Whites Will Never Find Greatness (by Themselves)

***Updated 12-14-20 to remove ableist language. I acknowledge my mistake and apologize for any harm I caused in using ableist language. I am committed to unlearning and re/learning every day.

I knew Trump was going to win as soon as I knew he was a Republican candidate. Why? Because I know how base humans can be.

That sounds pessimistic, bordering on nihilistic, but humor me while I work through some of my thoughts (and emotions) after the election.

This will not be a white guilt or white woman’s tears post.

I hope I never detract from those voices more silenced than my woman’s voice. After all, I am still white and still enjoy privilege. Instead, I want mostly to address my thoughts toward that white woman audience.

People of color (especially those women who continue to lead the charge even though white women do everything in their power to hinder and silence them) know how white people screwed them—continue to screw them. Hell, they know their history. White people are the deliberately, willfully ignorant and tunnel-visioned voters. This post is for them.

I have maintained a constant state of dread and nausea since I first heard Trump connected to the Republican Party. Sure, I did my share of laughing early on. Come on, he’s a buffoon. He’s going to deport Muslims? Force Mexico to pay for a wall? Tiny baby Jesus. How asinine are those two ideas?! How could intelligent people vote for someone so clearly unqualified, so clearly wrong? Yes, that last rhetorical question is stupid because even then I knew the answer to that: People hate losing their power, whether they earned it for real or “earned” it by being born with white skin.

I took my Latinx students seriously when they asked me what would happen to them. All I could say was, “I don’t know.” And I would try to be optimistic for them, “Nothing will happen. There’s no way he will get elected.” Ahhhh, if only that were true.

I spent the next several months watching in horror (but not surprise) as the Facebook “friends” showed their true colors and refused to listen to reason. I’m not going to pretend I’ve always been aware. However, I’m a personality type that will listen to other sides, ponder them, dig for any truth, and then can change my mind—if presented with truth/facts/logic. When I realize something is right/wrong, I make that appropriate change. While I’ve squirmed in embarrassment, discomfort, and guilt over the last five-ish years, I’ve also come to see how wrong I’ve been about being "not seeing color," about respectability politics, about objectification of women and ownership of their lives, about LGBT+ issues, and so many other issues.

I thought I was out of the cave before. The last few years have shown me I was still enjoying the shadows, chained to the floor. I thank so many people on Twitter for their patience, their brutal honesty, their anger, their emotion, and their bravery in sharing their lives with stupid people like me. I believe in educating myself, but I thank them for sharing their stories so I have material to use in my education. The pain of the blinding sun as they shone the truth of their experiences…wow. I admit I unfollowed people like Melinda Anderson (@mdawriter) because she pissed me off for so much. Then I realized why I was angry—she was right. I had been doing the “not all white people” crap instead of acknowledging hers (and others’) experiences.

Although I teach literary theory to students and the importance of looking at more than one side, I had developed a blind spot about my own egocentricity. I’ve learned the danger of only “reading” one narrative. So, I found @mdawriter and many other important voices, followed them, shut my mouth, listened and amplified them, and reflected on myself whenever those voices upset my precious little white fragility. Actually, it’s been awhile since I was offended by anyone other than white people. So, let’s discuss that now…

To reiterate, I’m angry, disgusted, saddened, but not surprised by the election. I know people can be better; I know they can work to improve themselves and their world; however, people are generally such selfish assholes that they rarely surprise me. Sadly, acts of generosity and kindness surprise me more than violence and hate.

Mostly, I’m so incensed by white women I could actually do harm. white women, here’s the message we’ve sent to the world:

1. We’re okay with the patriarchy as long as they take care of us and buy us pretty things. More candidly, men just need to buy us red hats and Trump T-shirts to make us happy. Or, gold-plated rooms. Okay, I can’t prove this point with empirical evidence—well, I could, but I don’t have the time/energy—so this point is simply emotional.

2. We would rather elect a man who brags about “grabbing [us] by the pussy” then elect someone who actually has a vagina. Good job, White women. Way to be leaders of the “free” world. Way to send a message of equality. No, I definitely don’t advocate voting for Hillary simply because she has the same anatomy, but I do advocate thinking for yourself and what’s actually best for society. This time, it was Hillary.

