No need to harp on race in school-related matters
Feb 10, 2009
I volunteered to help in my son Ogaba’s kindergarten class this past Monday. All weekend long, my son and I held a long negotiation about my visit. He insisted that I needed to be there on time, at 8:30am and not later than that. That was okay by me.
Opiyo Oloya
I volunteered to help in my son Ogaba’s kindergarten class this past Monday. All weekend long, my son and I held a long negotiation about my visit. He insisted that I needed to be there on time, at 8:30am and not later than that. That was okay by me.
He also suggested that I leave my suit and tie behind, and wear ‘normal clothes like other parents’.
That was a bit difficult. I needed to volunteer in his class, and then go straight to work, I told him. Why could I not volunteer in his class first, drive back home, change into a suit and then go to work, he asked. I could not do that because a lot of time would be wasted going back and forth when I could have gone straight from his class to work, I replied. It was either that or I would have to come to his school another day when I did not need a suit and a tie, I said. He accepted the deal.
So I went in the morning at the appointed time. He was very happy to see me come to volunteer in his class. Yes, I was dressed in a suit and a tie, but that did not matter. I was there, and it was the first time I had ever volunteered as a helper in his class. When I arrived, he and his friends were kicking soccer outside in the snow.
The way he played with so much energy told me that he felt proud that his dad was there, and what’s more, had come at exactly 8:30am and not later than that. As I stood there waiting for the bell to ring, I wondered what else my son could be thinking about. He seemed so much at ease with his peers, playing confidently, jumping over ice patches, laughing and running and kicking that wet ball. For one, he is the only African child in the class—a very visible minority.
Secondly, born in January, he is a little taller than most of the children whose birthdays fall later in the year. But it was the colour of his skin I was thinking about. Does it matter to him that he is an African, the only black kid in the class? Now, as parents, both Emily and I have never looked at school-related incidents in racial terms.
When either Ogaba or his brother Oceng comes home with a bruise or bump, we inquire how the incident happened, what the injured party was doing, and how he contributed to the problem. We then talk strategies on how to avoid similar problems in future, how to resolve conflicts without resorting to push and shove. Sometimes, Emily reminds me that I am speaking to my sons and not my students, and that I need to have a bit more empathy when asking tough questions of the boys. I agree with her—occasionally, I am too much the educator, and not enough father.
By focusing on the incident, though, we never inquire about the racial background of the other child. Race has never been an issue to us in that we don’t speak to our children about how they are different from the other kids in their mostly white school.
Yes, they know their African roots very well and are immersed in it. But we feel that they should be free to be themselves, to focus on growing up without being saddled with a constant reminder of race. We may be on the right track on this. In an interesting article entitled, “Education is all in your mind†published in last Saturday’s edition of the New York Times, Professor Richard E. Nisbett of the University of Michigan discussed the many studies showing that black students tend to do better or worse depending on what they are made to think at any moment. He gave an example of a study that showed that simply reminding black students of their race before exams made them do poorly.
Nisbett went further to quote another study conducted by a colleague at the University of Michigan in which inner-city students were walked through what the future would look like and how they could overcome problems along the way. After a few of these life-planning sessions, the students did much better overall on standardised academic tests. One interpretation could be that the students did much better because the sessions focused on identifying the students’ potentials in negotiating future life shoals.
It did not spend time reminding them about how being black will be such a hindrance for the rest of their lives. Now, we don’t raise our children based on whatever study is out there. Both of us feel strongly that our children should be left to grow normally like other kids. They should not have to be reminded every day that they are Africans and that somehow they are different from all the other kids in their classrooms. When I finally got inside the classroom, I noticed Ogaba was the first to get to his spot on the floor to await further instructions. He sat quietly, not fidgety as most kids of that age are. It could be that he really wanted to make a positive impression on dad or on his peers.
When it was time to share, he played well with his peers. For their part, his classmates did not treat him any differently. They seemed at ease around him, and on at least two occasions, I caught Ogaba playing footsie with another kid. The only moment of alarm came at snack time. Emily and I believe that the boys must be independent about what food they carry to school. They pack their own lunches, and this was done from the moment they turned five.
Ogaba turned six in January. Oceng is 10 years old. We merely check to make sure that they have food in their school bags. On Monday, mom left early for work, and dad did not check the lunch bags. When my son opened his snack bag, he had just one item in it, his favourite cookies, Dad’s they are called. He ate one, and put the other away.
He later told me that that was all he wanted to eat for snack that morning. He eats a full nutritious lunch at his daycare. Still, I must admit feeling horrified seeing what other parents had delicately packed for their kids—there were grapes, and cheese, yogurt, and milk, and water and what not.
