Even watching NFL kickoff weekend and seeing tributes around the league, I had no plans to write anything extensive to commemorate the 15th anniversary of the September 11th attacks of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. However, when I watched the "September 11th" episode of NFL Network's The Timeline, the recollections of that dark and fateful day in American history stirred up emotions I repressed for years. Although seeing the video of the two planes strike the Twin Towers brought back memories of being awakened out of my sound sleep to witness the horror only 166 miles down Interstate 87 from where I was, it was the sight of the Pentagon that sent the biggest chill through my spirit because it was more personal for me. On her way to a National Geographic field trip in California, Hilda Taylor, a sixth grade teacher at Madeleine V. Leckie Elementary School in Southwest D.C., lost her life along with her 11-year-old student Bernard Brown II on American Airlines Flight 77 ten years after my last days as a student there. When Momma Scribbler--a teacher's aide at Leckie for 13 years--shared the news with me, I was absolutely stunned and heartbroken that the teacher who helped to guide the trajectory of my academic career the most was no longer here. So in an effort to finally address my sentiments about 9/11, I dedicate this to one of my favorite teachers...
At my second elementary school--the first being Winston Elementary School in Southeast--I had average and good home room teachers, but no one exceptional. Prior to the sixth grade, only my fifth grade teacher had the possibility of being my favorite home room teacher in elementary school while my art teacher was beating everybody by a country mile. Enter a beautiful, brilliant woman who challenged her own lamentations of how many Americans don't care enough about history or geography by giving me my first introduction to Sierra Leone--her home country she left in search of a "better life" in the United States for her and her children--and raising my awareness of the wide array of culturally rich African countries. Although we had two decent sixth grade teachers on the roster, I knew I wanted to be in Ms. Taylor's class because I knew I would learn the most in her class more than any other class in my entire time at Leckie. Having a teacher who believed in me, knew how to communicate with me better than 90 percent of the teaching staff and could pull out my absolute best made staying engaged in the learning process as well as the transition from elementary to junior high much easier than if I would've settled for anyone else.
At my second elementary school--the first being Winston Elementary School in Southeast--I had average and good home room teachers, but no one exceptional. Prior to the sixth grade, only my fifth grade teacher had the possibility of being my favorite home room teacher in elementary school while my art teacher was beating everybody by a country mile. Enter a beautiful, brilliant woman who challenged her own lamentations of how many Americans don't care enough about history or geography by giving me my first introduction to Sierra Leone--her home country she left in search of a "better life" in the United States for her and her children--and raising my awareness of the wide array of culturally rich African countries. Although we had two decent sixth grade teachers on the roster, I knew I wanted to be in Ms. Taylor's class because I knew I would learn the most in her class more than any other class in my entire time at Leckie. Having a teacher who believed in me, knew how to communicate with me better than 90 percent of the teaching staff and could pull out my absolute best made staying engaged in the learning process as well as the transition from elementary to junior high much easier than if I would've settled for anyone else.
Among the many things for which I am eternally grateful, Ms. Taylor's support in two key areas stand out the most. First, she was a firm believer in an educated student who was engaged in productive extracurricular activities, strongly encouraging my participation in the Just Say No Club as well as the Boys' Choir. Specifically, although I had been a participant in spelling bees the previous five years at Leckie, the closest I had ever come to the city-wide spelling bee was in the first grade when I lost in the regional round. Five years later with the ardent push of Big Dadi and Momma Scribbler as well as being under Ms. Taylor's expert tutelage, I was determined to expand my knowledge and advance farther than ever before as I studied words like "chassepot" ad nauseam. After coming in first in the school bee and second in the regional, my confidence was brimming as I set foot in the WRC-TV studios for my first-ever city-wide bee. Although I placed eighth, I remember Ms. Taylor greeting me with her bright and beaming smile and still encouraging me despite falling short. As much as my love of words and vocabulary would especially intensify through my tenth grade humanities teacher, Ms. Taylor ensured I was meticulous and correct when spelling those "polysyllabic terms" as my high school principal used to say.