3. We will do anything to make sure our white men retain their power. Why? Because it benefits us. Makes me think of that scene in Gone With the Wind, with the thinly veiled reference to the KKK: The men created their “political society” to protect their women. Sure people died, but by god, those White women’s reputations went unbesmirched. For all our f*ing platitudes, we really want men to protect our “purity,” maintain our social status, keep us on those mythological pillars. Fools. We’re fine with White men catcalling, disparaging, discriminating against, harassing, sexually assaulting us as long as they continue to place us on pedestals to show we’re better than other women. Which brings me to my next point…

4. Jesus, white women. If you're really wanting equality, it ain't comin' from your white men. Why do we need to completely sh*t on women of other races? Those women could be our allies, our sisters in the fight for equality. Instead, we are such competitive and power-grubbing bitches, we can’t acknowledge help from women of color. Honestly, women of color are doing more for equal rights than we are, especially before and after this election. They were those prophets in the wilderness, calling out our doom if Trump were elected. Being stupid and perverse, we white women heard those messages and blithely said, “Who cares? Men will still take care of us.” And we flipped off those marginalized groups, those groups who wisely voted against Trump because they know the ugly side of America. Dear god we are deliberately dumb and hateful.  That takes me to my next area of contention…

5. Allow me to wax idealistic on this point…Why couldn’t whites vote for humanity instead of their own selfish desires? Why can’t white men release their death grip on their power and the government and the nation? Why can’t white women realize a vote for marginalized groups would also (selfishly) serve their own equality? Any positive step toward equity for one group is potentially a step for all groups…if we would only realize this. You know the cliché, “We are only as strong as our weakest link,” so why do white people deliberately create those weak links? White people continually beat down and beat down and beat down anyone who isn’t white (or cis or hetero or “Christian” or binary or whatever the hell makes one acceptable to the white people in power). White people should be afraid of other races gaining power and staging an “uprising.” Those groups are rightfully pissed at us. We’ve earned their ire—and continually stoke that fire; then we castigate them for their anger.

Why couldn’t white people (especially women) realize a vote against Trump was a vote for all of the society? Why can’t white people realize strengthening the groups we’ve deliberately weakened would, in fact, improve our entire society? When will white people realize this incestuous exchange and sharing of power is not a healthy symbiotic relationship, but is parasitic? White people are sucking the life from America, denying our country any possible chance at greatness. No one and nothing can ever be great if you’ve stolen, murdered, pillaged, and raped to achieve power. Power does not equal greatness—it’s simply a show of strength. If your pathway to “greatness” is littered with the torn, bloody, broken bodies of others, you are not great. You are a bloodthirsty tyrant, only great in your own bloated, egotistical, warped mind.

Greatness is not a quality one achieves by hurting others. Greatness is a higher quality: something one aspires to by throwing off the baser qualities. One becomes great by realizing one is nothing without others. Those “others” are not simply people who look and believe like you. Those “others” are people who challenge you and push you and expect you to be a better human being.

If we really want America to be great, we need to finally admit we have royally screwed everything up since the first White landed on the continent. We need to finally admit white people do not have all the answers, nor should white people hold all the power.

To truly (and finally) make America great, we need to stop finding scapegoats and admit the reason America is screwed up is because white people have tried so hard to keep those “others” under our heels—and they’re sick of it.

White people need to finally admit we, by ourselves, will never find greatness.

Those “others” will be America’s salvation…if white people will stop screwing up that real search for greatness.

Guest Blog: Music

Below is a blog from one of my students. I let them write about any topic they wanted so I could assess their content. This student gave me permission to repost. I did not make any corrections because I'm not worried about sharing a "perfect" piece (although it's already gorgeous). I meant to share this awhile ago, but I kept forgetting to ask her.

Reprinted with permission from my student. The student retains all rights to this work. 

      Music is dangerous. It can lead people to tears, bring back harsh memories, and it can make them smile. You are the master of your decisions when you are the master of your emotions. Society today relies mostly on emotions, not facts. That is what makes it so perilous. If you control the music, you control the people. Think about it. When you listen to a song in a soft minor key, you tend to calm down. Your heart rate slows to keep time. You might close your eyes. You breathe deeply. You submit to the melody, and are no longer entirely in control.

