Are You Sure Your'e Mexican

A blog about being a 3rd generation, bi-racial Mexican American, who doesn't speak Spanish (though I'm learning!) and working with a diverse, inner-city high school population. I have found using the label Mexican-American for myself proposes more challenges than one would think. This blog, in a nutshell, focuses on those challenges.

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Sunday, June 19, 2011

"Who's Joe Daddy?" or" Why Boyz-II-Men reminds me of my Dad"

I believe this picture says it all.  My dad.  The man, the myth, the legend.  I could say a million things about this picture.  The contradictions and ironies are many.  The Big-Mow tractor on the gravel driveway.  The Christmas Story t-shirt in the middle of July.   The ear protectors on the already mostly deafened ears.  But those are neither here-nor-there.  On this Fathers Day, I am obviously dedicating my blog to my father, the man responsible (or at fault) for making me the person I am today. 
Though his name is not Joe, I do call him that.  It started as a small joke about 10-15 years ago.  I referred to him as Joe Daddy (as in "Who's yo' daddy?").  Then I started referring to my mom as Su Madre.  Get it?  Hilarious right?  Anyway, the names have stuck and I now refer to my parents as Joe and Su.  They even sign my birthday cards as such. 
I have many things that I could say about my Dad, as a father, as a man, as a husband.  I will touch on all three.  I will begin with his role as my father, since that is the theme for the day.  I come from a family of 9.  That's 7 children, two parents.  Add on top of that a score of foster kids, and you end up with a dicey household.  Lots going on, always.  With three older brothers and my dad, I had plenty of male role models growing up.  All their own individuals, of course, but my dad was definitely the paradigm of being a man.  The hunter.  The fisherman.  The yard guy.  The construction worker.  The furniture mover.  The terrible fashion sense. Most of what I am as a man today is an interpretation of who he was to me growing up.  The way he expects the most out of people.  The way he assumes people are good, unless proven otherwise.  The stubbornness.  The righteous anger at unjust situations. The pride in the Mexican culture.  The jokes about the Mexican culture. Loyalty to family.  The faith in a transcendent/immanent God. The love for music. All this and more.   One thing I definitely get from him is holding people to task. In fact, as I look towards taking on my new role at my school (as Dean of Student Achievement), this will be my focus.  Holding my students to task, and finding creative ways of doing so.  This was my Dad's m.o. for my siblings and me.

As an example, I can never hear a Boys-II-Men song again without thinking of my Dad holding me to task. 
Back in the spring of my 11th grade year of school, I got in a little trouble.  My friends and I had a brilliant idea to drink after Junior Prom.  We got hammered.   Poor decision, but please don't judge.  Anyway, I got caught, because I was stupid.  I had the liquor list in my pants pocket, and left it on top of the dryer when I was doing laundry. My mom found it.  I remember clear as day, us sitting down during dinner.  As the table was being cleared, my mom pulls it out and shows it to my dad.  Damn.  I was busted.  I like to consider myself quick with answers, but in this situation, I was certainly busted, how could you explain the presence of such a list?  Anyway, my Dad was all but too displeased with this situation.  A normal parent would have simply grounded his son.  Not Joe.  No, he made me really pay.  First of all, he had me call my date's Dad.  He stood there as I made the call, to apologize to Mr. *****.  Needless to say, my date's dad was understandably sideswiped with the news of his angel being corrupted by the little brown boy next door.  I am sure fears of pregnancy were on his mind, and if he could reach through the phone and wring my greasy little neck he would have.  Next, I had to go to school on Monday and confess to the vice principal about drinking at a school event.  The results?  I had to go to alcohol classes.  Finally, I was grounded.  Not just grounded, but really grounded.  I couldn't go anywhere, watch tv, or talk on the phone.  Here is what stung the most.  I had scored some sweet tickets to go and see Boyz-II-Men in concert a few weeks earlier!  He didn't care.  Those things cost $40!  I begged, I pleaded.  He said no.  I am still a bit bitter to this day.  Truly, I had "come to the end of the road." 
So, what did I learn? Accountability.  He taught me, that there are negative consequences for bad decisions.  This, my readers, is the same damn thing I am trying to teach my students, everyday.  My dad's dad, my grandpa, did the same thing with Joe.  He told me stories of going out drinking or coming home past curfew and being forced into hard labor in the garden on hot days, hours on end.  Natural consequence for poor decisions.  Neither were/are rich men, but this value they passed down is invaluable.
Here,  Su wanted to Mexican dance on the helicopter pad at Emerald Lake, MT.  Joe obliged, despite the ridiculousness of the request.  Redneck hick stares and points ensued.
Obviously, I could write many volumes (and may indeed proceed to do so in time) about my father.  However, before I wrap this up, I want to share one last value he taught me.  That was how to be a good husband.  If someone ever wants to make the claim, chivalry is dead, they never met Joe.  Now, to be honest, he tried the Mexican-machismo thing early on with my mom.  She squashed that immediately.  However, he always took/takes good care of her.  Growing up, he always treated her with respect.  He always opened the door for her.  He always held her hand in public.  He always, even if they were fighting, would talk things out.  If he was angry, he would walk away until he calmed down, and then figured things out.  When my mom was going through a bout with cancer a few years ago, he took on the responsibilities of keep up the house, yard, cars, garden.  Being so far away (I was living in Cali at the time), my consolation was that my Dad was there to take care of my mom, and my siblings were there to take care of him.  They did this because they learned the same value, of family taking care of family.  Carnalismo.  Familia es primera.  While I am not a father, I am a husband.  I have taken careful notes.  I am striving to be the husband my father is to my mother.  I screw up, as he has.  But if I can one day make it 40 years of marriage, taking care of my kids half as well as he has for us, then I can say I have been a success.  Happy Father's Day Joe!  You truly are one of a kind.

