Police Lights

July 30

I haven't been pulled over for quite some time (knock on wood), probably 15 years, but I remember vividly the first time I was pulled over. I was sixteen and the cop said, "Seriously, your name is Jordan? Isn't that a boy's name?" I squeaked, not a word. He asked where I was headed and I said, "home." He asked me where that was and I said on St. Paul Avenue, which is a block off Cedar and two blocks from where we were. He said, "St. Paul Avenue in Minneapolis?" I felt small, scared and then grateful when he handed me my ticket and drove away.

Six months later, I was driving home from my boyfriend's house late, saw a cop, rolled through a stop sign and pulled over. He turned on his lights and pulled in behind me. I was so nervous when I saw him that all I could think to do is pull over so he would pass. Instead, I got a ticket.

Today, I know I would get that nervous adrenaline rush and feeling of dread. I know that my mind would go to how much will the ticket be and how much will our car insurance go up.

I cannot conceive of a situation when police lights for a traffic stop would lead to me being accosted, handcuffed, arrested, brought to a jail, booked, let alone shot. If I ended up in jail, I know my family would get me out because I am white and privileged. That is the reason.

When I was talking to Curt about this last night, he said sometimes he gets annoyed driving behind someone who is going slow, but when he is finally able to pass the car, the occupants are often black, and then he thinks, "Yeah, I wouldn't drive over the speed limit if I were black either."

Blogging about race

July 26

There are parts of writing this blog that are harder than I imagined. I haven't struggled to think of things to write about, but I have struggled to rush from one post to another as I tried to keep up with my one a day posting. At first, I had three going at a time, and then one or two would get deleted. Now, I am just taking more time to write, read and process.

I worry a lot about offending someone. I don't want to offend my white friends or family. I don't want anyone thinking that I believe I have made the morally superior decisions in school choice, in my decision to blog, in my hope to be an anti-racist, etc.

I don't want to offend people of color, and even as I write this, the thought of lumping all white people or all people of color into one group is ridiculous.

I have struggled to stay focused on experiences and thoughts around race that are more personal. I want to write about Harper Lee's new book and how I have always thought Atticus was a racist and the book was not anti-racist in a modern day sense even though I love it. I want to write about March 1, March 2, American Born Chinese and Bad Feminist, all of which talk about race and I recently read. I want to write more about school after every conversation I have with people.

It isn't that I thought it would be easy; it is just hard in ways I didn't anticipate.

I don't want pats on the back; I want someone to say, "have you thought about this or that?" "I was offended and think you are being myopic." I want to start a conversation somehow, but I seem to be just having a conversation with myself (and Curt).

Sixteen Candles

July 25

There are so many things that are offensive about Sixteen Candles. Homophobia, sexism (particularly what is portrayed as acceptable sexual harassment and rape), but for the purpose of this blog, I'm just writing about Gedde Watanabe's role as Long Duk Dong. 

In one interview I read, Watanabe, born and raised in Utah to Japanese-American parents, said he knew he needed to audition with an "Asian accent", as if all Asian's sound alike, so he hung out with a Korean friend of his. Then he showed up talking like Long Duk Dong, and John Hughes was convinced he was from somewhere in Asia until Watanabe finally came clean and spoke as he normally does. Hughes was fooled. He had no idea which Asian country Watanabe was supposedly from, but he was convinced he was from one of them. 

During the filming of Sixteen Candles, Watanabe did improv for a couple of the scenes that ended up in the movie. He knew what Hughes was looking for and he offered it up. In a number of the interviews I read, Watanabe says that looking back he was "naive" when he arrived at the Sixteen Candles set. He showed up to do his job and he did it well, as evidenced by the fact that you can say Long Duk Dong and most people who were alive in the 80's will know which movie you are talking about. It is an iconic film from the 80s and so people struggle to let it go. In one interview I read, the interviewer commented that while Long Duk Dong is a stereotype, so are many of the other characters. The unattractive nerd boy, the dumb blond girl . . . Does someone really have to point out the difference? There are plenty of unattractive white men in movies who are smart, dumb, good, evil, flawed, loving, lovable, interesting- COMPLEX. True, roles for white women continue to be given mostly to super attractive white women, but there are lots of them, and they are on the news in varied roles, and in books, etc. You could never say, "remember that white man or woman in the 1980's movie. . . who was that?" But I bet you could say, "who was that Asian man in the 1980's movie?" and many would respond, "Long Duk Dong." If one semi-major role is going to be given to an Asian character in a decade, then it will provide only a single story (Adichie's phrase) at best. This film offered up a new insult, now there wasn’t just “chink” or “Bruce Lee”, but now Asian males were called “Donger.”

We watch a lot of 80's movies with our girls, and I annoyingly pause them as we go along to point out sexism and racism (although there is significantly less racism because there are few people of color in 80's and 90's films), but I can honestly say, that I will never watch Sixteen Candles again. 

The Goonies

July 22

Last night we returned from a trip to Oregon which included a visit to the Goonies house in Astoria. We took pictures, walked around a bit, and the girls vowed to watch the movie when we got home. So at 9:30 last night, the girls started the film. Curt and I joined an hour in, and I noticed something that I hadn't before. Data's (Jonathan Ke Quan- the only Asian person in the film) had a stereotypical Asian accent. When I mentioned this, one of our girls responded, "are you sure he doesn't have an accent?" I responded, "100%." I know this because I don't find his accent believable; it is meant simply to make people laugh. Over and over, he says "booby" instead of "booty." I know this because Hollywood didn't accidentally hire someone with an accent. They hired someone who could do the accent because they knew it would make people laugh.  He was Asian and there to provide comic relief and be the smart one, of course.

But I did have a tiny bit of doubt. I wondered if I am going a little nutty and turning everything into race. So I did a little research. I found this review on someone's blog about the commentary that accompanies the 25th year anniversary edition of the film, and the blogger shares that, "One of the best moments happens throughout the commentary as the cast continually forces Jonathan Ke Quan (Data) who has no accent whatsoever to speak in broken english which he does begrudgingly several times." Imagine, 25 years of having to reinforce stereotypes, and to have your castmates "continually force[]" you. The fact is there is no escape from moments like that. What are his options if he is a)just tired of doing it, or b)finds it horribly demeaning and just wants to refuse. This is what he was paid to do. Exhausting. I couldn't find anything on the person who played his mom, but his dad was also played by a Chinese-American who pretended to be Chinese because there is nothing funny about a Chinese-American who speaks standard English.

It isn't simply that the stereotype is offensive, but that it exists in an American society where there are no (or perhaps by 2015, very few) representations of Chinese or Chinese-American people (or Japanese or Korean or Vietnamese, etc) that are complex, human, balanced, layered, etc. If you don't know how this may affect you, or you have no idea what I am writing about, watch Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Ted Talk, The Danger of a Single Story. This is my FAVORITE Ted Talk. I show it to my students every year when they question why we have to read texts by Native Americans- didn't they do that last year? I also respond apologetically; they will be forced to read many more texts by white men.

I have watched The Goonies a number of times, and at least once with our girls, and somehow this stereotype didn't stand out. But now, sitting with Frances, I have to wonder, what does she see and take-away. What other things am I not aware of? How do I address it with the white kids in our family? Should I talk about it differently with Frances? Should I talk about it at all? The Goonies is a funny movie. I don't intend to stop watching it, but I'd love to know what Frances experience is without asking her. Not possible. What to do?

Karachi, Pakistan- Part 1

July 20

Through 2nd grade, besides my brothers, I didn't know any people of color.  I know I had classmates who were students of color, primarily black. I also don't recall meeting people from other countries, with the exception of an East Indian couple who came for dinner, and all I can remember about them was being enamored with the wife who looked like a princess to me.

