Middle Passage Part Two: The Talented Tenth vs. Bebe's Kids

Last week I spent a great deal of real estate weighing the pros and cons of elite White private schools for African American children.  (See Middle Passage, March 31, 2011). What I didn’t have the space to tackle – but was nipping at my heels – was the other side of the coin: the elitism of the so-called Black Upper Class.

Now if there’s anything that fries my shorts crispier than elitism in general, it’s this illusory and absurd caste and class system we have in the African American community.

Now to be fair, let me be the first to share my experience at being caught between this rock and very hard place.

I have the appearance of an original Philadelphia Negro. I am light-skinned, used to have long hair, and went to the Philadelphia High School for Girls.

What I didn’t have was  all the right accoutrements and connections. I lived in East Mount Airy instead of West. My parents were just a teacher and civil servant (not doctors, lawyers, and soul power chiefs).

While my Inner Rebel didn’t want any parts of this world, my outer cowardice wanted to conform and be accepted.

Growing up, all I knew about the elite is AKA Fashion Shows that my aunts always guilted my mother into attending. I also remember hearing people say you weren’t a proper Philadelphia Negro Woman unless you had a fur.

In spite of the fact that I did try to get every color Ralph Lauren or Izod polo shirt I could, along with every pocket design of Jordache jeans available, there were some things I just wasn’t gonna do, namely pledge AKA. I became (and remain) the only Delta in my family and - let the record reflect - Deltas have Fashion Shows, too.

Of course, I went on to cement my fate of guilt-by-association with the Upper Echelon by attending Howard University. Thus began my global exposure to the Talented Tenth. I was in the Land of the Philadelphia Negro times 10!

There were generations of pedigree I had no clue about. And for four years, I just fit in by default.

What I didn’t realize is that striving to fit in with “Their” Kind of People in undergrad was for amateurs compared to when we had children. That level of social climbing was strictly for professionals. (Little did I know that until I read Lawrence Otis Graham's Our Kind of People, I hadn't a prayer anyway.)

I once again felt the familiar sting of being an outsider but this was my child we’re talking about. I’m not talking about me making line or getting invited to someone’s summer cottage. This is my future, my legacy.

So the games began.

“Am I providing enough exposure?” I begin to wonder.  Do I have an Action Plan for the Middle School / High School / Power College Tract? I would hear, “So and so’s child is at Dartmouth, you know, because they spent summers at Sag Harbor with so and so’s family and went on to graduate Sidwell.” 

I was frankly out of my league.  I would see some of my Howard friends participating in all of this stuff and wonder why my six degrees seemed so separated. They were not all bourgeois but their kids had access. You know – Jack and Jill. Martha’s Vineyard. At least a Cotillion.

But I was not a part of “them” and I genuinely did not know what to do.

Mind you all of this is sorely against my constitution but still.

Well, my constitution got its chance to shine last spring when we left Anne Arundel County and the School of N-words and Spitting for Baltimore for a lot of reasons, fiscal challenges being chief among them.   

Once I decided where to live, I checked out the neighborhood school.

According to the Internet and my unofficial poll, there was nothing, I mean NOTHING, good said about this school! It did not meet the No Child Left Behind standards and was being taken over by the state. That meant a whole new regime was on its way. In addition, the students who did bother to show up scored in the low 20^th percentile in the state assessments measuring basic proficiencies.

I was not happy or comfortable but it truly was the best I could do given my circumstances.

So I take Drew out of Shangri-La for half a day for a field trip to see exactly what we are getting ourselves into.

I followed the directions from Google maps and felt my jaw drop when I saw it. It was small and old and quite non-descript. Not the winding roads and lush campuses of the previous year’s search, that’s for sure. Drew and I looked at each other with blank stares and broke out into cold sweats.

After we composed ourselves I said, “OK – if we walk through those doors and it’s the Lean On Me school with Joe Clark, a bull horn, and metal detectors, we scram, capisce?” She said, “OK!”

So in we go.

