Are Teachers Activists?
My father was a first generation college student. Raised in rural Massachusetts on public assistance, he comes from a large group of siblings, and one of the only Black families in the area. Excelling in school from an early age, he was identified by several of his teachers as gifted, and my grandmother in particular understood that an academic future might be his ticket away from poverty in a small, postindustrial town. My father went on to receive scholarships to a private high school, college, and finally a Ph.D. program, a feat which required herculean efforts on both his and his family’s part. Meanwhile, many of his siblings who struggled in school, battled drug addiction and found themselves in destructive relationships, did not receive the same kind of attention and support, having never been marked by any of their teachers as “worthy of escape.” While they were encouraged to pursue the vocations for which they had been typecast, my father left home in the 10th grade,