So my entire family was in for quite a change when in 1982, my parents decided to move us to Karachi, Pakistan. My dad was offered a job as a hospital administrator for a hospital/nursing school being built by the Aga Khan in Karachi, Pakistan. For those of you who have not heard of the Aga Khan, he is the spiritual leader of the Ismaili Muslims. So this was also my first introduction to Islam and it had nothing in common with the Islam I heard about in America years and then decades later.

When we arrived, we immediately met our servants: Philomena, the maid, and her husband, Dwarf (that is how we pronounced his name, but that can't be the spelling), who was the cook; Niaz, the chokadoor (phonetic spelling of an Urdu word I have not said for years), our house guard, and Mansoor, our driver. Mansoor and Philomena shaped so much of what I came to believe about life, including race.

WWAD- What Would an Anti-racist Do? - Post 1 (there will be too many more)

July 19 (no wifi at our vrbo last night)

I intended to continue writing about adoption, but we are on a family vacation in Oregon, and as is too often the case, I was confronted with “what would an anti-racist do” situation.

After dinner, we stopped at the only market available in Rockaway Beach, Oregon to get some crackers to go with our Tillamook cheese for tomorrow’s mid-day snack, and some beer for an evening nightcap. As we proceeded to the check-out, one of our girls pointed out a hat with a Confederate flag on it. We stood there wishing it was not so. Curt suggested buying it to burn it, but we didn’t dare exchange money for it. I grabbed some other hats to put on top of it, but in doing so revealed another hat with an even larger image of the Confederate flag. We abandoned the hat display and proceeded to the check-out in silence.

As the woman checking us out ran our credit card, I debated what to do, or rather whether I should say something. I had a moment when I worried about making her feel uncomfortable, and then I thought, what would this same scenerio feel like if our family were black? I can’t say I know, but the thought was enough for me to say, “I’m not sure if you are the owner. . .” at which point the woman said, “No, I am not the owner.” So I went on, “if you wouldn’t mind passing this feedback onto the owner, I’d appreciate it. I think it is no longer appropriate to have hats with Confederate flags on them.” Her response was simply, “oh, okay.”

I had so many thoughts as I walked out. I wondered how many white people who do not consider themselves racists have seen those hats and said nothing. Why is that? I asked Curt if he would have said something if I wasn’t there, and he said no. I know this isn’t because he feels any differently than me. It is just easier. Now, I wish that I said to our girls and then the check-out woman, “we will not buy food from a store who is overtly profiting from racist goods.” Why didn’t I? Ahhhhh, why didn’t I? I don’t know.

Every moment does not need to be a political one, but neither does every moment need to be a passive one.

"Chink"

July 18

As I wrote before, my parents adopted my two brothers from South Korea. Caleb was about three when he came home; one year younger than my biological older sister Courtney. One year later, they adopted Garrison, and he was around three too, and one year younger than Caleb. I was the youngest, one year below Garrison.

There are all sorts of things that adoption agencies would not recommend about this situation today. Namely, don't mess up the birth order. They'd probably not allow a family to adopt two kids who were adopted older than one to be adopted so close to each other. Nowadays, agencies mandate trainings and give warnings to prepare families for the complexities of adopting a child older than one who may or may not have attached, and therefore may have attachment issues. Today, agencies also have overt conversations about race; I don't believe this happened when my brothers came home, but if they did, it was not with the understanding agencies have today.

My first memories of seeing racism were with my brothers at elementary school. Other kids tried out the word "chink" on them regularly, while pulling their white round eyes at the corners so they were "oriental" looking. I can remember one of my brothers smiling once, perhaps in an effort to laugh with versus be laughed at, but mostly I remember the pit in my stomach watching their facial expressions and knowing that something was not okay, but none of us knew what to say or how to get out of the moment. At the same time, I knew it was not directed at me. I never said a word to my parents. I don't think I had the words to describe what I saw my brothers experience.

