“I am bored.”
“I hate school.”
These two statements were my favorite responses when asked about school from Kindergarten until I graduated from high school. Like other Black males within my circle of friends, I perceived school as a requirement to live in my parents’ home, not as a vehicle with the potential to lead me down the road to success. In the K-8 schools I attended, my favorite subjects were gym and recess. They offered an opportunity to socialize and play with my friends.
During high school, my appreciation for the active and social components of school continued. My favorite times of the school day expanded to include lunch, the passing period between classes, and dismissal.
I attended public schools with strict discipline policies. On any given day, teachers’ lesson plans included more time allocated to classroom management than to instruction. The teaching of math, science, language arts and other subjects seemed secondary to making sure everyone sat in their seat and only talked when their hands were raised to answer or ask a question.
I frequently felt that school was more about control and less about how to make the curriculum relevant to my life.
A significant part of why I did not enjoy school was that I didn’t see enough of me. Yes, my schools fulfilled their annual Black History Month obligations—teaching about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and other well-known contributors to the Civil Rights movement. I appreciated and admired such figures in history for that month every single year. But for the remaining eight months, I was in a constant love-hate relationship with school.
I did not feel any connection between school and my experiences as a male looking to discover my place in society as a Black boy. I enjoyed the time with my classmates and deplored the more important process of learning.
Suspensions and detentions are part of my K-12 transcript because I did not feel fulfilled by what schools offered me in the form of education. In the sixth grade and high school, I was suspended for not following school policies. The after school and Saturday detentions I served were due to not completing my homework, fighting my classmates, refusing to wear the lanyard with my school identification card, and talking during class without permission. My behavior reflected a disconnect between the identity I was forming and the student my teachers wanted to inform through an irrelevant and culturally biased curriculum.
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My disregard for school was not related to my parents’ educational levels. It was clear that my parents valued education, because they finished college and conveyed the importance of education to my five sisters and me. An example of my parents’ dedication to education was the “homework first rule.” The television had to remain off until school assignments were completed. If any of us chose to break this rule—and I often did—some form of physical or verbal punishment was imminent.
My siblings and I were not physically abused to make sure we earned good grades and behaved in school. But we were raised in a religious home with parents who were not afraid to put “the fear of God in children.” So while education was important to my family, I never did see the experiences of a young Black boy from the Southside of Chicago reflective in curricula.
The experiences I have described as a young Black male in school are reflective of a historical relationship between race, racism, gender, and education.
With practices beginning in slavery, males of African descent were systematically denied the right to obtain an education. Legalized exclusion from the opportunities accessible through school established a foundation for contemporary school inadequacies that do not prepare many Black males for success in their lives. In many schools, the lack of a culturally relevant curriculum, alongside unfavorable policies and school cultures, maintain and reproduce social inequalities.
As a Black man, I feel a responsibility to help young Black boys who are lost in schools discover and create their true selves.
Through mentoring, using culturally relevant curricula in classrooms, and the instruction of Capoeira, I believe it is possible to encourage young Black males to reach their full potential. To achieve measurable and sustainable results and ensure success, it will take a well-structured program and a team of committed individuals. It will require adequate funding to support each component of the services offered.
Despite these challenges, we must continue to seek creative tools in schools to empower Black boys to see themselves in curricula and redefine success.
Connect with me to continue this conversation.
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Photo Credit: Getty Images