Tag Archives: children

Chopped Cheese goes a Long Way

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One night during tax season, I had a victorious night serving others. For me, it wasn’t strange. It was humane.

When I got home, I told my sister about my night.

A couple of days later, I told my mentor.

I testified about it in church.

Finally my experience was published in the New York Times:

Chopped Cheese

Dear Diary:

I was on my way to a Jackson Hewitt tax office in the Bronx on a Monday night. I stopped at a Bengali place for dinner. I left with two samosas, plus dinner and lunch for the next day. It was 9 p.m. when I got to the subway station. I looked around and noticed a boy on the platform. He was playing a video game. I opened the container with the samosas, but before I could dip one in sauce, the boy interrupted me.

Excuse me, Miss, he said. Do you have a dollar for water? I’m thirsty.

I put my food away.

Let’s go, I said.

We went downstairs.

Are you hungry? I asked him.

Yes, he said.

We walked to a Jamaican restaurant on the corner known for its jerk chicken, bread fruit and steamed fish.

Please, Miss, the boy asked, can we go to a deli?

We found one nearby. He ordered a chopped cheese and an Arizona iced tea. I paid, and we ran back up to the station. The train pulled in immediately. We got on, and the boy took out the sandwich. I listened as he talked about wanting to be a doctor and ate his chopped cheese.

Stay focused, I began to say. Before I could say more, he hugged me and said good night.

I got off at the next stop and walked into Jackson Hewitt.

You are my last customer, the tax preparer said.

Oh, great, I said. I stopped by a Bengali restaurant to kill time and… 

Oh really, he said. What did you get?

When my taxes were done, I left without my curry. I saved my dinner to have for lunch the next day.

— Lystria Hurley

I received many emails from readers who read my story.

One reader wrote:

Hello,

If today’s story is yours, it was beautiful.  What a sweet and selfless thing to do!  You are such a good and kind person.  I’m sure you are a phenomenal teacher.  The world needs more people like you.

I searched on the name used in the Metropolitan Diary and found your blog.  Again, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of your photography and your subject matter.  So brilliant!

Thank you for being you!  

Stephanie

Another Reader Wrote:

Dear Ms. Hurley, 
     I read your piece in the Metropolitan Diary this morning and was so warmed by your thoughtful story and brilliant description of your NYC moment. 
     Thank you so much for sharing with the world.   

Sincerely and gratefully, Jolie 
New London, New Hampshire 

I heard my pastor once say, when God gives you joy, you take it. So I took those notes and printed them out. Pasting them in my journal.

Today I received a package in the mail. Ms. Jolie of New London, New Hampshire, inquired about my book list for my class and brought three books from my wish list. She sent the books with a note that reads:

Hi!

Dear Ms. Hurley,

Here are the books. I hope you and your students enjoy them.

Best Wishes,

Jolie

What I didn’t know was that Jolie worked at a bookstore and what Jolie didn’t know was I am running a free art and race relations summer camp using my own dollars from the school year for funding. I must say that when you cheerfully give, cheer come back to you.

Thank you Ms. Stephine for your kind words and thank you sincerely, Ms. Jolie

Fourth Grade at the Schomburg

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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:

One of the older teachers at our school grew up and met Langston Hughes when he would visit different schools and this student is curious about the teacher meeting Langston Hughes.
This student is curious about Langston Hughes smoking. Several images showed the writer holding a cigarette- even while teaching at Morehouse!
This student also wants to know about Langston Hughes smoking…
This student is wondering – what was the first poem Langston Hughes wrote and the first book Schomburg read. She finds it interesting that Schomburg died because of his teeth and she learned that G. Davis was Langston Hughes Photographer and finally and there was a Huge party for freedom in Ghana.
This student is thinking of the relationship between Griffith Davis and Langston Hughes
How did Griffith Davis feel when Langston Hughes was his teacher…

Happy Birthday Thembi!

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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.

Handel: Made in America

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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. 

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.

No Snowflake is Alike

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I walked into Second Grade after they had art and some children were in a disarray because their snowflakes did not come out as perfect as their friends.

Everyone, put your snowflake on the floor in the center of the room, I said sternly over the constant arguing.

The children got up and placed their paper on the floor.

Stand right here. Don’t move.

Come, you too, put yours here.

I don’t have one.

Why?

I messed up and threw it away.

Well, stand here too. Everyone, come join this very cold circle of snowflakes.