You can bet Ogaba’s Tuesday snack was a bit more robust. Still, the kid is alright, he is well adjusted and happy. His happiness of course doubled on Monday when dad came to his class at 8:30am and no later than that.
Opiyo.oloya@sympatico.ca
I volunteered to help in my son Ogaba’s kindergarten class this past Monday. All weekend long, my son and I held a long negotiation about my visit. He insisted that I needed to be there on time, at 8:30am and not later than that. That was okay by me.
He also suggested that I leave my suit and tie behind, and wear ‘normal clothes like other parents’.
That was a bit difficult. I needed to volunteer in his class, and then go straight to work, I told him. Why could I not volunteer in his class first, drive back home, change into a suit and then go to work, he asked. I could not do that because a lot of time would be wasted going back and forth when I could have gone straight from his class to work, I replied. It was either that or I would have to come to his school another day when I did not need a suit and a tie, I said. He accepted the deal.
So I went in the morning at the appointed time. He was very happy to see me come to volunteer in his class. Yes, I was dressed in a suit and a tie, but that did not matter. I was there, and it was the first time I had ever volunteered as a helper in his class. When I arrived, he and his friends were kicking soccer outside in the snow.
The way he played with so much energy told me that he felt proud that his dad was there, and what’s more, had come at exactly 8:30am and not later than that. As I stood there waiting for the bell to ring, I wondered what else my son could be thinking about. He seemed so much at ease with his peers, playing confidently, jumping over ice patches, laughing and running and kicking that wet ball. For one, he is the only African child in the class—a very visible minority.
Secondly, born in January, he is a little taller than most of the children whose birthdays fall later in the year. But it was the colour of his skin I was thinking about. Does it matter to him that he is an African, the only black kid in the class? Now, as parents, both Emily and I have never looked at school-related incidents in racial terms.
When either Ogaba or his brother Oceng comes home with a bruise or bump, we inquire how the incident happened, what the injured party was doing, and how he contributed to the problem. We then talk strategies on how to avoid similar problems in future, how to resolve conflicts without resorting to push and shove. Sometimes, Emily reminds me that I am speaking to my sons and not my students, and that I need to have a bit more empathy when asking tough questions of the boys. I agree with her—occasionally, I am too much the educator, and not enough father.
By focusing on the incident, though, we never inquire about the racial background of the other child. Race has never been an issue to us in that we don’t speak to our children about how they are different from the other kids in their mostly white school.
Yes, they know their African roots very well and are immersed in it. But we feel that they should be free to be themselves, to focus on growing up without being saddled with a constant reminder of race. We may be on the right track on this. In an interesting article entitled, “Education is all in your mind†published in last Saturday’s edition of the New York Times, Professor Richard E. Nisbett of the University of Michigan discussed the many studies showing that black students tend to do better or worse depending on what they are made to think at any moment. He gave an example of a study that showed that simply reminding black students of their race before exams made them do poorly.
Nisbett went further to quote another study conducted by a colleague at the University of Michigan in which inner-city students were walked through what the future would look like and how they could overcome problems along the way. After a few of these life-planning sessions, the students did much better overall on standardised academic tests. One interpretation could be that the students did much better because the sessions focused on identifying the students’ potentials in negotiating future life shoals.
It did not spend time reminding them about how being black will be such a hindrance for the rest of their lives. Now, we don’t raise our children based on whatever study is out there. Both of us feel strongly that our children should be left to grow normally like other kids. They should not have to be reminded every day that they are Africans and that somehow they are different from all the other kids in their classrooms. When I finally got inside the classroom, I noticed Ogaba was the first to get to his spot on the floor to await further instructions. He sat quietly, not fidgety as most kids of that age are. It could be that he really wanted to make a positive impression on dad or on his peers.
When it was time to share, he played well with his peers. For their part, his classmates did not treat him any differently. They seemed at ease around him, and on at least two occasions, I caught Ogaba playing footsie with another kid. The only moment of alarm came at snack time. Emily and I believe that the boys must be independent about what food they carry to school. They pack their own lunches, and this was done from the moment they turned five.
Ogaba turned six in January. Oceng is 10 years old. We merely check to make sure that they have food in their school bags. On Monday, mom left early for work, and dad did not check the lunch bags. When my son opened his snack bag, he had just one item in it, his favourite cookies, Dad’s they are called. He ate one, and put the other away.
He later told me that that was all he wanted to eat for snack that morning. He eats a full nutritious lunch at his daycare. Still, I must admit feeling horrified seeing what other parents had delicately packed for their kids—there were grapes, and cheese, yogurt, and milk, and water and what not.
You can bet Ogaba’s Tuesday snack was a bit more robust. Still, the kid is alright, he is well adjusted and happy. His happiness of course doubled on Monday when dad came to his class at 8:30am and no later than that.
Opiyo.oloya@sympatico.ca