe and have my being. I go in His strength. I operate from the capacity that is available through a covenant with God. But for his grace, I would have lost my mind long ago. I must look unto the author and the finisher of my faith, trusting that where he takes me will have purpose (whether I understand it or not) and provision (whether I see it or not).
In addition, I have been known to say, “I am these kids.” I come from the same place and I know how dire the need for this education is for their empowerment as transformational leaders. I know what brokenness and hopelessness feels like. So, this week, I was tried and tested as a mother when my five-year-old son, Elijah, started Kindergarten. Depending on the setting, his natural intelligence, charm, and wit, can be overshadowed by his special needs. On his first day of school, I was contacted by a school leader within an hour of his arrival with questions about things I know were contextually and developmentally appropriate for a child just starting school in a new community. The sadness and anger that ensued within me is indescribable, and I won’t belabor it because Elijah has been blessed with parents who are equipped with the knowledge, resources and relationships to fight for him. Elijah is going to be okay because God has positioned me as his mother. Within days, a new narrative is unfolding, and he is thriving.
But I was reminded that I am not positioned only for Elijah. I am positioned for the many children who don’t have a mom who is an educational leader. I am positioned for the women who are where I used to be--teen moms, the single moms, the sometimes not-so-educated and equipped moms. I am their champion, and I am an advocate for their sons and daughters.
Since I came into the field of education, my job description has been and will stay, “Whatever it takes.” In my meetings with district and school level leaders, there were messages that I needed to send about educating my son, and I realized when I walked in the door at one of my high schools today that those messages are not unique to the adults at Elijah’s school. So, to my allies in the field who I believe start and stay in this work for the right reasons, take heed to these messages if necessary. They are from the heart of a mother who is in the fight with you.
Be sensitive to the special needs and circumstances of the children you serve. Special needs show up in a lot of different forms. Mitigating these needs and circumstances should be why you chose to show up wherever you show up. Resolve to love the children in the communities where you do your work--on sight. Let that love be your guide, inform your mindset and frame your communication.
Be careful not to get settled in judging your babies, whether they are in Kindergarten or in 12th grade. I pray that you see yourself as a source of hope and a path to inspiration that their hearts need so badly. The world is judging them. The world is making excuses for people taking their innocent lives. The world is turning their back on them. Careful not to harden your heart, forget your purpose, and do the same subconsciously.
Believe in their potential. As the African proverb “Amachi” intends “the child is a gift from God” or “Who knows what God has brought us in these children”. They need you to see the potential that exists within each of them, no matter how challenging their individual plights. They are worthy of love and belonging. Even if you stumble trying, contend and push back against the urge to write them off. Even if your efforts don’t end up saving them from a cell or the grave, at least you know you tried.
I get it. I know your own humanity can run on empty. I know they didn’t tell you that having the wind knocked from your body can happen on a daily basis. At times, it seems no one sees the trauma you yourself undergo. It’s just a part of the job. Facilities are unfair and resources are unequally distributed. I opened a high school in Englewood and lead schools in North Lawndale. I know that the metrics that put you side by side with schools who can’t compare to what you show up for daily can feel like a backhanded smack across your face. Try to remember that what you feel is just a microcosm of the injustice your babies were born into. Whether it is the color of their skin, their ability/disability, their zip code, or whatever the lacking developmental asset some children, schools, and communities seem to be loaded down with. They need you more. Even when they don’t know it and can’t express it, their hearts are counting on you.
Embrace the climb, wholeheartedly—ANYWAY. Don’t lose heart. Ground yourself in your why. Our babies are worth it.
Keeping it real. true, and free,
Garland Darling