There are other comments that my brothers and now my daughter have to endure that make me cringe and want to lecture, and I want to tell her to disregard those comments, they mean nothing, but avoidance is not an answer. I used to get questions all the time about where she is from (Minneapolis, same as the rest of her family). The question people are asking is where was she born. And sure, they are simply trying to start a conversation, but why is the conversation starter about her race, the way in which she is different? Frances, obviously, has been one, four, seven, and now is ten. She is a fun, interesting and chatty person, but point out how she is different, and she turns shy very quickly. There is so much to say about her that has nothing to do with where she was born.

I also used to get comments about how lucky Frances is that we adopted her. No one says this about Solana. What is the intended message?

Peers vs. Texts

July 16

I need to clarify, or expand, or explain my last line. I think many teachers in many schools, public and private, make huge efforts to teach diverse texts and discuss racism, as I do in my mostly white classroom. I know that many white families celebrated Obama, seek out opportunities to understand issues of race, and cry, scream and demonstrate after race-based atrocities of the past and will in the future, and I believe they bring their children along on their personal journeys. I do these things also.

My parents did some of these things too. So then I ask myself, if my parents did these things, why don't I have any friends of color? Why do I live in a mostly white neighborhood? Why do I blame race when considering what the difference is at South? If my parents, and presumably their liberal white friends, did some of the same things, then why is there a huge achievement gap in Minneapolis? Why are communities still largely segregated in the Twin Cities? Why aren't white liberal adults (like me) incensed to the point of action with speech and money every day? Why do so many liberal white families seek out educational opportunities for their children in the suburbs or in private schools that are NOT diverse despite what you see on their websites or what they say?

I'm not disappointed nor do I feel I am missing something in my friend group. I love all my white friends, colleagues and my white husband. What I am disappointed in is that somehow the white community that I live in, including myself and my white husband, has not found a way to demand more for all of the human beings in our community.  A part of me believes, or hopes, that the world may change if more white children grow up interacting daily with actual peers of color-- not people of color in books, movies, media or on Facebook. Peers who tell bad jokes, and get offended, and forgive, and share, and listen, and sweat, and cheer, and dream. History repeats itself, correct? So what am I willing to do differently than my parents?

School Decision Wrap-up (for now)

July 17

It feels disingenuous to write as if we chose South out of many school options. The truth is a lot more complicated. Solana's dad considered moving to add the option of Washburn or Southwest to the mix.

We visited one private school and looked into others, and I wasn't convinced the academic rigor was better just because there is an admission process to get in or because the students who don't measure up are either not admitted or kicked out. I think there is a different kind of diversity that is lost through self and school selection. AND private schools cost a lot of money which means that many of the students have lots of money, and do I want my girls around that kind of privilege? I see this kind of privilege out in Minnetonka. I see the sixteen year-olds driving cars that cost more than I will make this year. I hear students discussing the amazing world travelling they will do over spring vacation, and I also hear the silence from the students who are not headed anywhere. Maybe this is just me convincing myself that private schools or suburban schools would not offer the complete experience that I wish for my girls because money is an obstacle. We would have worked it out, but it would have been hard.

Solana and I also discussed schools from the perspective of Frances. Which school would she be comfortable in? As a Korean-American, would she feel comfortable in a school where she would be the minority (she will be in the minority as a Korean-American anywhere, but as a non-white student)? In the end, Solana stated that she wanted to attend a public school. So we reconsidered the school that I teach at, but really it was just to compare and process what may be lost.

Solana's friends who are attending Southwest and private schools have summer homework, all language arts. I have had moments where I panicked that this alone reveals the differences in academic rigor. Then I remind myself that I teach language arts and my honors students will do summer homework and I don't think it means a whole lot. I think summer homework is to set a tone of expectation, to start the school year with some meat to talk about and to appease parents who are expecting rigor. And isn't that what I am a little jealous of? A community of parents who demand rigor. Or maybe it's teachers and administrators who listen. 

