For the Class of 2020

For the past five years, I've written graduation speeches for my eighth graders. This year's graduation speech was a little different, mostly because the end of this year has been so different. But here it is, my model for my current eighth graders. It has me thinking so much about all of the graduates and all of the graduations worthy of celebrating. So before Obama and all of the other amazing graduation speeches get made, here is my offering. 

Class of 2020 Graduates,

You made it. You are here, but I’m not ready to let you go. 

You didn’t get all of the moments this year had in store for you; didn’t get all of those lasts: last Academy Day, last projects, last dances, last field day, last classes, last days of school. Well, we had these lasts, but we didn’t know them while we had them.

Instead, we’ve had something else. We traded in classrooms for Zooms. We learned how to connect with one another through a screen instead of face-to-face. We searched for the motivation to get up every morning to head to school without even opening the front door, and to complete assignments that you might learn from but that couldn’t hurt your grade if you chose not to complete them. You had to get used to so much change so quickly.

High School Graduation: June, 1992. 

Greek philosopher Socrates said, “The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.”

You are here, and you have helped build something new.

It isn’t what we expected, but it is ours and we are here to celebrate because you have earned it. You put in two and a half long years on campus: days learning and growing, struggling with teachers and classmates, watching the clock and waiting for that 3:00 bell. And each and every one of those days in all of those classes count.

And now you’ve survived something new. For twelve weeks you have shown up in so many new ways. You found your way onto on screens and into chats. You turned in assignments, checked in with friends and teachers in new ways and adjusted to new ways of being at home with your families.

You read the news and felt anger, anxiety, fear, and loss. You witnessed tragedy from near and far. You worried about friends and classmates and endured constant change and uncertainty.

American author Maya Angelou says, “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.”

You have done this. You have taken this unprecedented situation and learned about yourself as people and as students. You’ve learned what to do with hours upon hours upon hours at home. You have grown up in these few months and learned more than we could measure inside the halls of our schools or the walls of our classrooms.

Our school’s namesake, Ralph Waldo Emerson says, “The way to mend the bad world is to create the right world” and you, the class of 2020 are truly making your own path. You are carving out new experiences and are already shaping a new, post COVID-19 world.

I might not be ready to let you go, but you are ready. You know how quickly everything can change and your adaptability during this time has inspired me. You have brought me hope. So thank you. Thank you for sharing so many of these long-short days, your thoughts and dreams of what tomorrow might bring. 

You have helped mend the bad, and I cannot wait to see the new, right world you help create.

What I Learned from Black History Month This Year: Part III

Emerson held its Black History Month assembly on an early release day. I spent the early morning printing up the programs LaTrina designed, and then the performers and I spent the rest of the morning rehearsing.

Things, of course, took longer than expected. Mics had to be set, audio uploaded, and not everyone got the chance to run-through their program onstage. But after the break, the students started filing into the auditorium and ready or not, it was time to begin.

We planned to start the assembly with everyone singing together. I wasn't sure how this would go off. We played the song as everyone took their seats, and once we were set to start, one of the MCs invited everyone to sing The Black National Anthem. There was a pause, and as the lyrics scrolled onto the screen, to my surprise, a chorus of voices rang out behind me. Students were really singing, and they sounded so good I was tempted to keep the song going, but there was a full program so we continued on.

LaTrina's son, Joshua, provided context for the assembly with his opening remarks followed by a powerful rendition of Common and John Legend's "Glory." The Tim Wise video clip from "White Like Me" elicited some uncomfortable laughter from the audience and I hoped this discomfort would help students begin to explore the ways race and privilege play parts in all of our lives.

The program unfolded, not without its glitches, but our students learned that Black History wasn't just about Martin Luther King Jr., or slavery. We explored The Harlem Renaissance, Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou's poetry, students' original poetry, music from "Hairspray," and introduced the Black Panther Party.

At the end, when one student still didn't understand why we needed a Black History Month assembly, one of the participants said if we didn't, all of the months would be for white history. I continued to hear about conversations unfolding in classrooms after the assembly. Students and I discussed take-aways from the program, about their need to further explore privilege, and learn more about The Black Panther Party. Other students said they were beginning to understand what it meant to be an ally and in the end, that was what I learned too. Being an ally isn't a given. It's something earned.

52 Poems: Week 1 Maya Angelou

For 2013, I've decided to post a poem week, read it every day, and possibly commit it to memory. I hope these bits of language might inspire my writing, but mostly I just long for some structure to sharpen my mind and carve my tongue around words. Here is my first...

The Lesson
By Maya Angelou

Baby Kiara's sleeping fist...

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.