The Better Half(67)
With Jared, he’s the only Black faculty member I have, and as witnessed by this morning’s email, parents adore him. Ms. Bertrand, our controller, rounds out our Black employee count to a whopping three at the school, but Royal-Hawkins families don’t ever see Ms. Bertrand buried in the business office, so I don’t count her. Jared is it for a familiar face for Black students to casually connect with on a daily basis. I only wish I could sing his praises.
Leaning into Jared’s classroom, Lamont Stennis calls out loudly, “Hey yo, Mr. Jones!” above the din of students filing out of school at the end of the day. His noggin has grown faster than his body, and all I see is a tween bobblehead.
“Hey, what up, L. Good to see you lil’ man! I’m talking to Ms. Clarke here, but I’ll catch up with you in the gym,” Jared calls across the classroom. “Lemme finish up here and I betcha I’ll still beat ya.”
I know Jared is only making quick chitchat with an enthusiastic member of his team, but his flippant declaration that what we have to talk about will only take a minute sets the start of our review off at a deficit.
“How do you think things are going for you so far this year?” I ask. I like to begin reviews listening to teachers consider, in person, what they wrote to me in their reflections prior to our meeting. Given Jared’s reflection, he believes he’s still a number one round draft pick. I, too, can do sports metaphors.
“You know I really like it here. The community has been welcoming, and I feel like I’m connecting with my kids.” Yeah, connecting over your class being easy street, I think to myself. “I mean, I don’t want to take them home with me at night, that’s not going to get me far with the ladies, but I love ’em when I’m here.” I have to let out a snicker on that one, it’s a fact we can both agree on for a young single guy.
“I’m curious, Jared, why’d you choose Royal-Hawkins? A guy as accomplished as you could teach anywhere you want.”
Now Jared’s the one taking his time, rubbing his hands together and smoothing out the tops of his jeans before placing his elbows on his thighs. “You know, I’ve been asked that question plenty of times already? Mostly . . . no wait, ONLY by other Black folks. I gotta assume brothers and sisters ask you the same question.”
“Yes, they have, but when I tell them I went to private school my whole life, that seems to make enough sense for them. But I’m interested in your answer.”
“Simple. These kids need me.”
“What was that?” I ask, hearing a distinct familiarity in Jared’s response.
“Royal-Hawkins students need me. I mean come on, look around,” Jared sweeps his hand by the window and the controlled chaos of privilege hopped up in the courtyard. “Most of these kids living in Pasadena don’t see men who look like me in their everyday lives. They might run into a brother at a barber shop or working a car wash, but they rarely if ever see teachers, administrators”—Jared pauses to include me—“friends of their parents who look like me. Who look like you.” I’m enjoying this reflective side of Jared. He sounds as optimistic as I was as a new teacher who, too, felt compelled to be that positive model.
“I want these kids to get used to seeing a Black man in a position of authority, demanding their best, setting high standards for them to achieve. My goal is when my students grow up, they will be completely comfortable with anyone they have to answer to regardless of race.” I appreciate the social justice sentiment, but I have to bite my tongue from offering that Jared could use some guidance of his own when it comes to having a boss. He’s busy teaching lessons he hasn’t yet fully learned.
“Jared, you do light up a room wherever you go, and you also command respect. Role-modeling that type of positive energy in the world is important for kids to see. You definitely bring a cheerful vibe into school every day.”
“I get that from my mama,” Jared admits, willing to share some of his credit.
“I’d love to meet her someday,” I say, smiling and pulling my chair in a little closer. “I’m happy you’re comfortable sharing why it’s important for you to have strong relationships with this community.” I pause and give time for my last compliment to sink in, because the time has come to get real about his teaching.
“Aside from your role-modeling and rapport with the community, let’s talk about your actual classroom performance. How do you think your lesson planning and project design are going? The first year of teaching is extremely challenging, even for a smart young man such as yourself.” I’m dragging my toes along the edge of what I suspect is going to be unfriendly waters.
“Like I wrote in my reflection, I’ve got it all under control. Nothing for you to worry about.” Jared gives me a dismissive wave, checks the classroom clock above his head, and starts drumming his fingers on his thighs. “The kids are happy in my class, and they’re having a good time. So, there you go, the proof is in the pudding.”
“Uh-huh. But see, the thing is, the proof is actually not in the pudding. The proof is in the put-in.” Jared’s posture changes in reaction to my voice. He knows I’m not playing. “The sweat and soul you put into your work. The relationships you get out of it. You’re only going to become a great teacher if you put serious effort in to developing your teaching skills. From what I’ve observed this year, I’d say you’re putting a lot into making sure the parents like you, and for sure a lot into coaching basketball. I’m just not seeing you put in that same level of effort and commitment in your classroom. That’s what I’ve got to see if you want a future here.”