P.S.  Thanks for ruining Boyz-II-Men for me.  

Monday, June 13, 2011

A is for Abuse...V is for Victory

The day finally came.  Its been four looooooooong years.  The Inaugural Graduating class of 2011 immanently made it to their big day.  And believe you me, it was a roller coaster of a ride.  Though I don't presently have any children, I have never felt more like a proud father than I did on Saturday's commencement ceremony.  Heck, its been four long years.  Honestly, I have shed some tears, lots of sweat, grew some grey hairs, and indeed, even shed some blood over this class. Think I am being overly dramatic?  Think again.  This group of 60 graduating seniors has taken a lot out of me.  A lot out of my colleagues.   We started in the mission of our school four long years ago, as this class entered our brand new school as 9th graders.  Its been mentioned a few times, that the adults in my school owe a great deal of debt to these students, for coming into our school believing in our audacious promises of undreamt college dreams becoming a reality.  Our ridiculous claims that they could work as 14 year olds side by side adults in corporate America to help pay their tuition.  So, as the years have progressed, and the promises we made turned out to not necessarily be as empty as once facetiously perceived, things got interesting.  
 Sadly, some of the original 100 students fell off to the wayside.  Sometimes because of behavior.  Sometimes because of inability to cope with the long rigorous academic work day. Some because they were afraid of success, and where that might have lead them.  Still some, because their chaotic street lives and dysfunctional home lives pulled them down with them.   Yet still, as the date of graduation became an approaching reality, we had 60 eager and waiting seniors, hungry for their diplomas. 
I have been asked many times by friends, family, and strangers how my work at my school is.  Often times, I give the same canned response, "Things are great.  Hard work, but great.  I have never worked so hard at a job I love."  But after some thought and processing (especially this weekend in regard to the class of 2011) I have come up with the best/worst analogy possible.
***DISCLAIMER:  This is irreverent, and may piss you off. So if you are easily offended, please don't continue reading  Just look at the happy pictures and carry on!***  What I realized as Graduation day became close, and  in regard to the work I have done as a teacher with this group of students, I would compare the experience  to that of a battered spouse.  Here is why.  As a high school teacher in general, one takes a lot of abuse from teenagers.  The verbal berating, the lying, the cheating.  So, right away, there are symptoms of an abusive relationship.  Given the broken homes, the cycle of poverty and violent background many of my students come from, they bring a ton of baggage to the classroom.  They often times seem polite at first, though holding you off at a distance being relatively respectful, but mostly suspicious.  Slowly as you begin to build rapport and trust, things go well.  Laughing, joking, etc.  Then as things begin to stabilize, they get ugly.  Suddenly, they start taking advantage of your trust: "I need $5 for the bus home."  "I didn't have time to write my essay because I had to babysit until 2am."  Mostly these claims are true, but not always.  Suddenly, its as if they have tricked you or conned you.  You become deeply invested in them.  In trying to help them succeed, to reach happiness.  Then the emotional abuse begins.  They push your loyalty to them.  They say hurtful things.  They mock you behind your back and to your face.  They hurt their peers, just to see how you react.  They steal from you and their peers, to see if they can.  Then, just as they know you are about to quit on them, give up any sort of investment or attention, they stop.  They let the dust settle and see if you stick around.  Maybe you even have a good day.  You think, "Oh, I have helped them change." 

