I Love You Too, Jo(h)n Whiting

 "Who am I becoming as a teacher?"

I love talking about myself. I mean I love talking about myself. I am a black man, college educated born from a middle class family who loved me who always seems to have something new to reflect on every two seconds. And it is lovely because I have been unpacking “who I am” since I was young JODY. But throughout middle school, the grade I have been teaching since 2017, has opened up a magnitude of suppressed memories and feelings throughout my entire life. More specifically, my career as a teacher.

I was a “B+” student in school; I did my work at a fairly high level, I loved to read, loved to learn new things, loved that I had two, hardworking college-educated parents, loved to earn and give respect to my teachers and colleagues. I was bullied higher than average in reference to my peers, as I attributed to my geeky yet shy personality. My middle school was a nice pool of diversity, with mixed socioeconomic status and sociocultural differences (until a new school opened up years later, making it a low SES). My friends included a band geek, basketball player, low achieving student, book lover, a physically handicapped friend, and mentally handicapped friend. Not plural but all singular, as I had one of each. School was good to me and I reciprocated those feelings.

I began journaling privately in 7th grade, as I started to find my identity amongst my peers. I loved talking and reflecting about everything in that journal.  I played basketball, loved reading, loved playing my bass clarinet; I loved doing hobbies. My parents continuously (somewhat forcibly) encouraged me to follow different pursuits and numerous activities and I even have somewhat of an interest in. I liked them but not necessarily loved them. But I wanted to know the how of everything due to my eagerness to try new things and learn new things from my peers.. This was an ideal that is now extremely important and relevant to me as a 27 year-old, as my amount of interests only increased as time went on. 

Fast forward to my college years, the same amount of energy came up. Wanting to know how things work and how I could possibly make the world a better place through education. I wanted to hold that space for folks who may not have a group they belonged too because I couldn’t find one either. College gave me this platform to finally be a facilitator of information for anyone who wanted to learn. I was a part of running club, clean-up club, gardening up, environmental science club, dance club; anything that would prescribe me this piece of mind of me finding this identity. But as I people found these loves and passions in college, I became discouraged. How was I going to find what I was looking for and become this high-level professional adult in my career?

My teaching career started primarily due to me trying to figure out what I wanted to do post-college life.  All of these skills and talents I had and learned from working as a biologist, tour guide, recreational assistant, etc. had gotten me nowhere. I did not know what to do with my college education and my vast amount of knowledge and experience for someone who was 22 years-old. And I went into my first year of teaching, tiptoeing and I got exposed. Heavily. Terribly. I wasn’t a trained teacher when I first walked into a room full of 7th graders. I was a scared 12 year-old who used to get bullied by EJ and them boy and only talked to a bunch of weirdos. Whether I was 5’3, 130 pounds or 6’4 200 pounds, I walked into my first year of teaching 7th grade like I walked in my first year into 7th grade, as 7th grader. And I cried a lot those first couple of years I taught. Not because of the kids, mostly because I had an identity crisis. If I love teaching and love these kids and can’t teach these kids then who else is going to do it? 

  So I continued to teach without any regards to my emotions to a point I was gently asked to leave my career. The career that exemplified all of amazing attributes was exemplifying all my insecurities. I didn’t know how to talk to 7th graders, I didn’t know how to talk to my black 7th graders. It’s because I was the kid who talked to all of my teachers or read during lunch break. I was not going all in with little bit of gas but constantly going full-speed. All I had to do was push it to a gas station and gently drive off. 

The feeling of not being the best or not fitting in was a common trend. Yes, I had a wave and pool of friends but I only chose those outliers who helped me learn that specific skill. Managing and holding a space for groups of people became a talent I didn’t know I had until my current year in teaching, as my culture-setting for each of my classes is now beautifully executed. My family is a big deal to me and rarely do I like something but I always love something. The glory and pain of failure is a driving force for me. All of the teasing and isolation really hurt me growing up, especially from my black peers, especially from peers that I know are hurting as well. Sometimes I took it too personally but I always knew that if someone made even the smallest attempt to connect with me, whether it be as a peer or as a teacher, they were going to have a safe space to be in. Even if it was only for 5 minutes at the bus stop.

When It's Over

I have to remember, remind myself constantly that things don't last forever. Maybe elongated, like the Elongated Man but not forever. Circumstances come up, things change, but I never thought things change. I always thought that was a lie. Things just...reveal themselves.