      The musician has an important job. A common misconception about music is that it moves people. It is not an active being. It’s more like potential energy. It sits, vibrating, buzzing with life, but not alive. Musicians have to move it. They have to contort the sound and manipulate the instrument to get their personal propaganda to your ears. What you feel is not the music prodding your heart. It is what someone is trying to communicate to you. You feel sadness because they fashioned the song to make you feel that way. Ninety percent of music is not emotion, it is more a calculation of human tendency. Crescendo increases tension. Rubato increases drama because you don’t know exactly what comes next. It is a difficult thing to do because your tone and intonation must remain impeccable at all times, as well as keeping a steady pulse, so that your listeners will give their full attention. You have to express the emotion without getting too wrapped up in it yourself.

      Picture it like this: the musician is speaking, and the melody is a megaphone. If he or she speaks too loudly, the words become jumbled, and indecipherable. It grates on one’s ears.  If that person speaks too softly, the megaphone will not pick up on the voice. It is like the device is not being used at all. Instead, a perfect balance between sound and silence must be achieved so that the audience clearly understands the message.

       The virtuoso takes a breath, and tells his or her story to you. They pour out their hearts to the crowds because they have to. They have no other way to say what they need to tell you. As the curtain closes, and the audience stands, the performer smiles. He has just disclosed to the people a lifetime of secrets, yet the world is none the wiser.

Meeting My Son

July 30, 2015, I met my son for the first time.

It was a day full of emotion and tentative words. A day of loud silences, tears, and hugs. It was the day my child told me she was not “she,” but was he.

I’ve wanted to write about this for a long time, but I also wanted to wait until my teen gave me allowance to address this. Let me set the scene:

Since my child hit puberty, he has had a rough time. There was some bullying and a lot of self-loathing. We even had a brief time where he was suicidal. I chalked all this up to typical teen emotions and a hypersensitive child. I, too, was hypersensitive, but I learned to quietly swallow everything and bottle it up. Emotions were not dealt with healthily, so I have always tried to cultivate a safe and open environment for my husband and child. Emotions themselves are not unhealthy—it’s how we use those emotions that can be toxic.

We got through the middle school years and coasted into high school. Life was somewhat better, but my child still floundered. For 10^th-12^th, we let him do an online public school because of his sometimes crippling anxiety. By senior year, life seemed to be leveling out, and my baby graduated June 2015—just shy of his seventeenth birthday.

Fast forward to July 2015. I had spent three days at teaching GAfE for a school near Muskogee. After that last day, I eagerly headed home. As I flew down the turnpike between Tulsa and OKC, I tried calling my teen to check in. No answer (which is actually pretty typical). Then I got this text:

I stopped at the McDonald’s halfway to text my response (I don’t text and drive!).

Then this one came in (a Google doc was also attached):

My heart dropped. I’m not a worrier; I’m more of a problem solver, but when you get a text like this, you can’t help but feel a level of anxiety.

There in the McDonald’s parking lot, I read the attachment, with some trepidation. It was lengthy but beautifully and honestly written. I have raised a talented writer. J

To summarize, my daughter was actually my son. He had begun some soul-searching in recent months and realized the truth of his gender. He logically and eloquently explained how he arrived at this conclusion and shared his new name. He also remarked how the movie Inside Out helped him explore his identity since the emotions and the character Riley seemed more open and not set on a two-gender dynamic.

I read slowly and thoroughly. This was my child’s heart and soul on paper, so I took my time to chew on and digest.

Then, I cried…and prayed.

Let me clarify: I did not cry and pray this wasn’t true. I didn’t rail to God and ask, “Why?!” Instead, I cried and prayed I would say and do the “right” thing when I got home. I cried and prayed because my rational mind immediately clicked through statistics for LGBT people in America, especially transgendered people. I cried and prayed because I’ve read the stories about the beatings and/or murders of transgender people. I cried and prayed because I knew my child was about to begin a hard journey—harder than anything else we’d encountered. I cried and prayed God would give me even more strength to be there for my son. Then, I started home.

I managed to compose myself before I pulled into the garage. I took a moment and a deep breath. The next words out of my mouth had the potential to nurture or destroy my future relationship with my baby. I don’t say that capriciously: My child and I have always enjoyed a closer than “normal” bond. I have no idea how I am so blessed because I’m not really a nurturing person, but my child is definitely attached to his mother.