What do parents of color demand for their kids? I have no idea because I have not talked to any.

Schools Part 3: What I cannot teach

July 15

As with everyone, experience dictates my vision of my world and myself. My experience growing up and experiencing race was varied. I have/had two brothers, one died ten years ago, who were adopted from Korea. I lived in Pakistan for four years and Barbados for one, moving back to the United States for eighth grade. More on all of that later, but the culminating lesson for me, one that has guided my priorities as I have looked at schools for my kids is that I cannot teach diversity in my home. I cannot teach my kids to see people of all races as human beings. I can discuss race and point out racism. I can expose them to different ideas and texts, but that is not the same. I do not have friends of color that we spend time with. I have had colleagues and friends of color through work and on Facebook, but the truth is that I am not exposing my children to people of color.

When Joel (first husband, now divorced) and I were going through the adoption process for our second daughter, Frances, Children's Home Society had us go through an exercise. The leader asked us to put a bead in a bowl that represented the race of the artists, musicians, authors, movies, music, friends, family, etc of what/who our kids will experience in our home. Our bowl was filled with white. We adopted a daughter from Korea, and yet my bowl is still white. Joel and I both have the best intentions, but we do not have the network to provide what Frances, or my other three girls, all white, deserve as they navigate the world.

So what does South High School have to offer Solana? When we went to the open house, we had an effeminate black 9th grade boy approach us and offer to give us a tour. I imagine this would/could happen at Southwest or Washburn, but it is hard to imagine it happening at the private school we visited or the school I work at. As we walked around the school, there was a mix of all races. Solana knew a number of students from her basketball team and from her middle school and many were students of color. There were mixed race groups and single race groups, but most importantly, it felt like the students' space. Yes, there will be fights in the halls, and maybe discipline issues in the classroom that are different from what I see in Minnetonka, but when I picked Solana up from the Y an hour ago, I had to go in to get her. She was playing in the gym with Tariq, an African American boy with whom she has been friends for three years even though he is two years older. He was telling her that honors chemistry is hard, but that she shouldn't be nervous about being in classes with older kids. He was one of the first boys at the Y to encourage her to join the pick-up games. Tariq is her friend because they both play basketball, both go to the Y, but also because they both went to Sanford and now to South. She would not have met him or any of her friends of different races if we had relied on my network of friends.

So I guess it comes down to my trust that South can provide Solana (and later Frances) with the academic rigor they deserve more than I trust the mostly white (often over-privileged) schools to teach them to see people of color as individual human beings.

Schools Part 2: Round and Round I Go

Schools: Part Two

Those two questions are not unfair.

Will South be challenging enough? Compared to Southwest and Washburn, South offers fewer honors level courses. Ask a teacher and he or she will tell you the district curriculum is the same, but examine the course offerings and you will discover they are not. Did the registration nights at Washburn and Southwest talk about the importance of graduating from high school and what the bare number of courses students need? Or did they at least mention colleges and challenge? Is this because of the difference in school make-up based on race and/or socio-economics? Does it matter what the reason is? Will it have an influence on my daughters' experiences?

A recent study found that the most disadvantaged schools have the worst teachers. Solana's middle school last year had 62% of its students qualifying for free and reduced lunch, and her teachers were mostly awesome. I work in a very advantaged district and I know there are sub-par teachers. But since it is a study done by respected institutions and academics, I trust it, and yet the assertion is such an absolute and I hate absolutes. I read an article like this and I feel protective and nervous. I read about Minneapolis School's commitment to black male youth and discipline and I wonder where my girls are in the discussion about students. I don't hear about the mission to educate. I don't hear anyone talking about my daughters' options and futures.

