“You will most surely work with
exceptional children at some time during
your career.”
Special education, individual education
…all this…impact how I
will teach as a teacher. Just like these
tulips all of the children are beautiful,
and all of them have different needs.
Education must catch up to the
needs of the population.
~ Quilted Sketches and Notes 2023 by Bisa Butler (thinking in pictures)
The fourth grade read “The Man who Built a Library” by Carole Boston Weatherford and Eric Velasquez. This gave them insight on historical events and figures such as Benjamin Banneker, Fredrick Douglas and John James Audubon. It also opened them up to a world of history and research.
At the beginning of the year, when educators set a foundation for the rest of the year, is when i introduced the book. During this time, what is said, taught, and done is vital. How it’s said, taught, and done is significant. At the beginning of the book, Schomburg is introduced as a child and eventually he morphs into a man with one main mission and that is to prove that his history, Black history, does exist.
They learned that his books were stored at a research center in the heart of Harlem and are used today by people from all across the globe who are interested in learning about Black history. The Schomburg center is a place of learning and mental growth for all ages.
This will be our last trip class I told them when we finished reading the picture book.
When May came, we took a school bus from the Bronx into Harlem. Reading and reciting Langstong Hughes along the way. Once inside, with a feeling of relief and joy, we started off in the gallery scanning photos taken by Griff Davis. The students knew most of the subjects and looking at images help to give meaning to bigger-than- life figures like Langston Hughes and Dr. King.
The last photo we studied was of Hughes standing amongst students in an auditorium at a school in Georgia.
Through this image they learned of themselves as well as the history of Black Independent schools. They spoke of Thurgood Marshall and the segregation of education.
After the discussion, they were asked to write poetry about Education and what it meant to them. Their work consisted mostly of themes about education and history and society.
The following was written by Zahyra Webley.
The Star in the night
They won’t let my people go to school
I’ll make one.
You won’t make me go to work
I’ll make one.
My people are stars let us be free,
freer than anyone
I will stand up and
do this work for my
PEOPLE!
After hearing them read their poetry, Ms. Hill, the Schomburg’s educational coordinator, lead them through a short libation in the rotunda.
I don’t know what went through their heads knowing that Langston Hughes ashes sat beneath them. They followed her hands as she pointed out the rives that connected us as a people.
She spoke to them about a poem we didn’t cover in class: The Negro Speaks of Rivers
As a close, the students followed her into the auditorium and once situated, they read poetry that they wrote. Some read the poem they worked on in class while others read poetry they wrote in the gallery while looking at the photo of Langston Hughes. One student read of her crush in a whispered giggle that sent off glances through out the room while another read Paul Laurence Dunbar’s “Merry Autumn”. But for the most part all of them read their work.
When I checked their evaluation forms for the trip this is what some of them said:
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Happy Birthday to one of my dearest friends and business partner, Thembi.
Once upon a time I taught in a small, tiny classroom in the right wing of the school. Lockers and children crowed the hallways. Parents pushed their contemporary strollers pass my room to the kindergarten and preschool rooms. My room was filled with third graders who rightfully considered themselves older than the young, excited children who looked at my third graders with wonder and respect.
Those hallways took a while to resume to tranquility. There was never a dull moment. All who walked pass wanted to go to the third grade and those in the third grade were popular and most happy.
I was happy too. Young and excited every day about teaching. I taught my children how to bake homemade biscuits and hung their hand made piñatas in the classroom. Their plants sat on each window sill and we read every book we could get our hands on about our history.
Eventually, in that room, walked in classmates from Thembi’s youngest daughter’s class. They all stopped by for a high five. Pretty soon, everyone was slapping fives and when parents would come they had to stop by to slap a five with Ms. Hurley and this is how I eventually met Thembi. By children slapping fives.
A pun.
A secret.
An exposure of the truth.
Terrance McKnight told the story of classical music through the eyes of a Black man in America. He told us about being handled in America. It was apropos and could only be told so eloquently through him.
Attending this show with my students and principal was something special. While I sat still, not wishing to miss a note, a thought fluttered across my mind about a book my students finished reading this week. In the prologue of Heart and Soul, Kadir Nelson writes that our precious stories of heritage are only told once. He urges the reader to listen attentively.
McKnight’s narration of growing up in Mississippi and venturing into music outside of the church and the Black community gave me the same message. Listen real good, he seemed to be saying, cause if you miss this beat, it won’t be played again.
My eyes quickly darted across my row of students. Some of them were sitting at the edge of their seats. I wondered what they were really looking for and if they were still excited to be there. The Voices of Harlem were humming, lining out the Word. I knew they knew nothing about that. Even McKnight defined it to help the audience understand. But they sat still with anticipation.
The one closest to me whispered questions they had during the show…
Why is she wearing all white?
Was the mob that killed his Grandfather the KKK?
Then answers were passed down.
Some parts I refused to whisper about. Be still and then you’ll figure it out.
I overheard my students talking about Margaret Bond’s arrangement of “I, Too“. I didn’t read ‘I, Too” in the class; however, I learned from their whispering that they were reading Langston Hughes outside the classroom.Â
I looked at them when McKnight spoke to the audience about “tuning it out” He urged them not to listen to voices of doubt that came from outside or within. My students were not moving but sitting as still as they could. When I caught one student’s eye, she smiled. I knew she understood.
Ms. Hurley, she whispered, will we get to meet him after the show? She asked.