I walked into my house and saw my child in our kitchen. I walked around to him and said one of the simplest and most profound sentences of my life, “Hello, Coby. It’s nice to meet you.”

I will never forget the look of relief on my son’s face and how he collapsed into me. I surrounded my sweet child with my arms and my love. In that space of time I knew nothing had changed and everything had changed.

It’s probably the only time I have been 100% proud of myself as a parent. I have no regrets and don’t think I could have handled that moment any better.

The last year hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbow-farting unicorns. Coby is seeing a therapist for the anxiety. The therapist also focuses on LGBT issues with her practice, so that has been wonderful. We did keep all this pretty quiet for much of the last year, at my child’s request, to protect him. I even did the balancing act of saying “daughter” at school and to friends and family and “son” at home because I respected Coby’s desire for privacy.

We did enjoy a wonderful summer break together. In the last few months, he’s been much more open and much more confident. I am so proud of who he is becoming.

Ultimately, I have once again realized not everything in life is about me and my feelings; this is about my child realizing who he actually is and about him becoming comfortable in his skin. This has been about me not giving a flying f*** how my family feels or how anyone feels about my child. This is about my son being happy. Period.

As we have begun telling people, I have been amazed by the beauty and goodwill from some of our family (not everyone knows yet), our friends, and my students. While I have never minded letting Coby fight his own battles, I will say if anyone harasses my son for simply being who he is or if they deny him his right to live his life, this momma is ready to take on those people. Let me warn you, it won’t be pretty—for you. 

My First Week (+ 1 Day) 2016

Recently I began my twelfth year of teaching (not counting the 1 ½ I taught part-time). I’ll admit to not being exactly thrilled to start a new year, for several reasons. I’ll share two:

1.     Last year took a lot out of me. My faithful readers know I have lupus. Last year exhausted me both mentally and physically. I spent pretty much all of June simply resting and trying to recover…it didn’t really help. I am currently trying to get back on my infusion instead of being stupid and trying to do without it.

2.     I did not prepare for this year like I normally do. Usually I have most to all of my year planned on Google Calendar by the time school starts. This year I had the first day planned—that was it. However, I did spend the summer researching and really thinking about myself, my privilege, and changing my curriculum. My problem was I felt overwhelmed by the myriad of issues I could cover. There’s so much going on in the world, so much that needs changing.

So, teachers reported back, and our “welcome back” speech didn’t feel welcoming. It felt the opposite…but I was determined to keep a good attitude for my students.

We did get some much-needed time in our classrooms. I appreciated the quiet so I could putter around and put finishing touches on my room. It was ready before we reported back, but I find it calming to spend time in my classroom—and I hope my students feel the same.

Students came back on a Friday, which was weird. Really weird. Once again, I welcomed students to their junior year and AP Language, and said, “Let’s read a story.” Just like last year, we read “Examination Day” by Henry Seslar. I always get such odd looks from the students. After finishing the last line, I asked students to turn to a neighbor and discuss why in the world their AP teacher would start the year by killing off a child. I gave them a couple minutes to ponder, then we talked as a class.

I stressed the importance of thinking for themselves, of taking risks, or opening their minds. We talked about who is easier to control: dumb people or intelligent people. I told them I had to desire to control them. I wanted them to question everything, even me.

From there we looked at “Pretty Good” by Charles Osgood and a satirical letter, thanking a teacher for focusing so much on test scores. I used these to further the conversation about grades, learning, thinking, etc. We finished the hour with a class bingo just to get the students up and moving.

Several throughout the day remarked I was the only teacher who welcomed them to the new school year, who talked about grades, and who wanted to give them room to make mistakes.

During the next week, we did some assessments so I could gage what they learned/knew/remembered from last year. Our pre-AP program (at least for 9^th and 10^th grade) is much too weak, so I had a good idea where students would be. Our department lacks alignment, so we don’t know who’s covering what literary terms as which grades, students aren’t really doing research papers, they aren’t doing much writing, and are doing little analysis or other AP prep.  

We began the week with a “Who Am I?” five-slide presentation. I asked for their name and a picture and a slide each telling me their likes, dislikes, strengths, and weaknesses. These presentations really helped me begin putting names with faces!

