March is ending and with it comes the promise of spring, though the irony of snow on the first supposed day of blooming isn't lost on me. It's been a heavy year, and a long winter. I find myself lost between the covers sometimes, dreaming of things that I can't change. Or can I? I am always incredibly self-critical, so I was sending doubts into the universe, and received this response today:
The first thing I wanted to tell Joshua was that his place in society as a man of color is at the top - and anyone who tells him differently isn't worth his time. I cried, because it is the small moments like this that make life worth it. I will never be paid what I'm worth, but I chose this profession because I was hoping to have an impact on just one person. Affirmation that I have done this is beautiful. But, I am far from done growing, and I have much work to do to become a better educator. Joshua himself is an amazing thinker and I didn't make him that way, he was born with ideas. I do not see my role as an educator to give you thoughts - it's to extract your thinking from your brain. I'm curious, at this point in the year, what's one lasting impression that you will take from this class?
We're beginning a new book this week (really, next week because of the overnight trip and disrupted schedule this week) and it's one I've taught before and love so much. It is a play by Lorraine Hansberry titled "A Raisin in the Sun", and the first thing that we will talk about is a poem (you'll see it below). What do you think about the poem? How does it connect to what we've already learned and studied? What do you think this play might be about, which is titled after a line in this poem? It's about to be April, aka National Poetry Month... so even though we're reading a play, we will be poeming all throughout this month. Get ready for good reads and words galore - and please don't forget to post any poems you write on the IPG Site! http://ipg.icsmich.org
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?