Second, before I was a student in her class, she encouraged me to participate in the student council--an activity in which I wasn't interested prior to the end of my fifth grade year. However, she strongly suggested I run for the position of school parliamentarian and when I didn't know what a parliamentarian was, she simply explained it as somebody who knows the rules and helps to keep order. Considering how I didn't see myself as president or vice president material at that stage of my life and felt more comfortable in a supporting role, the position was perfect for me and actually winning gave me a sense of confidence like never before. Although it would be years in the making, I took on two of the biggest leadership roles of my adolescent years as Level One Youth Mayor of Mayor Barry's Youth Leadership Institute during my junior year in high school (which I explained in depth here) and Vice President of the African-American Student Coalition in my sophomore year at Hobart and William Smith Colleges. Simply put, my humble beginnings in civic participation began with Ms. Taylor recognizing and harnessing that gift before anyone else.
So all things considered, it's not easy remembering the painful loss of one of my favorite teachers, trying to be respectful of others during a sensitive time for our nation, balancing the never-ending struggle of being a Black man in America and seeing how a country quick to preach messages of "freedom" and "justice" shows their true colors to those who look like me. Although I lost my sixth grade teacher who I hadn't seen in years before her untimely passing, I can't imagine the hurt of someone who lost their father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, son or daughter or how that sting never goes away no matter how much time passes. I can't even begin to fathom the horror anyone had to endure who was close enough to see the Twin Towers collapse, a plane crash into the Pentagon or another one fall in Shanksville. For so many people, 9/11 is their day that "will live in infamy" because they will never be able to unseat the memories of waiting with baited breath in case they'd receive that dreaded phone call, watching people leap hundreds of stories to their death because they had no other escape or knowing how many firefighters, law enforcement officers and even civilians gave their lives to save others.
With that said, many people are infuriated at the Colin Kaepernicks of the world for kneeling during a moment of silence for the fallen of 9/11; however, I'm not one of those people. Although it still angers me to this day that the level of hate for our country was strong enough to take away so many innocent souls including Ms. Taylor and Bernard Brown, I channel her passion for history and her emphasis on the rules to empathize with my brethren I know respect the fallen but refuse to put the movement for social justice on hold. Our liberties as Black people have been under constant attack since 1619, so even with our lawful "inclusion", we continue to be ignored, silenced, disenfranchised, accosted and assaulted in every way possible. When we try to make ourselves experts in the rules, the descendants of the rule makers remind us how we weren't--and to a degree, we still aren't part of lawmaking process. Furthermore, many of us have chosen to fight and give our lives for a country that makes us the sacrificial lambs on the battlefield, but won't give us our proper respect once we return home or when we take off our various uniforms. Hence, as much as a section of the American population wants to talk about proper etiquette while acknowledging a dark time in American history--many of whom booed President Barack Obama during his 9/11 video presentation--I know what these brothers are fighting for and their gestures do not offend me because, as far as I'm concerned, those gestures honor the spirits of preventing history from adversely repeating itself and being well versed in the laws of the land to do so Ms. Taylor instilled in me decades ago. Furthermore, and contrary to popular belief, it is entirely possible to walk and chew bubble gum, i.e., Black people can honor the fallen of 9/11 and simultaneously honor the victims of police brutality and their families because we recognize and respect them as two separate but important issues.
With the exception of the teacher with whom my mom was paired, none of the teachers or staff of Madeleine V. Leckie Elementary School who had a hand in my learning experience and overall growth remain; hence, I haven't had any reason to revisit the halls in which I spent six years of my young life. Once Ms. Taylor passed away, I had even less of a reason because it would've been too painful to walk past or into her former classroom. Living right around the corner, it was bad enough passing Leckie every day, seeing her name on the school's sign for years after 9/11 and knowing I could never see her again on the humble. Although my mom would go on to earn her teaching degree from the University of the District of Columbia (where Ms. Taylor earned her Master's degree) and teach at Green and Patterson Elementary Schools, I wish I would've come back to Leckie even after my mom left if only to see Ms. Taylor and thank her for how much wisdom and knowledge she bestowed upon me. If losing someone instrumental to my growth as a well-rounded scholar to the tragic events of 9/11 manifests nothing else, then two things are at the forefront of my consciousness: 1) we must give people roses while they're here and 2) every moment is a teachable moment--even the inconvenient and uncomfortable ones.