I don’t know darling. But don’t talk during this part. This is a Negro spiritual. The choir was now singing The Drinking Gourd and I had never heard it. I only read the words in old books that were passed down to me. It didn’t sound like call and response as I imagine it would. Dr. Thomas’ arrangement made Merriweather glow in supreme delight.
At the end of the night, my students met Mr. McKnight who told them now it was his turn to visit their school.
This public thank you letter is long overdo. Since this picture in 2019, I have seen Ms. Waston on many occasions and said thank you personally but putting it in writing has helped me shape the deepness behind my ‘thanks’.
Dear Ms. Watson,
This letter is about your involvement with the Langston Hughes’ house even though it was for a short period of time in which you (along with friends) made it into a community reading space.
It was in that short time, my interest in Langston Hughes sparked.
At the events, I met many writers such as the children’s book authors, Mr. and Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome, who wrote the book, Finding Langston and Mrs. Rita Williams-Garcia, the author behind the creation of the Gaither girls.
Meeting these authors and talking about their work in real time, was very pertinent to me as a teacher and writer. I did not know it then, but my school would soon be forced to relocate and my students would need as much of Langston Hughes and the Gaither girls as they could possibly have.
Last spring when the flowers were beginning to bud in front of the school building, the entire community was hit with terrible news- the school will be relocating. This shocked everyone. We were at our location for over 15 years. This news put everybody in another mode of survival (we were still coping with COVID-19). From the school’s administration to the children, plans had to be made and arrangements had to be set for the future.
As a teacher, one main thought of mine was, if the school remains open, whom can I teach next year that will open up discussions about displacement, gentrification, and Black migration in the U.S?
Because I had been involved in conversations about those very topics at the Langston Hughes House, it was easy for me to think of Hughes’ childhood and migration. I could think of no better person than this writer and renaissance man to teach and open up these tough discussions.
When putting together a syllabus for the school year, Langston Hughes’ children literature was sought after. Finding Langston by Lesa Celine-Ransom which deals with many relevant themes such as death, migration, poverty, Blackness, country living vs. city living and survival, wasn’t hard and it was the first book on their list. Gone Crazy in Alabama, was the last.
The children started Finding Langston at the same time the moving men started to pack the classrooms.
They read about Langston moving from Alabama and imagined they were in Langston’s shoes….The moving men were outside the classroom doors toting things away and they were in the classroom sitting on the floor with their legs crossed imaging they were on grass under the hot Alabama sun. Langston became us and we became him.
Learning about Langston Hughes and remembering the past conversations gave me a solace.
The students begin to bottle up their emotions and tried to process what was really going on. Their school building along with their friends and the comfort of common community was all being taken away.
Knowing the tough time they were experiencing, I drew from facts of Langston Hughes life and Black Life in general. For the rest of the year, we looked at Jim Crow laws, Brown Vs. Board of Education, Thurgood Marshall’s Life, Jacob Lawrence’s Migration Series, and at the end of the year ended with the Black Panther Party and the 10 point system.
Langston Hughes was a child of the Great Migration. Our parents (my parents at least) were apart of the same migration.
But my students and even myself are apart of another type of migration, gentrification. It seems to be the same story, and the same folks.
Thank You Ms. Watson for providing me the tools to have these conversations.
Ms. Hurley
Ms. Edwina, what can I say?!
She is a force to reckon with.
I was walking in the Met when I noticed Ms. Edwina sitting on the bench in the Greek and Roman Art wing. She wasn’t doing much. Just watching people walk back and forth. It was a Friday and the place was packed with children.
I had just bumped into one of my former students, Syriana, who was roaming around with a summer camp decked out in purple tee’s.
Syriana! Is that you?
Hi Ms. Hurley!!!
I was surprised to see Syriana because I never saw someone who I knew in the Met. When I looked ahead and walked closer I couldn’t believe my eyes. Ms….Edwina?!
When I saw her, I waved excitedly. I couldn’t believe I ran into someone from my own community! Not only that, but an elder! Ms. Edwina (who I blogged about before) has the persona of Whoopi Goldberg and Oprah Winfrey. I met her while attending Fordham University. We crossed paths so much she started to talk to me. She would compliment me on my outfits and how I carried myself – every time she saw me. Which meant a lot. She didn’t know her words meant so much. She was always cheerful. She spoke with hugs and each hug went a long way.
Once we crossed paths and she complimented me on my black and white outfit – that I felt totally good in. She got to me before my secret crush got to me, who didn’t think I looked great at all. Funny, I can still remember his words.
Really, Lilly? I can’t believe you are even wearing that.
What do you mean, Really, Lilly? What’s wrong with my outfit?!
He stopped talking to me when I demanded what was the matter. Not that what he thought mattered anyway.
I sat next to Ms. Edwina.
Omg, what are you doing here?
I come every year, Child, to check out the Met Gala.
The Met Gala?
Yeah, The Met Gala. She looked me in the eye. Surly you know what the Met Gala is?
Yeah, I do. (I wasn’t about to say no- after she said, Surely you know…)I had clips of news paper images in my head. That was what knew of the Gala.
….Well, every year after the event is over, they showcase the outfits for the public to see. Did you see the exhibition?
No, I noticed the ad in the phamphet but never thought about seeing it myself.
You should go! It is so good!!
Okay, are you going back-
Nope. I am resting these here legs chile.
I sat beside her and asked if she saw any other exhibition. I had just gotten emotional in the Afro-futuristic Period Room and wanted someone to share my sentiment with. But she hadn’t.
She continued, I walked into a wrong room by mistake!!
Oh, which room was that?
Her response was so funny, I asked her if I could record it it share with you!
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