Over the last few years it has become apparent to me that Parenting While Black seems to be 80% ensuring my kids and I survive navigating through the school system.
Forget the never ending back to school shopping and the more nefarious issues like drugs, sex, video game addictions and human trafficking – ok don’t “forget” those things but in addition to all of that — each September I batten down the hatches and prepare to make a near herculean effort to ensure my Black children are fairly treated, their grades reflect their effort, and they are not beaten down by microaggressions, racial violence and just plain salty teachers.
It wasn’t always like this for me.
I mean sure – growing up, as I progressed through K-12 and earned my post-secondary degree, I saw my fair share of clearly racist stuff. There was the teacher who called my parents because they couldn’t understand my sister’s “thick Jamaican accent” … (fyi, we are Canadian born… neither of our parents are Jamaican… and my sister sounds about as Jamaican as Taylor Swift).
Then there was the time I was accused of cheating and memorizing pages when I was able to read books above my grade level, even as my classmate did not receive the same feedback for reading the same book – because, well her mom is “from here”. Wait. What?
Oh and I had a teacher express shock that I wasn’t a particularly good athlete and ponder (yes, out loud) what I would do with my life if I wasn’t an athlete. And of course there was the teacher who told me that “people like me” did better with “hands on” work so I shouldn’t bother pursuing university.
But despite that all of that, I worked hard, I graduated.
Degree in hand, and a solid work ethic to back it up, I took the high road – dismissing my own lived experience and instead choosing to internalize the “maybe it was just me” myth.
Desperate to cling to the story of the equalizing power of a good education, I gave the system the benefit of the doubt. In fact, when I enrolled my kids in school, I admit I was at best naively optimistic – and at worst, willfully ignorant – to the state of our education system.
But honestly, it didn’t take long before the system slapped this misplaced optimism out of me.
By grade two, my child had been subjected to traumatizing Black History lessons. A teacher had sat down in a parent-teacher meeting with me and mistakenly began talking about the other Black child (the only other Black child) in their class instead of mine. And of course, I couldn’t help but notice that Blackness was pretty much invisible within the curriculum.
When my conscious demanded that I ask better of the system, I was met with dismissive platitudes and assurances that racism didn’t exist … that in fact if we were kinder to each other and didn’t bring it up so much it wouldn’t be a problem. When my daughter was in middle school, a superintendent went so far as to earnestly justify that with all the work being done, she might have her first Black teacher when she was in like Grade 11… Wait, what?
*ugh*
I cannot blame some fellow Black parents I have met who no longer believe that we can change a system not built for us. I mean, when you pile on the external pressures, microaggressions and sheer dumb assery we endure as humans in these Black bodies, layering on a battle to change the education system feels exhausting.
This year my playbook for survival is a bit different.
Unfortunately for me I’m just hard-headed enough – and my kids have just enough time left in this system – that I feel the need to keep beating my head against the education wall.
That said, this year my playbook for survival is a bit different.
First things first – I’m pretty much done with “niceness”.
If there is one thing that seems crystal clear to me after all these years, it’s that “Niceness” is the antithesis of efforts to dismantle anti-Black racism.
That may sound controversial, but the biggest issues I’ve had have been with teachers who were “nice”. Niceness is this weapon used to make me question myself, my interpretations and throw me off balance. There is a sickening way folks have of using “niceness” to mask microaggressions, of heaping praise on a child in ways that hide the low ass expectations they have for them.
Conversations have gone something like this:
Teacher: Wow, X is such a great kid, we just love him! With his personality he could definitely be in sales or real estate or something! 
Me: Haha, thank you, yes my son does have a great positive personality and yeah he’d be great with people… total sales guy…
Teacher: Oh, yeah and in non-academic courses he’s likely to meet more people like him in that way.
Me: Oh oh, yeah, you think he would meet more people like him in non-academic courses?
Wait. What?
I have been in meetings with school leaders upholding “niceness” as the way to cure racism; seeming to believe that pasting a smile to their face while they shake a Black woman’s hand makes up for the fact that my people and history are purposely absent from curriculum, they haven’t hired a Black educator in years and their Black students continue to experience racial violence. I had a school board trustee greet me “nicely” as though we were old friends just weeks before he would lead the charge to neuter the anti-racism policy in our school board.
Nope.
So that’s it for me. Niceness can’t live here no more.
This year, at the first sign of niceness, my anti-racism radar will start to tingle, and instead of trying to tune it out, I will accept it as the alarm bell that it is, tune in and listen closely as if my kid’s academic lives depended on how I respond to its siren.
Second – I am going to show up where they least expect me.
Of course this year I’ll continue to be that ever-annoying presence keeping a watchful eye on the gatekeepers of the status quo.
Oh and I’m not going to be quiet about it.
You need someone on Parent Council? Sure! You’ll probably regret it by the third meeting… 😊
Volunteer in the library? But of course. Let me see what you think is good enough for these kids to read.
Oh, you need parent input, can I fill out a survey or vote? No problem… I will fill the hell outta this.
To give credit where it is due, it was my auntie who gave me this sage advice. Having raised three of her own children to adulthood, she has been adamant after all she has seen raising her 2 Black boys and daughter that no matter what, the key is to stay involved in your children’s education. It is critical to be where the system least expect you when it least expects you.
While I will have to find balance to ensure I am not exhausted as a bottomless resource, there is something to be said about this all seeing and all-being approach.
Finally – importantly, I will be where our kids need me to make sure they feel seen.
It has been amazing to see what happens when a Black child sees someone who looks like them wandering the halls of a predominantly white school.
When I was volunteering at my children’s elementary school, Black children would literally run up to me, for hugs or a smile – they often would just “find” some reason to stop and talk to me: “You’re so and so’s mom, right?” Or “your hair is just like my mom’s”! It pulled my heart that they just wanted to be seen and related with. As my kids got older, this looked different – instead of walking through halls, kids would ask for help doing research on projects and be floored by my suggestion of resources written by us, for us, that their teachers had never heard of.
This is probably what kept me going back for all these years. I consider this a side benefit of my plan to stalk the halls of schools – my availability to all Black students. My presence alone helped to normalize Blackness in our schools.
You want to tell me something? I see you.
Never seen a Black person in your halls? I bet you haven’t – I’m here now. And I’m awesome, so are you.
Wonder which twisting butter is my favourite? Let’s talk!
I will keep being here for Black students. I have seen the look on their faces, when they see me – I know that look. I will infiltrate, show up and keep fighting for them whether they can see me or not.
I will be there for my Black kid and yours.
So there it is. The plan for Back to School survival kit for those of us parenting while Black.
Wish me luck.