While its cinder block walls are painted a very 1960’s institution mint green, it is quiet, calm, and pleasant. We meet the principal, who seems nice enough, and I share the results of my research noted above. In response to my assessment, she smiles and says, “Yes, I know my school is just awful! Don’t you see the blood splattered on the walls and the students swinging from the ceilings?”

We both laughed but that wasn’t too far from the zoo I was expecting.

I’m like, I don’t see Bebe’s Kids but I know they’re around here somewhere.

She went on to explain the complicated world of No Child Left Behind and neighborhood schools and lack of support and every other social ill we hear about on the evening news. I really felt for her. I also felt like while I want what’s best for my child, what about the others who aren’t blessed with the options I have had in the past?

I think part of me was rationalizing my gnawing sense of failure (what would my Philadelphia Negro family and friends think is they saw this?!) but I did genuinely feel a sense of humility and awakening. What makes me think I shouldn’t be subject to the challenges most American families are faced with?

Well, I wish I could say the school has done a miraculous 180 and Drew’s public school experience in a predominantly Black environment was not as difficult as that of her predominantly white private school.

While I genuinely hope no one is offended, this was my daughter’s First Day of School Report:

“Mom! I made all new friends just like you said I would and they are so cool! I can’t wait until you meet DaQuan, Dayja, Marquis, Sade, Jai, Nazaraha, and Cortez.”

“I’m so glad, honey,” I reply.

Around week number three, Drew had a young man pull a knife on her on the school bus because she wouldn't kiss him and let her know he meant business by ripping the seat cushion in front of her. The next day her father and I were up at the school filing charges while the principal and the county police assured us they would review the surveillance camera on the bus for suspects and examine the bus for evidence.

Then there is this notion of her being accepted among her own.

I’ve had to watch her navigate a very different kind of peer pressure.

Drew, like her Mama, is light-skinned but she is unmistakably and unashamedly Black. But that didn’t help. Here’s a sample:

What the f*** kinda name is Drew?

Are you Mexican?

Is that your real hair?

Why don’t you wear track?

(An aside – Drew: “Mom, can I get track?” Mom: “Hell, no.”)

I suppose the most disheartening aspect of all of this is the academic reality.

We were told by the eighth grade principal that the county curriculum just isn’t robust enough for where Drew is academically no matter what school she attends.

Now contrary to popular opinion, neither Drew or her classmates are stupid. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, they simply learn early on that the world is politics. Teachers have to each to a test to maintain their jobs (and in this case, keep the school open). Teachers are also frustrated with students “acting out” but the students don’t feel like many of the teachers have any expectations of them, let alone high ones. (I’m not even scratching the surface of all that goes on so public school educators and administrators please forgive me!)

In spite of all of these factors, however, we have learned exactly what I've heard most parents say: by and large, if a teacher sees potential in a student and the parents stay engaged, he or she will look out for your child. While Drew may not have gotten all of what she needs, she has gotten the best this school has to offer. And she has learned some very necessary life lessons along the way.

So the conclusion of my meandering for the past two weeks is I’ve decided to follow my proverbial first mind. Success is 150% an inside job. Who and how we are primarily determines where we will go and how far. Sure, environment plays a role but remember to keep the main thing the main thing. And sometimes what seems like a negative on the surface is all part of the Master Plan.

I’d like to end with this quote:

“We believe we’re all so different, but we’re not. We cover ourselves in customs and costumes of aspiration, struggle, and victory, sacrifice and loss – and soon forget who we really are….I want to make sure I never lose sight of the truth of my existence. I am a ripple in the ocean of God and I want to be able to see my reflection in the face of everyone I meet, to understand that even people I will never know are reflections of my undisguised self.”

Here Oprah tells us what she knows for sure and for me, particularly in this context, it resonates. If you can get THIS, I don’t care if you go to Phillips Exeter or the Round-the-Way School, you will succeed, however success is defined for you.

What I Know for Sure

O, the Oprah Magazine, April 2011