You Mad Country Yo!

The place where I grew up has always been an "issue" with me. As a child, I wanted to escape that small town down south where everyone knew your name. The thick southern drawl I had was something I wanted to shed like a chrysalis and transform into a butterfly. Well, my chrysalis is still half on and half off. After living north of the Mason Dixon line for a good decade, my accent has faded some. However, it clings to me to remind me of who I am and where I come from.

Teaching in the Bronx somehow allowed me to come to terms with who I was and the person I've become. One of my toughest classes my first year as a teacher was a special education class in a middle school. This particular set of youngsters was an eight grade class who was notorious throughout the school. People who had coverages with this class would often stand at the door. Maybe this was in case they needed to make a quick get away.

Rumor had it that "the leader" of the class was in a gang. I'll call him Kevin. Perhaps he was. He had all the tell tale signs. I was given the opportunity to "teach" this group once a week--every Friday. Most of the students could barely read their names on a piece of paper.

The class I was charged to teach was a video production class. Yikes! How could I teach these students? In the beginning, I couldn't even understand Kevin. He spoke with such a thick street accent and spoke so quickly. It was nearly impossible to translate his words.

Every week when it was time for these kids to enter fear overtook my highly stressed body. My heart began to race. I had to keep this class under control. They didn't respect me. How could I relate to any of them?

Kevin was the one in charge. He told all the students what to do. Whatever he liked, they liked and would participated in. So, I decided that I had to get this kid and the rest of the class would fall in line.

One day, I was teaching and my accent became even thicker with this group because I lost my guard and went deep into my comfort zone--the cadence and rhythms of my childhood. In the middle of an attempt to educate these kids about the world of video production, Kevin stops all his disruptive comments and screams out with laughter, "She's mad country yo." Little did I know at the time, but this was his way of saying that I was southern. Apparently, the word "country" means southern in the Bronx. Then and there, I realized something for the first time. I was like these kids in many ways. Growing up, my grammar was terrible filled with inappropriate use of word meanings and grammatical tenses. In my environment, I fit in with the crowd. Everybody spoke this way. It was only when I was outside my comfort zone-- meaning out of the south, that I needed to worry about my verb conjugation. This made me feel uncomfortable and gave me a need to question myself and wonder...how could I fit in?

These kids feel the same way as I did when I felt out of my element. They fit into their own worlds. It's school where they feel out of place. They are being told to go against who they are--their culture and their language. Kevin taught me something that day. It's important to remember your roots. He reminded me that I am mad country yo and proud of it.

P.S. After this little epiphany, I managed to get Kevin's attention in class and discovered he made an excellent director. He love the camera. He got every student into that class to participate and enjoy learning about how the camera works. Maybe, just maybe, they learned a little something that year. I know I did.

Question of the Day: When did you first learn something from one of your students?