We did a “pre-test” of literary terms and basic essay format, then went over it as a class so I could see what I needed to review or teach.

We finished the week with students blogging over a topic of their choice. I simply wanted to assess their content and voice/style. There were some weak and skimpy blogs and some truly beautiful work. In fact, I posted one of them as a guest blog. (Caution: the student wrote eloquently and honestly about rape, providing some mature and healthy talk about the subject. You can find it here: http://www.jennwillteach.com/2016/09/guest-blog-real-talk-about-rape.html)

Overall, they did well, and I already see much potential in this group. We shall see as the year progresses….

My Reading for Pleasure Class Responds to The New Yorker

I recently read an article on Twitter (where I generally get most of my info) from The New Yorker entitled “Do Teens Read Seriously Anymore?” by David Denby.

I was irritated from the first paragraph: “A common sight in malls, in pizza parlors, in Starbucks, and wherever else American teens hang out: three or four kids, hooded, gathered around a table, leaning over like monks or druids, their eyes fastened to the smartphones held in front of them. The phones, converging at the center of the table, come close to touching. The teens are making a communion of a sort. Looking at them, you can envy their happiness. You can also find yourself wishing them immersed in a different kind of happiness—in a superb book or a series of books, in the reading obsession itself! You should probably keep on wishing.”

“Monks or druids”? So, the implication is teens are praying to their device or the device is holy to them? I know teens are attached to their device, but I doubt any of them would appreciate the simile.

Who’s to say teens aren’t reading on their devices? I read all the time on mine. Maybe it’s not a “superb book or series,” but I do read on my device. “You should probably keep wishing” especially pisses me off. It’s so disdainful and patronizing toward the very people Denby writes about. Classic case of an adult writing about teens and yet completely missing the mark on who they are as actual people!

So, being the pot stirrer I am, I thought I’d share the article with the 28 teens in my Reading for Pleasure class. Wow, those were some angry people. I told them they could leave me comments in Google Classroom. Below, I copied and pasted their comments with minimal revisions. Since they were informal comments, I didn’t specify “English rules.”

¨If kids are avoiding eye contact, they are avoiding books even more¨ Two separate things...... just saying.” –Jackson

“I still read.” –Joshua

“There are two reading for pleasure hours in this school! If kids didn't want to read then why would they sign up for these classes? MAYBEEE if there wasn't as much homework and stress put on our grades then we would read more. The generation that wrote this article is the same generation that is putting the stress onto us to have jobs, get perfect grades, be the perfect person, finish all of our homework! These people have no place to say that we don't read when they don't give us time to read. *drop the mic*” –Blaine

“We definitely read. But I feel as though it's not necessarily stereotyped into like 'the nerdy girl reads' or 'the moody, emo kid reads'. It's more like the people who those wouldn't expect. And what the heck does eye contact have to do with reading more? There is no correlation. I don't usually make eye contact and I have five books in my bag right now. And personally I happen to enjoy the scent of old books. It makes me think of winter nights and hot cocoa. Also, this article was made in February. I'm less angered knowing that this is at least 2-3 months old. But still angered.” –Chloe

“I think reading is needed at times to calm the mind. Many teens don't read as much as we're supposed to. I understand that teens are on their phones way more than reading books or magazines, because they are into the ‘it,’ thing. Many parents are addicted to their phones also, reading helps you learn new words, and compare to other people's problems to yours. Reading is important for everyone and not just on cell phones.” –Emily

“The sad thing is that a lot of people not just teens. Adults and kids as well so it's not only us teens but a few people now a days so they can’t blame us. I love reading but I don't like being forced to read and that is why most teens have strayed from book life. Then those of us have jobs and we have to worry about grade and homework to we don't get much time to read anymore.” –Cameron

“Yes! I believe that there are a wide majority of teens who are not engaged in reading nowadays. HOWEVER, the one thing that killed the idea of reading as a hobby was when we were obligated to finish a novel that was chosen by our teacher. Contrary to popular belief, reading is an excellent way to free our minds and travel to an alternate world where we envision ourselves as a character. It allows us to get away from the dark places that absorb the world and it's also a great way to pass the time.” --Zack