The other question I have is about safety. Last year, as an eighth grader, Solana played basketball for the South high school. One day, when my husband was dropping her at practice there was a fight, yelling, screaming, escalating, between two adult women in the hall by the gym. Later, there was a story on the news about a fight at the school that turned out to be outside of the school, but between two students. From my own personal experience, I know what fights, even occasional ones, feel like in a school. When I was observing at Edison High School five years ago before getting my license, I watched an all out brawl in the streets just outside the school. The fact is that I haven't seen many fights. I don't want to. That fight, the sound of one child punching another, has stuck with me. In all of the above situations, both parties were black.

When I was a South student, twenty five years ago, there were times I didn't feel safe. Once, while walking down the hall with Joel, my boyfriend, who was a superstar white cross-country runner, a black student shoved a marshmallow in his mouth. He turned around to say, "what the hell?" and was immediately shoved up against a locker and pinned. One boy stood mocking him and the other held him. It ended quickly, but I was scared. The assistant principal at the time did not help either of us process. Ironically, I volunteered with the special ed department, and the following semester, the boy who pulled the marshmallow incident was in the class I volunteered in. When I realized, I said that I didn't want to work with him and the teacher encouraged me to work it out. Not surprisingly, once I got to know him, I realized he was likable, and I finally told him that I had been there that day. His response was, "well, I wouldn't have done it if I had known he was your boyfriend."

I know in my heart that society must do all it can to help black males succeed; I believe this, and yet I want my daughters to be challenged and safe.

Truthfully, I don't worry about my girls' safety, but I worry more about what they will see; is that overly protective? And I do believe that they will find challenge on a number of levels, some academic and some not, at a school like South. That was my experience. But when my friends and family choose the less diverse schools that talk about academic rigor, I wonder if I am making the right choices. And round and round I go.

Schools: A Hard Look at Myself

July 13, 2015

Choosing schools, or rather, recognizing the lack of choice I have for my daughters' schools has revealed one of my biggest personal conflicts around race. My girls attend Minneapolis Public Schools. In 2006, Solana started at Pratt Community School as a kindergartener. The district had been trying to close the school for a couple of years, and the neighborhood fought hard to keep it open. In part because of this dynamic, a number of kids in the neighborhood went to other schools- charters, private, and open-enrolled public. Meanwhile, Pratt had some good teachers, but there were a number of very poor ones. Today, 29% of Pratt's student body is white and 69% receive free and reduced lunch. Nine years ago, the numbers were similar.

I believed, as Solana trudged through her experience at Pratt, that she was getting a sub-par academic experience in part because of the race and socio-economic make-up of the school. How did I imagine race and socio-economics played into the success of the school? And when I say imagined, I readily admit, I didn't form these opinions from any factual knowledge. What I imagined was that there were: Less involved parents, lower expectations of what could be expected from teachers, and lower expectations of what could be expected from students.

But when Solana hit fourth grade, she had one of the most amazing teachers I have ever met, Ms. Jan Nethercut. Everyone loved her. Everyone learned from her. Ms. Nethercut's arrival at Pratt marked a change in the tide at Pratt, led of course by the district finally committing to keeping Pratt open. Today, numbers are up. Teachers are worlds better. More young families are moving into our neighborhood and more of their kids are enrolling at Pratt. And all of this is happening while maintaining the diversity that I once thought was to blame for Solana's experience.

Despite this knowledge, as Solana entered the world of high school choices, I felt plagued by the same questions. Namely, would our area high school, South High, my alma mater, be challenging enough for her? Would it be safe for her? I know I am not the only parent with these questions.

Where to attack racism?

One day in class, Dr. Hunter said to her tiny white crew of students that one of the reasons racism persists is that often, almost always, when a white person finally realizes racism is real, she or he wants to surround themselves with others who know of its existence, or better yet, around people of color who will affirm the white person's status as a non-racist because how can you be racist if you have friends, colleagues, students and bosses of color. So, often, white people wishing to fight racism enroll in "more progressive" colleges. They live in areas where there is more diversity. They seek out work places that tout more commitment to diversity. And so, white teachers, who are anti-racist wannabes, also often choose to work in more diverse schools.