Then BAM!  A smack in the face (metaphorically speaking).  They find your weakness again, and exploit the hell out of it.  Because you let them in, they know how they can hurt you.  You ask them to stop, and then they shut down on you.  They become depressed.  Sometimes use stimulants, legal or otherwise to feel something other than the pain they experience day in and day out.  Suddenly seeing them in all their sadness, you feel sorry.  You try to coax them off the ledge.  Sometimes it takes days before they talk to you again.   Then the cycle happens all over again.  You trust.  You get hurt.  You forgive.  You feel sorry.  And again.  And again.  And again.  
I for one have never been a part of an abusive relationship.  People I have loved and do love have been though and what I know of them, this seems like a pretty solid analogy of what the past four years have truly been like.  
Wow.  This blog got a lot more depressing than I intended.  But, I figured it best to be honest about why it is this graduation, more than anything else I have experienced in education was so emotional for me.  I'm not a crier, but this ceremony brought me to tears.  As each name was called, I had these mini-flashbacks to the time, the hours, the days spent with these students.  Hearing their names called.  Seeing their excitement, reading in the program where they are planning to go for college or military.  It all hit me like a tsunami of emotion.  Somehow, despite the abuse, by the grace of God, I have witnessed a miracle.  These 60 students had made it.  Suddenly on Saturday I realized it wasn't me that was beaten in this relationship.  It was the students and my colleagues beating the system.  All the turmoil and strife was them definitely giving a beating.  They had beaten the  shit out of the statistical odds of brown boys and girls from poverty graduating from High School.  No, not just graduating from High School, but also gaining the respect and experience of 4 years of corporate internship and real tools to help them be successful in 2 & 4 year colleges and the military.  What I realized at Saturday's graduation ceremony was that the bruises and scratches gained over the four years of our relationship weren't directed at me.  It was them fighting the unjust system.  Us adults were the referees.  Referees that at times tried to call a fair fight.  Sometimes trying to throw the fight in their favor.  Sometimes we were just the referees who got in the way of the punches.  So if we bled, it was not in vain.  If we cried, it was not for nothing.  It was so they would indeed be the victors in this fight where the opponent had stacked the deck against them.  And on Saturday when our principal read each of our students names called, it was like he got to call the fight.  He rang the ringside bell.  We called victory for the our students, who indeed had earned their victory.


If you are interested in seeing some media coverage of our students and their success at my school, please take a look at the following links:

http://minnesota.publicradio.org/display/web/2011/06/10/cristo-rey-jesuit-school-minneapolis/