“alright buddy. i am a teenage girl who doesn’t care about her clothes. i don’t care what a book smells like, i care about what is written and we are busy. i work 20 hours a week plus extra curricular activities that practice almost every day plus the extra clubs and i have still have time to read almost a book every couple of weeks. my mother asks me for books because she knows i have read more and i know what’s good. and not just the young adult either. I’ve read classics and nonfiction and i do it on my own will. those who don’t read just haven’t found what they like.” –Karstin

“^ true. especially when the funds we receive from said jobs (usually 2-3 3-4 of them at once) are barely enough to afford rent and have practically none left over to eat LET ALONE to buy a book.” –Chloe responding to Karstin

“My first thought is do adults read seriously anymore because the only time i see my dad reading anything is either when its a Facebook post, a text, or a email? The eye contact thing also really irks me how do those relate just because I'm shy doesn't mean I don't read. I read because I want to and there is something different about reading it takes you to a whole other side of reality. I took reading for pleasure this year to finally to get the time and chance to explore different books and broaden my horizon and no there isn't assigned reading I do it because I would like too.” --Hannah

“I feel like this is demeaning towards kids. What you are reading doesn't matter. If it has a cover and a back and words in between, it's a book. What I read helps me deal with the real world, and I am sorry that it is not considered 'a real book' but in my opinion it is more real than anything the older generations would consider to be 'a real book.’” --Ashtyn

“Teens read just as much as any elementary student may! Reading is a way in which any teenager can let their mind wander into an extraordinary adventure. Age doesn't dictate how much a person reads, or how much a person should read, and it's unfair to assume that teens don't appreciate reading anymore. I don't read because I am told to, I read because I enjoy it! Also, just because some teens may not necessarily be as social as others, it doesn't mean that they don't enjoy reading just as much as anybody else!” --Kali

“i love reading and their is nothing wrong with joining sports or clubs i am pretty sure there are people out there who can read at least once a week if not once a day. I have a phone too and i go and check my social networks, but i don't stare at my phone waiting for someone to post something every ten seconds. I mean my mom has four kids and she still manages to get most of the stuff she wants done completed.” –Mackenzie

“I would like to disagree I know many kids who love to read for fun and rather read than do outdoor activities. I love to read book and then there are websites on the internet that you can read books on. HELLO E-BOOKS! Yes we are all busy but there are many of us who will pick up and book and read 20 minutes into it. Also I would like to point out the sexist accusations. Maybe I'm a girl who does sports or a video gamer. Then there might be some boys who care about their friendships. Also I would like to point out we have a harder time reading because some of us go to school 7 hours and then have homework an hour for each class which is 7 HOURS and not to mention I have a job where I work 5-6 hours. Then I have band in the morning which I have to wake up at 5 in the morning. Even though I have school, band, and work I still read at least a couple times a week which is a lot more than some adults.” –Kailee

“I find it funny that this author claims that teenagers do not read when it can be proven with several people that this claim is untrue. The reality of the matter is that though the majority may not be engrossed in reading, there are the minority who still find enjoyment in books. The idea of placing ALL teenagers into one category is simply ridiculous and infuriating.
Age should not dictate how much a person reads or what a person reads. Naturally, older generations will read different literary works than what we read in the present day.
This article simply is the opinion of a entitled, pretentious, and ignorant man. To claim that ALL teenagers are focused on social media over reading is a statement that has no factual basis but rather is just based on his personal and quite frankly, stupid opinion.
I am a firm believer that it is easier for someone to make assumptions of others than taking a hard look at themselves. If they did, they would see they are throwing stones when they live in a glass house. There were people in his generation who didn't read so he can't act like it's just our generation who has starting this trend. This trend has been around longer than we have and it's blatantly insulting to add this false claim to the many others surrounding our generation.
In conclusion, I believe that this author is severely misguided and needs to open his eyes and take a look around rather than assume and therefore, make false statements.
You know what they say about when you ‘assume things.’
That is all.” –Megan

There are so many other sentences from the article that bothered me, but I’m not a teen. I thought it best to let them speak for themselves.

I will say while Denby focuses on teens, I wonder how many adults actually read for pleasure, since he seems fixated by the “joy” aspect. But, it is always so much easier to blame those damn teenagers and try to remove the splinters from their eyes rather than remove the logs from the eyes of our own generations.