Culturally Caring
As a teacher, I cared for my students. I started out as a fourth grade teacher with a class of predominantly African American children. Each morning, as they came in, I stood at the door greeted them by name with a smile and always tried to find something positive to say about them. Whether it was cute hair, cool shirt, or new sneakers I would find something to say to make them feel welcomed. I wanted them to know that I cared, and I wanted them to be happy in my class. Their academic success was important to me, so I knew I needed to make investments in them to get the performance I wanted. I believed they could achieve, and they knew I wanted the best for them. I had a calm, positive, inviting classroom where children could be children. They could be happy, smile, laugh, and talk. They were seen, heard, and protected in my classroom.
Teaching was personal for me, as an African American woman. I understood the obstacles that my students would face to become successful in society. It would take more than learning skills in my classroom. It would take kindness, manners, respectfulness, happiness, articulation, proper grammar, joy, persistence, hope, and honesty to make it. I taught my students all of those traits. I cared for their person. I not only wanted them to succeed in my classroom, but I wanted them to succeed in life. I had the end game in mind because for people of African descent, life is not so kind when reaching our goals. I spent many Sundays in my living room crafting lessons tailored to their learning styles. I wanted to make sure that I designed lessons that would engage my students so they could grasp the concepts. When they learned a skill, their eyes would light up because they knew they had got it. I loved it! It brought me joy.
Some days, I would randomly bring them treats to show that I appreciated their hard work and good behavior. I wanted to celebrate their success in the classroom. I was loving on them. They deserved to feel valued because they mattered. They were the worker bees, and I was their leader. I cared for them. I was good to them and for them. I partnered with their parents and communicated regularly about the good, the bad, and the ugly. There was nothing left off the table nor any unexpected findings by parents. They wanted to be involved and they wanted to matter. I valued that. I understood, together, we could ensure the success of the children.
Each day I came in, I pushed, and they worked. I praised, they worked. I demanded, they worked. I celebrated, they worked. I cared, they worked. I listened to them. I honored them. I played music for them. They taught me new dances. They made me laugh. I enjoyed them because I cared for them.