What do you see?

Snowflakes.

What else?

White.

Continue second grade.

Shapes! Diamonds! Triangles!

Anything else? Because I see a lot here. I see winter. chimneys. hot cocoa. marshmallows…

Ohhh, yeah! Meeee too Ms. Hurley! I see presents and a Christmas Tree.

Aww, and what do you see?

I see family and a lot of snowball fights….

Yes. Second grade. So we all can look at these snowflakes and see differently. They all look different because that is how it really looks in real life- different. And that’s how you are made, different. If everyone snowflake looked the same and everyone looked the same would we be truly living? What matters the most is we are created in this way and we bring our differences to the snowflake pile and appreciate them. Those of you who didn’t make one, even you were able to bring yourself and enjoy the snow with us. Next time though, don’t throw it away. Love it because it looks and is different.

Precept of the Day

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The precept of the day came from a preacher. My 10 students watched a small video about Charles Spurgeon.

Then they were asked to to explain what he may have meant when he said, “By Perseverance the Sail reached the ark.”

I wasn’t too sure how many of then knew about Noah and the ark. Their response ranged from ordinary to extra ordinary.

This precept, McKenzi wrote, means even if [the] snail [is] slow, he still can reach Noah’s scared chest. For example, she continued, the snail [tries] to catch a boat but he is [too] slow. He believed in himself and got on the boat.

Meanwhile, Carson tapped into his inner reverend. Although out of chronological order, He tried his best to paraphrase the story about Noah and the Ark. I think this quote means, he said, when God struck land with a flood for 40 days and 40 nights…Noah sent the dove and the dove came back…Noah finished building the ark..[He] put the animals in the ark…it started raining…the snail still made it.

Visit to the Bronx Museum

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A week before the children went to the Bronx Museum. I spoke to them about a possible visit.

We started off by first talking about pastels. I didn’t teach them the entire summer and by the time I joined the program, they were already used to drawing classes via youtube videos. The day I came, they were about to watch a you-tuber explain how to draw with pastels.

I used that as my opportunity to teach them about art history. I taught them how to appreciate spaces that showed art and artist who used either pastels or paint.

Three days before the trip to the museum, I introduced Jamal Shabazz and told them it was his work they were going to see. They watched Legendary Photographer: Honor and Dignity, a clip on youtube of Sahabazz talking about his work and his career. I also made sure they knew that he was inspired by someone they knew, Gordon Parks (a founder of the school they attended). This bit of information made them excited.

On the day of the trip, there was a great stir about whether I should take three little boys who were full of energy. They had a rough time following directions all morning. I made the decision to allow them to attend the trip after remembering how excited they were when they learned about Shabazz and how vital it was for them to see images of people who looked like them in a museum. It was their first time ever visiting a museum!

All 17 children and 5 adults arrived at the museum. We met our educator outside.

We were early and the educator seemed disorganized.

We stood at the museum main reading panel. I always instruct the children to read each panel in museums instead of just walking and looking. However, the educator, dissuade them. She begin to ramble about how long it was and how we didn’t really have to read it… At one point it was like she was begging us not to read it.

During the reading, even the three busy ones listened. The educator cut everyone off after the first paragraph and then escorted the children upstairs to an art room.

She gave everyone a drawing board and spoke in depth about pencils. She had everyone try different types and then lined everyone up and told them to take one pencils and their pad. Next, we returned to the Jamal Shabazz show and she had the group sit down and draw a photograph.

She waited and they drew. Finally, everyone did a show and share. Well, really, no one showed. And no one shared. She asked who drew each picture and then spoke about the pictures. Not really allowing the children to speak about the work.

Around this time, the children began to lose patience.

Next, she told the children to go look at the rest of the exhibit… to Find a photograph and draw it. We were the only ones in the museum and I didn’t stress noise level. I also didn’t give the children any rules of how to behave (outside the talk they were given before we left the school). As I usual, they waited for the educator to give more clear directions.

She didn’t give them three minutes to follow that instruction. She changed her mind.

Actually, let’s look at some of his work together. The younger ones no longer paid attention and continued to view what they had started looking at. Here is a mini video:

She ushered the group into another gallery and we went back upstairs.

Upstairs she told them they were going to use water color. She took out huge water color sheets and asked me if I thought they could share. I told her I wouldn’t mind cutting the sheets in halves so each student could have their own.

The students painted and we returned to the school.