left behind on bleak street...

This takes me back...all the way back to beginning.  Nothing has changed in thirty years since the journey started for me.  But more  frightening to contemplate is that things have changed, but not for the better.  It's more horrible than I could ever have imagined.  The latitude and longitude are different, but it is the same school, different location.  It's a nightmare that never goes away.  The building is an old rundown box, unkempt and joyless. I know what that means.  It screams substandard.  I, who am desperate for a job, can hardly manufacture the will to do this.  I know when I walk in that I will not be able to come here again.  I guess that makes me the lucky one.  The others  have no choice.  De facto segregation is alive and well. There are no white kids. Where do they go to school?  Why has an entire segment of the population defected?   And does anyone ever question how that influences the education of those left behind. Obviously not. I stand for about two hours in a worn out gym policing 6th, 7th, and 8th graders while teachers have a meeting????  What!!!! This is Thursday.  Friday is a teacher workday. "Why," I ask, "are teachers meeting during instructional time on the day before a holiday? Body language answers are all I get.  Translation:  Shrug your shoulders, suck your teeth, roll your eyes.  The Student Concern(s) Specialist is screaming at children to sit...over and over and over and over again.  It doesn't take me long to understand that numbness sucks the life out of the air space here.  Pretend it ain't so.  Behaviors are overlooked. Responsibility is absent. Little-meek-never-in-your-face-me, wants to get on the PA and announce that good sense has left the building.  But, I can't.  For you see, it was never ever here to start with.  All I know is that the school board will patronize you as long as you accept it. Maybe they can convince you, but they will never convince me that this is not educational malpractice.  Remember what Charleston did to Judge Waties Waring?  Ran him out of town, I believe.  His remains are in Magnolia Cemetery.  If you listen closely, Charleston, you can hear him whisper, "I told you so!"    

Part Two, The Education Papers,Thoughts on Education in Charleston, SC

carol of the bells...

It's barely light out, and I've been up for hours.  When I turn into the parking lot, it is empty.  Where is everyone?  Why do they want me here so early? Which door do I choose?  This job comes with very few instructions.  Where are the detail people in this scenario?  Have they all given up on this nonsense and moved on?  There is a lone teacher in the office.  Waiting, I suspect, for that chat with the principal.  Another teacher is talking now and the three adults and one child standing at the counter are all ignored.  The paint is peeling.  The ceiling is low. The vibe is dread. The Data Clerk is late.  I am here before the office staff?  And someone please tell me why you must keep my car keys in order to give me a pass to the building.  Just scan my ID and print a pass. I guess they are accustomed to thieves here; therefore, everyone is a thief. They apparently value their pseudo-passes and think I might steal one.  People don't like to work here.  I can tell. My job grants the gift of living in parallel universes. Yesterday, there was a baby grand in the cafeteria of the school I visited. A man played Christmas carols to an empty space in preparation for the lunch crowd.  I only know because I walked over for lunch. What a shocker??? Today it is dank, dark and about as depressing as the school board can make it.  There are rooms configured out of hallways, and a media center that looks pretty barren to me.  I mean why buy books? The kids here don't like to read.  It's a Title I school.  I didn't see anything happening in the media center anyway, but don't blame the media specialist.  She is probably shared with some other low-income school and is half out of her mind with how to manage.   She didn't even speak.   And if we were to get inside the grey matter of the school board, I'm pretty sure it would go something like this:  How dare you be born poor and make it our responsibility to fend for you?  Here, take this broken down, used up school and see if you can make something out of it.  Oh, and by the way, we're going to make it as miserable as possible for you while you do your educational time.  No grand pianos for you.  For you see, you are the ones who don't matter.  You were born disenfranchised. And, if you happen to become a doctor, a scientist, a Nobel laureate, it will be the damn struggle of your life.  We'll make sure of it. The message we send you is you don't deserve better. Your disenfranchised parents are fine with this arrangement.  After all, if a skinny second grader is calling her teacher a mother f----r, then surely that's how you feel as well.  Monday, I walked down the hallway of social convention and decorum. Today, it's a snake pit. All I know is this.  If you are born poor and struggle always, how can you know there is a such a thing as a grand piano?  And how can you know that it makes a beautiful sound?  How can you know that the world is a beautiful place if your surroundings are ugly and barren?  How can you know? Shame to the school board and the superintendent who allow this to continue. I suggest you move your offices to this Title I school. Hey, you guys can take the suite of offices created out of the hallway. Have fun, now!  If you're lucky, they will give you a permanent ID and let you keep your car keys.  You'll need those.  

Part One, The Education Papers, Thoughts on Education in Charleston, SC