Second, before I was a student in her class, she encouraged me to participate in the student council--an activity in which I wasn't interested prior to the end of my fifth grade year. However, she strongly suggested I run for the position of school parliamentarian and when I didn't know what a parliamentarian was, she simply explained it as somebody who knows the rules and helps to keep order. Considering how I didn't see myself as president or vice president material at that stage of my life and felt more comfortable in a supporting role, the position was perfect for me and actually winning gave me a sense of confidence like never before. Although it would be years in the making, I took on two of the biggest leadership roles of my adolescent years as Level One Youth Mayor of Mayor Barry's Youth Leadership Institute during my junior year in high school (which I explained in depth here) and Vice President of the African-American Student Coalition in my sophomore year at Hobart and William Smith Colleges. Simply put, my humble beginnings in civic participation began with Ms. Taylor recognizing and harnessing that gift before anyone else.
So all things considered, it's not easy remembering the painful loss of one of my favorite teachers, trying to be respectful of others during a sensitive time for our nation, balancing the never-ending struggle of being a Black man in America and seeing how a country quick to preach messages of "freedom" and "justice" shows their true colors to those who look like me. Although I lost my sixth grade teacher who I hadn't seen in years before her untimely passing, I can't imagine the hurt of someone who lost their father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, son or daughter or how that sting never goes away no matter how much time passes. I can't even begin to fathom the horror anyone had to endure who was close enough to see the Twin Towers collapse, a plane crash into the Pentagon or another one fall in Shanksville. For so many people, 9/11 is their day that "will live in infamy" because they will never be able to unseat the memories of waiting with baited breath in case they'd receive that dreaded phone call, watching people leap hundreds of stories to their death because they had no other escape or knowing how many firefighters, law enforcement officers and even civilians gave their lives to save others.
With that said, many people are infuriated at the Colin Kaepernicks of the world for kneeling during a moment of silence for the fallen of 9/11; however, I'm not one of those people. Although it still angers me to this day that the level of hate for our country was strong enough to take away so many innocent souls including Ms. Taylor and Bernard Brown, I channel her passion for history and her emphasis on the rules to empathize with my brethren I know respect the fallen but refuse to put the movement for social justice on hold. Our liberties as Black people have been under constant attack since 1619, so even with our lawful "inclusion", we continue to be ignored, silenced, disenfranchised, accosted and assaulted in every way possible. When we try to make ourselves experts in the rules, the descendants of the rule makers remind us how we weren't--and to a degree, we still aren't part of lawmaking process. Furthermore, many of us have chosen to fight and give our lives for a country that makes us the sacrificial lambs on the battlefield, but won't give us our proper respect once we return home or when we take off our various uniforms. Hence, as much as a section of the American population wants to talk about proper etiquette while acknowledging a dark time in American history--many of whom booed President Barack Obama during his 9/11 video presentation--I know what these brothers are fighting for and their gestures do not offend me because, as far as I'm concerned, those gestures honor the spirits of preventing history from adversely repeating itself and being well versed in the laws of the land to do so Ms. Taylor instilled in me decades ago. Furthermore, and contrary to popular belief, it is entirely possible to walk and chew bubble gum, i.e., Black people can honor the fallen of 9/11 and simultaneously honor the victims of police brutality and their families because we recognize and respect them as two separate but important issues.
###
With the exception of the teacher with whom my mom was paired, none of the teachers or staff of Madeleine V. Leckie Elementary School who had a hand in my learning experience and overall growth remain; hence, I haven't had any reason to revisit the halls in which I spent six years of my young life. Once Ms. Taylor passed away, I had even less of a reason because it would've been too painful to walk past or into her former classroom. Living right around the corner, it was bad enough passing Leckie every day, seeing her name on the school's sign for years after 9/11 and knowing I could never see her again on the humble. Although my mom would go on to earn her teaching degree from the University of the District of Columbia (where Ms. Taylor earned her Master's degree) and teach at Green and Patterson Elementary Schools, I wish I would've come back to Leckie even after my mom left if only to see Ms. Taylor and thank her for how much wisdom and knowledge she bestowed upon me. If losing someone instrumental to my growth as a well-rounded scholar to the tragic events of 9/11 manifests nothing else, then two things are at the forefront of my consciousness: 1) we must give people roses while they're here and 2) every moment is a teachable moment--even the inconvenient and uncomfortable ones.
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