http://www.startribune.com/local/minneapolis/123724124.html

http://kstp.com/article/stories/S2152111.shtml?cat=0

Sunday, June 5, 2011

I Lean Like a Cholo, But Talk Like A Guerro

Big topic of conversation this week:  "Talking White."  Since I have been at my predominantly Latino school, teaching, this has been a claim not only against myself, by students, but also a claim against the school that we are trying to make our students talk and act white.  Now, to be fair to my educated readers, I will refer to "talking white" as such, as this is the terminology my students use not realizing the potential danger of  *gasp* offending a white person. 
Racial identity, as I have said in an earlier blog, is something I often times obsess about.  Sure, its always been an issue, growing up in the state of Montana where I felt like a raisin in a box of corn flakes, but didn't become a serious point of contention until recently.  My first year at my current school, my students caught on right away to the fact my last name was Latino, so wanted to know what my first name was.  Now, we have a lot of Joses, Luis's, Eduardos and the like.  They didn't expect for me to say my name is Nick.  This then naturally lead to questions about my middle name.  I told them it is Jerome.  Then the laughter ensued.  They asked so eloquently, "What the hell are you Maestro (this is the Spanish word for teacher)?"  I asked what they meant.  And one brave student said, You have a white first name.  A black middle name.  A Mexican last name.  What are you?  Another student then chimed in: Well he looks sorta Mexican.  He listens to black music.  He talks like a guerro.  He's Mr. Globo (translates to globe).  So for about a week, this was my nick-name.  Also, this was the start of a roller-coaster ride of emotion over the issue of language vs. racial identity.
So the topic of "talking white" came up most recently this week, during an interview with MPR regarding our first ever graduating class.  I know its no KDWB, but felt like it was a big deal to get to interview, as I know a lot of people around the twin cities listen to public radio.  The interview was done with Rupa Shenoy, an Indian-American woman.  It ended up, in  around-about-way, coming to the topic of teaching Latino, Black, Hmong and African students how to navigate the professional world (our school has a corporate internship program in which the students work once a week to help pay for their, otherwise unobtainable college-prep tuition), especially if all they have known for 14 years is the street/barrio world.  I brought up the fact that, especially during Freshmen orientation, the topic of "talking white" seems to come up.  Criticism of both students and parents arises as we try to "whitewash" them during training.   What 14-year-olds (and often times parents) need to have explained, is that its not that they have to act or talk white, but instead need to learn how to "code switch."  Code switching is the terminology prescribed by Ruby Payne, an expert on the Culture of Poverty.  She's responsible for volumes of literature assisting affluent society with the skills needed to help poor brown children.  Anyway, she speaks of code switching as the ability to switch from street slang to professional talk in a matter of a second depending on the audience to whom a person is talking.  As a teacher you see it all the time: A student hanging out with their friends, speaking in language that would make a sailor blush, but then as soon as they see an adult, they switch back to the well mannered young man or lady they pretend to be in your presence.  Code switching within the culture of poverty however is a little more refined.  It requires the ability, for Spanish speakers and street slang-speakers to switch, sometimes from not just street slang, but also to another language.  To see some of our Seniors code switch the way they do is a thing of amazement.  Seeing and hearing them talk with their friends in the morning, and then seeing them interact with their office counterparts in their corporate work study placement later in the day is like night and day.
So, ultimately, the difference between teaching our students to "act white" and to code switch, is that we are teaching them that there is value in both systems.  To teach our students to act white, would mean that we are negating not just their culture and experience, but who they are as human beings.  To code switch offers value to both systems (professional/white & their home/street life).  It teaches them there is an appropriate way to act in both settings.  In fact, to act professional at home or on the street could and most likely would lead them to getting an ass-beating.  Likewise, if they spoke to their supervisors the same way they speak to their peers, would most likely lead to a firing.  So they see, practically the need to be able to navigate both systems. 
After the interview, Ms. Shenoy turned off the microphone and told me thank you for speaking so frankly, but had to ask...is it ok that I said what I said?  I was surprised by her concern.  I asked, "Regarding what?"  And she replied, "Referring to your students claim of being taught to act 'white.'  Is that going to get you in trouble?"  I responded, "I was told to do three things.  1. Be honest.  2.  Keep students names and identities private.  3.  Keep to the talking points regarding statistics of graduates, tuition etc.  I did all of those things, so don't think talking about "being white" would be an issue."  She said,"I just don't want to get you in trouble."  I told her I would talk to the principal, who was waiting to be interviewed.  She almost scared me as she blurted out, "NO! He will definitely tell you, 'no.'"  So, me being confident called him over anyway.  I told him the interviewer's concern, and he said, "Oh.  No, that should be fine."  She was shocked that he was alright with it.  I, knowing my boss pretty well was confident he would be ok with the topic matter, especially as the token Mexican on staff.  More so, I think he thought the topic was ok, because he trusts me.  Or because he is looking for a reason to fire me.  I am betting on the prior.  Either way, I am interested in seeing how the interview comes out.  I am thinking since she brought that  small section of the 28 minute interview up, that it was the one that was of most interest to her.  Maybe I was the source, this time, of the hard hitting journalism that has made her a success.  I am just hoping I don't come off as a bumbling idiot in the interview.  If I do, I guess I can blame it on my inability to code switch, right?