You see me?
I was the type of student who stayed up in the teacher’s ass.
I sat in the front of the school bus when we went on field trips.
Partially because that meant that I could avoid visual interrogation from the other kids on the bus.
Partially because the kids in the back was doing too much.
I was also the type of student who almost effortlessly got good grades.
I mean at some point, I did struggle.
But that wasn’t until I was in the 8th grade.
This was the first time, and maybe only time, I received a “C” during grade school.
And that shit hurt my heart.
Confession: I STILL don’t fully understand what a gerund is.
But I be paying my taxes and shit.
So fuck you, Mrs. H.
I would have did anything to get away from your racist ass anyways.
And that C was good enough to do it.
I was the student who never wanted to be caught doing nothing wrong.
I didn’t like my name scribbled on the side of the blackboard.
I didn’t like red X marks on my returned tests.
So I did what they told me to do.
And I sat my ass down.
Since this was MY story.
And my kids would be coming out of MY body.
I just knew.
Any child of mine was going to follow the imprints I already left down for them.
Like My Child was going to automatically inherit my ambition to learn.
And my fear of getting in trouble.
Hardy, fucking, har, har.
I looooooooooooooove my kid.
But this here ain’t got nothing to do with love.
And don’t get me wrong, he is a pleasure of a child.
This is some new shit for me.
And the teachers wanna call me for answers.
Ma’am. I don’t know why he’s not paying attention in class.
He doesn’t pay attention at home neither.
Teacher Lady … Please don’t mark his homework as incomplete.
We spent 3 hours doing it.
He had to go to bed.
… you know.
Shit like that.
But this ain’t about me and my feelings.
This is about me supporting my child.
And I will be the first to tell you that I don’t know what I’m doing.
But I’m giving it all I got.
I took in all that I learned from school.
I look at what my parents did to see what imma repeat and what imma switch up on.
I read shit.
And I still couldn’t feel less prepared.
But that’s not my Zion’s fault.
It’s my job as his parent to support.
Even during coronavirus and poverty.
So I screamed for help.
In the form of a conference with his teachers and specialists from the school.
And I must say, this was the hardest part.
If you watch enough of Dr. Umar Johnson’s YouTube videos.
Or listen to how people look down on people who receive special services.
… you would know exactly what I mean.
But I had to say fuck them.
And fuck that.
This is my child we talking bout.
And I’m not about to sit back and watch him struggle just for the sake of my pride.
Come to find out, with this help –
We done got all our questions answered.
And the teachers and I can now support my Zion with all of the tools and resources available to lead him to success in the future.
How frustrating it must be for a child to not be able to express what’s going on inside their head.
Tip: Look at children as a separate individuals, outside of yourself.
We can’t assume because we birthed them that they are carbon copies of ourselves.
We can’t assume that we will be able to anticipate their every need.
Sometimes we might just need some fucking assistance.
What not to do: Don’t ignore the signs. Don’t wait till it’s an issue to advocate for your child.
Listen to what they don’t say.
What we do now could affect them waaay down the line.
And I want my child to know I tried my very best.
Even when I didn’t have all the answers.
+ Ci Ci +