This past Saturday, was Super Saturday.
It a day set aside for Pratt’s graduate students to present their year long projects to the Pratt Community. It’s a fun time, a time to gather and meet. A time for discussions about community, preservation, gentrification. A time for futuristic thinking. Planning. Mapping. GISing.
A time to find out about what’s being built in the city and what’s being taken down. Who’s doing what and how are they doing it and where is the money coming from. Who got a scholarship and how was it possible and how can I sign up for next time.
It’s a time to be questioned by peers and professors about how you foresee your project coming into fruition.
This year It happened virtually.
Someone had the control to mute voices. Someone had the control to mute comments. Any type of talking meant timing and/ or texting.
This time, the Pratt Community spoke about Community trying to maintain what they knew as community.
I was cleaning up and I found this story that one of my former students wrote.
The part about throwing a book in his teacher’s face, made my eye brows go way up…and by the time I got to the end, I decided a meeting would be call. I called a meeting with the mad boy and his parents and the admin.
I ran into him and his family the other day. He was taller and even though he smiled and hugged me I could see he was so much mature. He was going to a different school and living in a different neighborhood.
He’s doing so much better, thank you for everything, his mom told me.
We all stood there. Smiling.
I was planning on picking up a card from Family Dollar for my sister and this is what I saw, All Mother Day’s cards were sold out the Saturday before Mother’s Day