Teacher

History has been the fabric of America since the beginning of time. Americans pride themselves on their history, and we also like to look at history of people outside the country. Some say that we look at history for many things: to view the times of your family, to look at improvements that a person could make in the life that they live and to keep record of important dates and events. When looking at race, many people in America choose to” ignore” the fact that we have been doing such a horrible as calling ourselves the land of the free, while to be quite honest we actually do the opposite. Many people believe that privilege belongs only to the Caucasian and the wealthy; [1] more often times than not, both of the same elements go hand in hand. [2] Not often will you see a man of color without wealth that would be treated fairly, and [3] you will never see a person that is not of color treated like a second-class citizen. There is some general truth to your 3 statements, and you could strengthen their credibility by 1] supportive facts and 2] more precise and complex descriptions. I will be looking to see if you develop any of these ideas with reference to the Takaki reading; if not I will comment further below. Race is the fabric of all things that are important in the country. When we choose to live in an area, we tend to look at the demographics of the people that live in the specific community,. As a child, I was told that I could not go to the school in my neighborhood, because there were too many black people that lived there. My mother believed that if I wanted to get a fair and good education, I had to attend school downtown with the Italian children. I never understood why my mother felt that I had to leave my community to get a good education, but I also noticed that of the children that lived in my community, many had parents that actually were conscious of race and more than likely came from the south, and it was likely that they would go to school where I went. As I got older, I was more aware of the history that my family came from: we migrated from South Carolina where in most cases, your family faced extreme racism. My grandmother was a maid working for an upper class white family, and she used the money that she received working for them to pay for my mother to move to New York so that she could get away from the ignorance that she had to endure. My grandmother was fully aware of the unfairness in the south; the education was very weak, and most of the good teachers that lived in the south ended up doing other things because they were unfairly paid in the south. Education was not an important factor that was invested in when my grandmother was young. She claimed that there were times that she would have a great teacher that showed a passion to teach, but would soon be laid off or have to find new work because of racism. Through 1910-1940, many teachers were faced with problems of being paid less just because of the color of their skin, and the school board felt that the teachers were less qualified just because they were black. In September 1939, the NAACP filed a suit claiming that the teachers of Virginia faced unfair labor wages. Black teachers were paid 266 dollars less, and white teachers made about 56 percent more than the black male teachers (cite source). More often than not, the teachers felt that they were being cheated and forced to not teach the children in the community that they would like, and it also became an issue when it was decided that white teachers did not really care to teach in that area also. (Margo, pg.52) My grandparents faced the same problems that most people of the south faced: the color of their skin made it obvious that they were not the same as the rest of the citizens of South Carolina. This is the same feeling that my mother felt when she met my father who is Puerto Rican when she moved to NYC, the same simple-minded, hate filled complex that made most people that came from another country feel uncomfortable. With my mother being from the south and my father being Hispanic, I was subjected to the same reactions that they have felt for most of their lives. New York City is a melting pot filled with every nationality that you can think of, and I truly believe that every country is represented in the city. People come to chase their dreams and they come to raise the family that they have always dreamed of. You become oblivious to the way that people might think of you because you are so focused on making a better living and hopefully being able to bring the rest of your family here also. There are so many people that come to the city to earn a living so that they can bring the money that they make back to their families at home. My father once told me that when he first came to New York, he was walking down 42nd street. He was so happy that he was in the “big” city that he never paid attention to the way that he was being looked at. He came from Puerto Rico so the way that he appeared made it obvious that he was not from the city; he was wearing clothes that did not fit the weather, and he did not speak English that well. He was raised back at home with good manners, and he was the type of man that would hold the door for a lady and make sure that kids made it across the street. One time while he was walking home, he wanted to help a lady with her groceries. The lady, who I assume was not used to people helping her, screamed for help. A police officer was nearby and he rushed and arrested my father without asking questions. My father, who at that point was scared and surprised, tried to ask the officer what the problem was, and since his English was not so great, he started to annoy the officer. My father had to sit in a police car until the officer was able to find a Spanish speaking officer. When he finally asked the Spanish-speaking officer what the problem was, and he was told that most young Spanish people don’t help out in this area; they do more stealing and hurting. The officer just assumed that he was going to do the same thing. This was the first time that my father was able to see that he was not back home. He finally realized that he was at a place where people make assumptions and that they will hold you accountable to race and the color of your skin, not the person that you are. Life is difficult when you are a person that is used to living a certain way, especially by the color of your skin. In 1995, the US census stated that Latinos have the highest rate of poverty, 24%, (Martinez pg.89), so it makes perfect sense why so many have migrated to the US for a better way of living. My father said to me that he did not care how people treated him, he just wanted to live better so that he could have a good life for me when I grew up. He said that many things that he had to go through really hurt him, such as being called a spic and a wet back, and saying that he was only good to work in the kitchen and clean dishes. My parents knew that the history of where they were raised made them feel that they were obligated to make sure that I worked extremely hard to get the best education that I could. They made me understand that so many people had to walk in the same shoes that I would like to walk in to make sure that I was able to get the education that would make me succeed in America. The nuances and the burdens that so many races have to face can be unbearable for many people. There are times that some people may feel that the challenge is to not let the negative pressure bother them. For some that may work, but for so many, the pressure that they face makes it even harder for them to live in the society that we do. Most people start to get bitter and try and create their own hate, mostly its because it allows you to channel the pain that you may feel towards another race of people. Some try to use the energy and confusion that they receive for the better good. To truly understand the complications that it takes to overcome your history and then have to deal with the pressure of your color makes it a tough journey for those that have to go through it. For my parents, it forced them to have a sense of pride and sadness, pride because they were able to overcome what many have not, and sadness because they did not know or expect for the road to be that difficult to go through. I think for the most part that my parents are proud mostly, and that is because I was able to appreciate the fight that they had to endure, and the history that they try and hold me accountable for. Most of all, I understand that the struggle is not over. I wonder what will be the struggle that my children will have to encounter, will it be the same that my parents have to go through, or will it be the path that I did. I hope that it’s neither.