Concluding Post: An Open Letter to My Students
*Author’s note: it turns out that this assignment is a little more fact than I intended, as I was actually laid off this week…go figure*
Greetings-
After a decade of service to the children, families and community of Battle Creek Public Schools, it appears that my time has come to an end. While a layoff is never easily accepted, the financial plight of the district makes it relatively easy to understand. It isn’t my own understanding that I am concerned with at this time.
What concerns me is your understanding. For those of you whom high school as a part of your past, then it is your understanding of what transpired in your time at Central and why. For those of you whom graduation is part of your future, then it is your understanding of what your time at Central has held and what it could hold for you. That understanding isn’t linked to school, which is a politically defined institution. It also isn’t linked to learning which can barely be defined by the most literate among us. Your understanding is linked to curriculum, that “thing” bussing around you the entire time you are or were in school. It’s the “thing” buzzing around the teachers’ room, the meeting rooms, the big building downtown. The problems at Central, as well documented as they are, are also linked to curriculum. It is your understanding of all of this that will define the course your life has yet to take, and that will define the future, if there is one, of Battle Creek Central High School.
First of all, consider your time at Central. Former student or current, you have attended a school ravaged by School of Choice. You have learned, whether you realized it or not, whether it was intended or not, the curriculum of society. An unbalanced society. A society that chooses to remain unbalanced, and continues to act upon this choice, time and again. Remember my first rule in class: my opinion does not matter. My politics and my faith do not matter. Keep that in mind while I explain what I mean. School of Choice was intended from its conception to be the escape vehicle of the wealthy to avoid social and economic elements that they do not wish to associate themselves with. Escape from, not help. Escape from, not assist, repair, rebuild or refresh. School of Choice was meant to give the privileged, those with the means to flee poverty, crime, violence and addiction, the means to do so instead of to fight those things in the community around them. So it was for Battle Creek Central. The data shows the damage done. The enrollment losses and the resulting financial catastrophe has been so well covered in the local media that it doesn’t bear repeating. Yet as it happened, you were learning society’s curriculum. Like a teaching objective or a learning target, you were exposed to a purpose larger than you, one more grand than you were aware of. Like tracking, you were categorized, labeled and set aside based upon factors that you were not able to control. You learned from a curriculum not based upon pedagogy or educational legislation, but upon economics and fear. Angst and dollars. Since you remained, or rather, your family remained, you learned that there was a distinct chance that you lacked something that others had. You learned that some people can have things and that others cannot. You learned that sometimes you get the short end of the stick and that’s just all there is. You weren’t taught that by accident. This curriculum was developed just for you by those would never have to learn from it. Oddly enough, society’s curriculum was developed in response to another curriculum that you have learned from, directly or indirectly: the curriculum of the streets.
I cannot tell you how sick I am of hearing “Battle Creek just isn’t the city it was when I was growing up.” You think? Really? Your sure, because I could, you know, check that one out for you. So few places remain unchanged across our lifetimes, and most people find fault in the changes that they see. The human mind and memory are funny that way. Battle Creek, in reality, has changed and it has been for the worse. Located approximately halfway between Chicago and Detroit, Battle Creek is an excellent location to process narcotics brought whole to Chicago via the north-south waterway of the Mississippi River and moved east in parceled form via the east-west roadways of I-94 and the 80-90. The decline of Battle Creek coincides almost exactly with the boom in the narcotics trade of the nineteen seventies and eighties. The location of the county correctional facility, though Battle Creek is not the county seat, adds to the challenges with recently released felons returning to society and often remaining in Battle Creek. Increasing unemployment and loss of the economic stability that industry maintained fostered the environment that moved into nearly a decade ago. This environment quietly developed a curriculum for you to learn from as well. Whether you live or lived in the “hoods” of Washington Heights, Post Addition, Orchard Park, or in the quiet neighborhoods of Merritt Woods or Riverside, you learned from the streets each day at school. The kids around you, and maybe it was or is you, that live in the toughest parts of our community brought parts of that life to school with them every day. The kid that slept in three different cars over the last five nights taught you something. The kid that sold dope out of the locker three down from my room taught you something. The kids who got into a fight today before first hour, after second hour, after third hour, during lunch A, during lunch C, after sixth hour and at the bus loading after school all taught you something. The kid who brought that gun to school that started the push for metal detectors and security taught you something. I know that because they taught me something. For so many kids in our community, that is where most of the learning in their life happened: on “these streets”, not from books, lectures, films or labs. Their stress isn’t from grade points, ACTs or parental aggravations. Their stress is from hollow points, EMTs and parental violence or absence. When you look upon them with disgust, you are learning what you never want to be. When you look upon them and laugh, you are learning and you don’t realize it. You are learning how much alike you are. You’d never laugh at a man eating another person’s arm, because there is no cannibal inside of you. Yet when you see a young woman cursing out their teacher and laugh, it’s because part of you relates. Part of you understands and finds it funny, as though you were that girl. That is the true curriculum of the streets. It teaches us far more about what we have in common than what makes social and economic classes different. It’s the curriculum of the street that frightened the privileged so.
You have to wonder what my point is by now, and given your time with me, you should know that it’s coming in short order. As I look back on my ten years at Central, I keep wondering what it is that I taught you? Mind you, I appreciate the number of you that have, upon hearing my unfortunate news, stopped in to tell me that you “learned SO much from me.” I would certainly hope so, but I just don’t know what that might be. I know what I was asked to teach you. The State, though inconsistent and indecisive about the content of its government and history curriculum, has always provided me with a pretty clear set of guidelines to follow. Is that all that I taught you? Is that all that you learned? After two or three or four years, what was the curriculum of Young?
I hope that I taught you to have empathy. I hope that, from me, you learned that you can see the world through the eyes of another, if only in an analogy. I hope that, from me, you learned that you don’t have to agree with what someone does or is to understand them better. Maybe you even learned that we aren’t that different from one another.
I hope that I taught you the reason humanity has governments in the first place IS HUMANITY. Our failings are theirs. Our weaknesses are theirs. James Madison acutely recognized this and accurately expressed it in the political philosophies that have shaped our democracy. Madison believed that human beings are inherently good, but act for selfish reasons often to their downfall. I hope that, from me, you learned that the mirror is your friend, and that its value increases with power, prestige and wealth. I hope that I taught you that our mistrust in our leaders is nothing more than a reflection of our inability to trust ourselves.
I hope that I taught you, without ever breaking my sacred “separation of church and state” vow to the great, grand government of Michigan, that faith is the most important component of a fulfilled life. There is nothing that ensures peace more that the expression of humanity in the form of a belief in that which you may never see or know. I have faith in myself. I have faith in my wife. I have faith in my daughter. I have faith in my God. These things sustain me, and reveal what is most humbly and tenuously human about me. Considering my employment news, I suppose this is the most important lesson I could have taught you. I hope that all of these things came together while we were together in the form of a curriculum greater than that of the school and of the state.
Kindest regards-
Coach Young