Cries from Our Urban Youth #3

     Monique is really an entrepreneur in the making. Besides donuts, she sells candy, burritos, juice and sodas all out of her backpack. I do not allow the commodity swapping in my classroom, but outside, on the yard it’s hard to stop. Zina, older and smarter, is Monique’s best friend. She has an opinion about everything. “Monique, girl, look at your burgundy hair weaves, why you so fake, take them weaves out. What color donuts you got in your bag today, anything good?” Without waiting for an answer, Zina begins another assault. “You’re looking real hot today Rusty, sitting there in your Fubu baggy pants and Tommy jacket all in powder blue. Yeah, you and me would look sooo fine rolling in a black Escalade going clubbing or eating some ribs.” “Ribs! I love ribs,” explodes Monique, “big beef ribs, spicy pork ribs, sweet baby backs just like my Mama makes. Rusty, honey wouldn’t you like to take me out to…”

“Shut up you big whale, I bet you like ribs and lots of them cause your thighs are too big for them jeans you got on!”

 ”You shut your freaking mouth, ” Zina snaps. I call for a cease-fire in my classroom and try to get them back on task.

Cries from our Urban Youth #2

“I live with my Forty drinking grandma, they all burnt out at home;I ain’t going to end up like them, I promise, I’ll start coming to class.”

Life for these teens is challenging; hop in the rod, watch a gunfight at jack in the Box then cruise the swap meet. So goes the daily conversations on the school yard, someone said some shit, someones saw a piece, someone’s up in our business, someone wants to score, someone is pimping this ho, and on and on. It’s not easy being teenagers in our urban schools. They are afraid their voices will not be heard; they want to be popular and they want  cool friends. Unfortunately, most of my students despise me. “You are old, we are young” goes the mantra, “you don’t know nothing.”And I tell them it’s supposed to be like that. At first they turned their backs, but I keep showing up, so now they are stuck with me.

Cries from our Urban Youth #1

It’s a typical morning at my high school. A blue helicopter, or ‘ghetto bird’ as the kids call them, buzzes the campus, and eight or ten African American students are holding their hands high in the air while three squad cars circle them like wagons. I’m relieved not to see any bodies on the ground or yellow tape spread. We have lost too many young lives to gang warfare from our neighborhood. The police officers, or ‘po-po’s are seriously and thoroughly examining each student’s backpack, and the entire event creates a huge traffic jam, making me late. As they stream into the classroom, two of my students are loudly discussing the ongoing event. “Dang, did you see all that drama?” shouts Shelia, who is always in the middle of some sort of trouble. “Yeah, the White man oppressing the Black man, again,” sniffs Justin or Bow Wow as he likes to be called. “Shut your damn mouth, you weren’t even on that bus,” pipes Monique, a big girl who sells packaged donuts from her backpack. “Oh yeah, hostess honey, well I know them jakes got nothing better to do then to be all up in our business, making them poor nig*ers stand around for 1/2 hour with their arms in the air. What happened anyway?” Justin Bow Wow asks. “Please!” I interrupt. “The ‘N’ word is not allowed in my classroom and profanity and vulgarity must be checked at the door.” “Shit, I was ON that bus,” Shelia ignores my remark. “It all started around Third Street, some boys, you know, be mad dogging some other boys, flashing signs, talking shit, calling them out.” “How is that different from yesterday, or the day before or the day before that?” says Justin Bow Wow. “The difference, lil nig, was the stupid chicked headed bus driver. She freaked out and called the the cops on her radio, yelling about seeing a piece,” Shelia says rolling her eyes and shaking her purple braids. “A piece of what?” Justin Bow Wow laughs. “Nobody on that bus had a piece, because if they did, somebody would have a hole in ‘em!” All the students laugh. “Listen everyone, it’s too early in the morning to start talking about shooting people,” I say trying to settle them down, which is hard when you hear sirens screaming, helicopters flying overhead and trains roaring by.

Cries from our Urban Youth

A shocking book, “Cries from our Urban Youth” is told in the form of short dialogues between teacher and students.  It’s a fast paced, realistic view of the extreme challenges and unique dangers of underfunded public school systems where teachers and students are often left to fend for themselves. Check it out at Amazon.com

Cries from Our Urban Youth

Urban high school students making their way through the world. Teens pregnant at fourteen, getting shot  while waiting for the city bus and living with an “auntie” for three or four days with only the clothes on their backs. Welcome to the life of my urban high school students.