But, Dr. Hunter insisted, white teachers who want to fight racism are needed in white schools. People of color already know about racism. Not to say it isn't important to have anti-racist teachers in diverse schools, but that is not where the problem can truly be attacked. In this single message, she gave the four of us the benefit of the doubt that we were anti-racist wannabes, and she gave us a mission:  go be anti-racists in your classrooms. No matter your subject. This message was my saving grace when the first job I was offered was thirty minutes from my home in an almost all-white high school.

I had only ever been around mostly liberal-minded people, and although they were predominately white, I cannot recall an overtly racist comment ever made by someone I was close with. I heard comments that were racist in more subtle ways. I had people I was close to make decisions to sequester themselves and their children away from people of color, but always with self-shame for being both progressive with their speech and money, but less generous with their prejudices about neighborhoods or schools that have more diversity. And so I was genuinely scared to enter a world where I may encounter more overt racism. And even as I type this, I think of the irony that a white woman would be scared of racism.

Moving Walkway of Racism

July 11, 2015

I did not just have one professor of color. I had a second one when I was in graduate school at the University of St. Thomas five years ago. Dr. Sally Hunter. I was in her class with three other white women. Dr. Hunter was the first person to teach me what it means to be an anti-racist. She said that one who wishes to be an anti-racist, which means to actively fight against racism, must get on the metaphorical moving walkway (as are seen in airports), and as most are just riding or walking in the same direction, an anti-racist must turn around and walk against the current. The current of society has been to allow racist thoughts, words and actions to persist, so the only way to truly be an ANTI-racist is to walk in the other direction.

When I think of this metaphor, I imagine the looks a person would get if they walked against the walkway. Looks of annoyance, looks of avoidance, looks of fear of the unknown that go along with anyone who contradicts society. All of these looks exist when one works at being an anti-racist. Sometimes, if I bring up race, someone will wonder why I am going at it again: annoyance. Others will try to change the subject without sharing any of their own thoughts: avoidance. And still others will look scared or express words of concern that the status quo is being challenged. I share this metaphor with my 9th and 10th graders because I know that some of them are anti-racist wannabes, and I don't want them to have to wait until they are in their mid-thirties to discover that it has a name and it has a definition and they can be anti-racists.

Where to start, why to start

July 10, 2015

This morning I woke up and perused Facebook, as I do many mornings. I clicked on a link to the article: 23 Things All Black Kids at Liberal Arts Colleges Will Understand. A fellow Mac alum posted it, so I thought back to my experiences at Macalester. I thought about my liberal upbringing that launched me into a school that espouses superficial tolerance without teaching students how to strive to be truly anti-racist. I thought about how few students of color I knew (especially when I when I don't include international students). Then I thought about the ONE professor of color I had:  Don Belton. English professor extraordinaire. I took two classes from him: Black Masculinity and Writing.

In the Black Masculinity course, we read Ralph Ellison, Richard Wright, bell hooks and James Baldwin. I turned in one of my worst pieces of writing and Belton returned it with an F and a passing comment that went something like, "This was a waste of my time." I stayed after despite my humiliation. I asked if I could rewrite it, and he conceded as long as I was ready to write something interesting. As long as I was willing to dig. I wrote an essay on the emasculation of black men in society as seen in Invisible Man and Native Son. I'm sure it wasn't amazing, but I had an original thought and I dared to explore it, and Don Belton supported me, not by patting me on the back, but by pushing and demanding and expecting. He taught me I could expect more of myself.

So this morning, I googled Don Belton because I knew he had left Macalester, but I didn't know where he ended up. He was murdered five years ago. He was murdered five years ago. Even though I hadn't thought about him for years, I feel so sad thinking that there is a world where he is not. Every student deserves a Don Belton. And for some reason, this has led me to decide to sit down and write about race on this blog every day for one year. I don't think I will be brave enough to share it until I have written at least a few posts, but hopefully, I will dare, dig and expect it of myself. We'll see.