I've spoken about this on numerous occasions, but my time in Colorado was some of the best years and more tragic years of my 27-year-old life. I was able to be in a space that allowed my creativity and high-functional self, ergh, function but with consequences of not maintaining my social or emotional well-being. And one of my growing points is to sustain my joy/happiness/what-have-you after relationships with friends, coworkers, romantic entanglements meet their end.

Relationships ended so often in Colorado, I just kept to my dogs that I ran on the weekends. I always resented that "coworkers are family" relationship, I never thought it was real. Well until recently. But even with that, I have to learn to move forward after loss. If I don't then I won't be able to deal with something that really is dissipated or more so extinct from my life forever.

But that revolving door of friends and sometimes family isn't healthy for anyone and that definitely affected me in my childhood in which transferred to my adulthood. I can't imagine any other primary school child verbally ending friendships are unreconcilable differences. I know exactly what I have earned and deserved, and San Antonio is the first city to begin to offer me everything I thought was impossible to attain. My life quote "You can try to change but that's just the top layer, you was who you was before you got here" resonates with me a lot. 

So if you ever hear me say "I don't care" or the more vulgar alternative, I do. I do a lot. And you have no idea how much it takes me to say that it's over.

The Minstrel Show: Pt. 3

Call it a little fear of thunder and lightning when I didn't jump off the top rope.

If I ever told you I don't give a duck, I probably give two ducks

I still owe my Uncle the $5

Still can't get right, 

Still giving old ladies rides to HEB to get their Prilosec

I used to make brownies for my bullies

Because they needed a father figure,

And I've been in the basement with Big Tigger

After too many Bobcats casually whispered in my ear "n*gger"

When I came out to you, you responded with "faggot" 

But I was hoping I needed to swab my ears out or you froze like lag switch, 

She built like BBQ kettle chips, so I took her on a date to Sweet Yams

Took her to Dollar Tree and gave her the $20 and said you can get 19

They told me I could get my black card back after I develop HBP and stop gentrifying my cornbread

He said he's half-American, half- Italian, so I called him homemade olive oil mayonnaise

And vegan food is delicious, wait, wait, Noname Jonny said vegan food is delicious!

I told them check the science, them and Ted Cruz told me they would if they could

But they can't read...boycott the SATs and the GRE

New Girl is on the TV and I'm already on my second stout,

So Ima finna pass out 

The Autobiography of My Dead Dog Pt. 2

As stated a few years ago I only have one regret in my life. Full of the ups and downs of being a teacher, almost leaving college,  moving over 30 times in less than a decade, multiple relatives contracting cancer, getting tens of thousands of dollars into debt, shattering parts of leg when I was child; there's only one. Just the one,

In Denver I worked for this organization that let me run people's dogs. For money. Running. Dogs. Money. Wowzers.

This was the place where I met all of my friends from my brief 2-year stint in Denver; running huskies, shepherds, collies, malamutes, those two German dogs, and  that one pictured below. Which reminds me of red panda and an angel who liked to take naps every other mile.

This was my safe space in a city which I had troubling adjusting too. These were my friends and I needed them.

Back in 2009 I played basketball for my high school. I had finally recovered from my knee surgery the year prior and I was hoopin'. My dog, who had been with me during the turbulent 4 years at the time, waited for me everyday after school and/or practice. As soon as I would get home, he knew I was going to run him. No matter what. At the time, he was a chiseled little demigod, mixture of shar pei and mountain curr. Enough skin to be a chicken thigh at Popeye's enough muscle to be in a english-dub anime. Whenever he got amped up, he could clear me. Easily.

But he's dead now. He died a couple of years ago. Fat, depressed, and without me. As I played basketball and my popularity rose with the jocks and ladies, he was given away to a family. My father told me in the car after practice. I called his bluff. I would have lost a hand.

As that school year went on, I quit basketball. I forgot that I hated high school at the time. And I wanted my dog back but he was hundreds of miles away, making some other kid happy, which I didn't give two ducks about. 

Giving away my dog for absolutely nothing still looms on my mind, as it was the first time I gave away a friend for notoriety and to go on the dates with the Gina's of the world. And that date sucked. It was the first time I gave up a friend and the last time.

After logging in over 2,500 miles with dogs between 2017-2019, and building those relationships with them it meant the world to me. I laughed, cried, got pulled along black ice slabs, jumped into alleyways, with these dogs. I felt like I was trying to rebuild my dogs final moments, the moments I never had with him. Even when I shattered my leg and I couldn't run with him, he would walk with me. 

