First Teacher Was Always Mama
“We Believe” — This is the third in a five-part series on the author’s reflections on the crisis in urban education and his alma mater, a…
“We Believe” — This is the third in a five-part series on the author’s reflections on the crisis in urban education and his alma mater, a place he calls “Adams’ Castle”
“Books were my pass to personal freedom. I learned to read at age three, and soon discovered there was a whole world to conquer that went beyond our farm in Mississippi.” — Oprah Winfrey
By John W. Fountain
Our white, rusty Rambler rumbled as we drew closer to Adams’ Castle.
It wasn’t a car any kid wanted to be caught dead in, especially pulling up to high school on the first day — and certainly not while also wearing green, double-knit slacks with one-inch cuffs, and black canvass sneakers.
I sat in back — my stepfather silently steering and Mama riding shotgun — filled with a mix of anticipation, fear and shame. The latter was mostly due to the ribbing I knew I would take once my new classmates spotted the green double-knitted nerd climbing from a rusting, sputtering clunker.
I was supposed to take the bus to Providence-St. Mel that August morning in 1974, but Mama didn’t have the 60 cents bus fare. Money was tight. And now there was tuition.
“…Long before I ever set foot in any school, Mama understood this: That no one was more responsible for my education than she was.”
Still, Mama vowed to scrounge, sacrifice and borrow for the next four years to avoid sending me to the public high school in my district, where she feared gangs, violence, drugs and a lack of educational rigor might consign me to a life of poverty — at least not give me the best chance for success.
Mama always pushed education. Even back then, education seemed to be a mantle carried more passionately by some teachers than others — none more than my second-grade teacher at Roswell B. Mason School, Miss Cartwright. In her eyes, even when she was scolding and demanding, I always saw hope and love.
There was also my elementary school principal, a hefty, goateed man named Mr. Riley whose Cadillac sagged when he climbed inside and who was cut from the same no-nonsense cloth as Paul J. Adams, III, St. Mel’s principal. Mr. Riley helped set the wheels in motion for me to attend St. Mel. Noting that my test scores showed “potential,” he suggested I apply to better high schools.
Looking back, it’s clear that while St. Mel put me on the path to success, what set me on the road to St. Mel was having loving, caring educators who back then would even visit your home and who raised the bar of unwavering expectation rather than make excuses — or accept any.
Also clear is that long before I ever set foot in any school, Mama understood this: That no one was more responsible for my education than she was.
Whatever she lacked financially, she never lacked in time and love — whether teaching me my ABC’s and 123’s, taking me to the library, reading to me, or making sure my homework was done, that I was in bed by 8:30 and up early, ready to learn. She endeavored to be a partner — not an adversary — with teachers and school: pushing, prodding, praying and with great sacrifice, paying, in so many ways, from the day I was born.
Today too many parents seem more focused on what’s on their daughters’ heads than what’s inside them; more on what kinds of shoes are on their children’s feet than on steering them from the wayward places their feet might carry them.
Far too many seem focused on the frivolous, on providing entertainment, gadgets, games and other stuff that pale in comparison to a quality education — still worth more than gold.
Today some children can recite the vulgarity of Lil Wayne but can’t write a simple sentence. They can curse but can’t spell “the.” They know how to shake their booty but don’t know their ABC’s. (Lord, help us!)
How do you blame schools for that?
Finally, the old Rambler arrived. I climbed out and sidled up the school stairs, sure enough, to a few snickers. And yet, I know now, I was never better dressed for success.
#Psmproud
Email: Author@Johnwfountain.com
Website: johnwfountain.com
We Believe Series:
