Back to Work for Love
The Thanksgiving of 2017 was one I will never forget. I woke up early. Not sleeping much since I had been sleeping alone the last two months (for the first time in 32 years). I found solace in a small yoga studio I had discovered a few months ago. New neighborhood, new yoga instructor, new way of life I had never imagined. Yoga on Thanksgiving? Never in my wildest dreams. It helped. I soon realized that my husband had made his decision and I would be alone for Thanksgiving. Alone. For the first time in 32 years.
I texted my best friend Monique and she told me what train to take, and that she would meet me at the station. I don’t remember the journey there. I had to have taken a train from Penn, and I’m sure I noticed my surroundings (I typically do), but I can’t remember. I do remember Monique picking me up and the drive to her mom’s in Queens. It didn’t seem like the city. It was much more like a neighborhood with house upon house. It was pretty even with the leaves mostly off of the trees. A quiet neighborhood.
The hustle had begun the second I walked in. Vusa and Monique’s mom working diligently in the kitchen. Both greeted me with big hugs and smiles. Soon I saw Monique’s kids, more hugs. And I met the most amazing young couple–close friends of Vusa and Monique’s. Makhethe and I spent most of the day together. She was feeding her one year old and chatting with me. The evening rolled on. Monique’s mom said grace and gave a special welcome to me. She had some family that arrived later in the evening driving up from Florida, and we quickly chatted about my home state. I was nervous about the dinner and the visit. I had never done anything like this, not ever. I had never spent Thanksgiving or really any holiday at a friend’s house alone. I did it. However, I couldn’t have done it without Monique and the warmth and kindness from her family. I don’t think many knew my husband had just walked out. Maybe her mom and Vusa, but not many others. Not once did I feel unwelcomed. Not once did it feel like anyone was surprised that I was there. Not once did someone say, “you’re really nice for a white girl.” Not once. I wonder if that would have been the same for Monique if the situation were reversed.
I haven’t thought of that day in a VERY long time. I think so much of the fall of 2017 is a blur. This is the first time I have written about it publicly, and really have been pretty quiet the last two years in dealing with the loss of my past life. It’s time for me to get back to work. It’s time for me to talk and listen and understand and demand for better.
Two weeks ago, Monique and another close friend Maggie and I were on a group text together. We were discussing protesting in New York City and wondering how it was in San Diego, Monique’s home the last year while she opened an elementary school. She said, “We will be staying in. The KKK are out there. We are not risking that.”
What did she say, ”the KKK?” I didn’t know how to respond. My best friend who I’ve laughed with, danced with, dined with, traveled with, protested with, worked with, wrote with, walked with many early mornings, and who scooped me up off of the ground and helped me to keep breathing that Thanksgiving of 2017, can’t be dealing with that. That can’t really exist.
I am a privileged white woman working with schools all over the country and world. I have seen diverse schools, I have seen schools of white privilege. I have seen schools filled with all black children. I have seen the most decrepit buildings and the most beautiful buildings and in many of these buildings, I know there are racist leaders among them.
Enough is Enough. I stand for anti-racism. For all of the black men and women who I have been privileged enough to call friends, and colleagues. Those who I barely know who have shown me great kindness in spite of my whiteness. They see my color and they know what it represents, yet can forgive, see me for me, love me for me. Why can’t white people do better? We have nothing to forgive. We just need to love human beings for just being human.
Enough is enough.
For the next few weeks I am going to read: We Want to Do More Than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom. I am going listen to the author speak on June 23rd Abolitionist Teaching and the Future of Our Schools
I would love to see what we can do as educators to stop this.
I will start the conversation and would be thrilled to take it to a ZOOM meeting if anyone is interested. I know there are so many of you out there wanting to figure this out, too. Join me in the fight for justice and humanity.
I may not want to think of that Thanksgiving in 2017. It was the worst. I made it though. And I owe every bit of that difficult day to the beauty of Monique and her family and friends.
I don’t know what to do or say. I have struggled with this for years. Hoping not to offend, to diminish, to sound privileged. The truth of the matter is I am privileged. I can’t change that until we change that. Based on all that I’ve heard these last few horrific weeks, the experts say it’s about education, it’s about listening and it’s about talking. I am certain that I will mess up, but I believe in justice and humanity. Please correct me when needed. Know that I am speaking from the heart, truly in love with so many people of color especially my Monique, my sister.
Love all, actually–especially black lives, they matter,
Christy