Where Dem Hoes At? Part 2

 

Imma' tell you something beautiful,

More beautiful than cornbread, fish, and collard greens

More splendid than iced tea on a Tuesday evening after a 10 hour-shift at the shipyard,

Everlasting like, like, like, like 'Tuck Everlasting' 

Prettier than Cassius Clay sashaying in a square Kinshasa

You thought you have seen an angel when Willow pulled up at a local Waffle House.

And a niggy was there,

He told me that he's not going to ask me again, "where dem hoes at?"

I told 'em underneath the kitchen sink

I left a note for ya'

7 in the bedroom, 12 in the living room

I heard some people like the Snake and some people think my hoes look Deliciosa

And they would die without me, especially when I sprinkle them with that miracle water and essential nutrients 

Some thirsty daily, some thirsty weekly, but they all wait in line and get the sprits when need be

Most of them androgynous like they Megatron, 

I got more on the way, but they're back ordered like bread and eggs when the Austin Powers out,

I like to keep a couple of them in the cupboard because they don't like being exposed to the elements Corinne Bailey Rae's,

Whispering 'em sweet nothings, so they know daddy love 'em, and they always give me some sugar

Like my nickname is booger.

Imma' tell you something beautiful and don't think about too explicit, thank about how ya' moms would feel.

But if ya' mom has some hoes, tell her to keep 'em trimmed!

Slave Feet 10ks

I got negroes in very, very high places.

I remember because I was there, you were there, and you was there, I mean we all were

Wolfing down on hog maws a with the cornbread burnt on the sides like the back of Forest Whitaker's neck.

 

Then we heard Winchester rifles blooming,  blooming like some leopard orchids

Up along Greenwood District,

With no group chat to let y'all know we were free to go to Lennox Mall after dark.

I was going to drive us but he took the UPS.

And she was walking down Hancock, on some Tuesday morning.

I forget her name but she had fist comb up and a fist in the air, rattling off about the prison industrial complex and such.

But I was going to put my fist up, but I needed two hands to eat my fried chicken sandwich and I wasn't done yet.

While mayonnaise folks always wondered why we walked around with a built-in frown.

What a niggy know

When a niggy still get splinters from the ride over here, and still pissed off from the water casserole after waiting for a fortnight  or two or six or 12 or ten thousand

Ruby said they had better food at home, so she sent it back to Paula Deen

As I said, I have negroes in very high places.

Like John Witherspoon and Uncle Beaver

You had to be an angel in the next life to make catfish taste the most heavenly.

They keep reminding me that we ain't them, and I don't think like me

Chasing and yelling out "WHAT A NIGGY KNOW" as the Drake & Josh laugh track plays in the background

I didn't pay attention, I got 10ks to win with these slave feet

I won't bothering no one, massa' I was jus' chuckin' jivin' down MLK Boulevard suh'

Asking 'who that nigga' in dem Asics!'

And I let them borrow my stapler.

Nina Simone’s Inner Nina Simone

Sometimes you need to hear that you’re doing a good job and somehow KNOW you’re not wasting your potential. And be kind of a dick about it, 

The Jons and I were listening to “Igor” by Tyler and one of my favorite comedians Jerrod Carmichael referenced the concept of ‘wasted potential being detrimental to the soul’ (paraphrasing) which is not to be taken as a radial ideal. N*ggas continuously waste their potential every single day. Like most of the people I know in my Tier 1 and Tier 2 friendship will quickly take opportunities and then just as quick toss them in the garbage. The amount of people who loved doing activities or skills that are now lost for one reason or the other,

Why do people do that? Why do the Jons do that? Everyone does that sh*t.

One may look at self confidence and self esteem and self anything, really. You’re working a job and you’re doing great job and you’re numbers are high and you’re efficient and blah, blah, blah. At a certain point, nobody cares. People take that greatness for granted. Could you imagine be so proficient at something and people not acknowledging that you’re the lifeblood of a company. You’re probably putting minimum effort into it and you being more efficient than a heat pump. And nobody saying a thank you or a please or anything. 

At a certain point, free company yoga during a lunch break or a pizza party coddles you and suppresses you’re freewill cognitive ability. People over here in a cubicle selling paper in bulk and they can juggle knives with their tongue. Leaving no fingerprints,

Older people talk about working at a job for 25 years or talking about having kids and being married to their high school sweet heart. Some may call it consistency. Which is great and important but there’s also (I’ll call this a radical notion) that people don’t want to do those things. Sometimes people talk to Jonathan like making dance videos are embarrassing and “wait until I get older”. If I’m 48 and don’t love making dance videos over these past few years, please take my legs. Not everyone wants to be as miserable as you are,