Time to Unpack: White Privilege from the Soul of a Boricua
My NEA Story
It’s been almost a month since my trip to Denver to attend the National Education Association Representative Assembly, and I still haven’t unpacked. It’s time.
Truth be told, I’ve been unpacking for weeks. Quietly. Thoughtfully. Not the kind of unpacking that you might expect. I’m not talking about the red duffle bag stuffed with wrinkled, unused union shirts and forgotten mementos from my trip. That bag still sits in the corner. I’ve been unpacking something else, something much more serious.
I’ve been unpacking my soul.
They say, sometimes, it takes a traumatic experience to ignite the passion to do some soul searching. Sometimes, it takes a loss in the family, a lost job, or a lost love.
For me, it took a tweet. Yes, a tweet.
Let me explain. To do that, I must start at the beginning. My beginning.
I am a Florida native, born and raised. My mother’s family comes from the banks of North Florida’s Suwanee River. Needless to say, they are country folk – grit eating, sugar cane growing, country folk.
My father, on the other hand, was born on the island of Puerto Rican. His mother, whom I fondly called ‘mi abuelita’ , was born on Vieques, a smaller island off the tip of Puerto Rico. My father’s family were also country folk, harvesting pineapples on their Island, and chasing wild chickens at dinner time.
And, yet, while both families lived off their land in a similar manner, my two families are very different. The American culture of my mother and my Puerto Rican heritage are Continuing Change | Enlightenment through Empowerment: