How Parents and Teachers Should Teach Children About Slavery

This email exchange with Dr. Alicia Moore was originally published on BlogHer.com in 2011. IIt is being republished here because changes in the ownership of BlogHer have resulted in content created on that platform becoming inaccessible.

April 12, 2011 marked the 150th anniversary of the assault on Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, launching the United States into four years of bloody civil war. This year’s anniversary has occasioned panels, debates, balls and a raft of commemorative activities. However, it has also presented challenges to educators and parents about how to teach children about this crucial but contentious time in ways that are both honest and sensitive. Of all the difficult issues surrounding the Civil War era, helping children understand slavery can be especially daunting.Last month, residents in one Ohio community had a reminder of how difficult that challenge can be when school administrators in Gahanna, a small town near Columbus, apologized for a teacher who had her students pretend they were part of a slave auction. The fifth-grade social studies students were divided into “masters” and “slaves.” Ten-year-old Nikko Burton, one of two black students in the class, told reporters he felt humiliated as other students looked in his mouth and felt his muscles to gauge his health and strength. Burton’s mother, Aneka, called the lesson insensitive and racist.And yet, this incident raises questions about how to talk to children about slavery in a constructive way that still helps them understand its horrors. Dr. Alicia Moore, an associate professor of education at Southwestern University, is uniquely positioned to address that question. In addition to being a teacher-educator, former K-12 teacher and school principal, Moore is co-editor of the Black History Bulletin, a journal published by the Association for the Study of African American Life and History. The Black History Bulletin is intended to serve primarily as a curricular resource for secondary school teachers. One of its most recent issues focused on African Americans and the Civil War.

BlogHer: At what age is it appropriate to begin talking to children about painful episodes in history such as slavery? How should parents approach the subject?

Moore: I believe that both parents and teachers can begin talking about “slavery,” at least from a conceptual standpoint, as early as prekindergarten — and, before there is a backlash about what is and is not developmentally and/or age appropriate for young children, let me explain. There are three important points to consider when addressing the practicality of talking about the historical events of this nation with children of any age, especially a topic like slavery that is wrought with controversy regarding how to teach it, or whether it should be taught at all.


The first point to consider is why a topic such as slavery should be considered important for young children. There are several reasons why it is important, but I will only speak to two. One reason involves the work of dismantling the fallout of slavery that manifests itself in mis-education regarding who should and should not be valued in our society. If we consider the work of Dr. Joy DeGruy Leary, whose work explores Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, we may choose to take to heart her assertion that due to slavery, Americans of all races continue to be exposed to its injuries through a perpetual and systematic “hierarchy” of privilege based upon skin gradation — a “the lighter the skin color, the better” mentality. With this in mind, I think that it is important that children first be taught that all people should be valued regardless of their differences. Later, it makes sense to discuss ways in which this valuing of all is antithetical to slavery’s tenets.

Another reason involves the fact that children should be presented with information that provides them with an understanding of the institution of slavery as it relates to history, both world and US. This information provides an opportunity to begin to understand the enslavement of Africans and their valiant fight for freedom in this country. As well, the history of slavery in this country is useful in helping students to recognize the true significance of events ranging from the Civil War and the Civil Rights Movement, to the election of the first African American president. As my 105-year-old father says, “You can’t truly understand where you’re going until you know where you’ve been.”

The second point to consider is what should be taught. We must realize that many events in US history are not pretty and there are countless things about slavery that we would all like to forget due to the painful images and emotions evoked while teaching and learning about it. Yet, leaving slavery out of our curriculum altogether is not a viable option. I believe that through omission, an implicit message is being sent that this troublesome portion of our nation’s history is not important and that old atrocities should be buried quietly with those who suffered through them. Moreover, omission does not provide our young people the option of using the mistakes of the past to continue to build a brighter future. Besides, these omissions silence the courageous efforts of those who, both black and white, fought against slavery and for human rights.

From an additional standpoint, author Beverly Tatum wrote about teaching children about slavery and shared that it is necessary to be open and honest about the racism of the past and the present while also providing “children (and adults) with a vision that change is possible.” With this in mind, I believe that it is also important to teach children about our journey as a nation from slavery to freedom, the heinous treatment endured by enslaved people, and the importance of becoming advocates and activists who work toward continued progress in race relations. Along with this knowledge about slavery, teachers should take care to share other facets commonly left out of textbooks that can expand the historical knowledge base of children. They should teach children about the work of abolitionists and historical accounts of the lives of slaves and slave owners. As well, they should teach about white allies who fought against the injustices of slavery and that many slaves were not passive victims as textbooks portray them; they protested their situations through courageous resistance.

The third point to consider is how slavery should be taught. Teaching about slavery, just as teaching about any controversial subject, should involve planning and preparation that focuses on the culture and climate of the classroom community and the use of common sense. One aspect to consider involves presenting prerequisite concepts, knowledge, and skills within the Social Studies that prepare students for the information. This entails a careful examination of what is developmentally and age appropriate when broaching the subject of slavery and involves an understanding of how to be responsive to, and sensitive of all children within the classroom community. And, finally, it involves prerequisite concepts that include friendship and conflict resolution in its simplest form. I think that by teaching children about these concepts, you are preparing them for the topic of slavery while building a classroom community where all children are poised to learn and grow together.

Children and adults may find the topic of slavery uncomfortable and teachers should take care to be sensitive to the childrens’ emotional needs, as well as their own. This means not intentionally engaging in activities that will either shame or demean African American children, or evoke feelings of shame or guilt for white children. Feelings should be talked about and the teacher should acknowledge that this is an important and intense topic that is sometimes difficult to discuss. However, I think that the biggest challenges arise when teachers are actually afraid to teach about the institution of slavery because of their own fears that they will “not do it right”. To prepare for teaching about slavery, teachers should make sure they have laid the foundation for teaching about this intense topic, they possess adequate background knowledge about slavery, and they have an adequate understanding of what is ethically right and wrong when planning activities to explore slavery. As well, school districts should provide professional development that focuses on providing teachers the knowledge and skills they need to teach about difficult topics while create a learning environment that is respectful and conducive to learning for all.

BlogHer: What are some effective strategies for teaching elementary school students about slavery?

Moore: You mentioned a recent story about an incident in which a teacher had students participate in an inappropriate role-playing activity to teach students about slavery. Along those same lines, in 2008, a story surfaced about a New York teacher who bound the hands and feet of two 13 year old African American female students and had them climb under a desk to simulate the cramped conditions found on slave ships to teach a lesson about slavery. Her actions were considered to be “misguided” and the teacher kept her job. In Norfolk, Va., this year (2010) a fourth-grade teacher separated black and mixed-race children from their white peers and staged a mock auction. This teacher’s actions were described as “well-intended” and though it was reported that “appropriate action” was being taken, I am sure that she will be allowed to keep her job, as well. These are only a few stories in which teachers took rather foolhardy routes to teach children about slavery. So, let’s just say that these teachers were merely “misguided” or “well-[intentioned]” and should be given the benefit of the doubt. What’s wrong with this picture? What is it that makes professionally educated teachers seek to teach lessons in slavery at the expense of their student’s emotional health and well-being? Before I reference effective strategies for teaching students about slavery, let me go on record as saying these instances clearly remind us of what not to do.

One effective strategy for teaching young children about slavery is through the use of literature to support lessons. Examples of appropriate books to be read to or shared with young children include Follow the Drinking Gourd by J. Winter (1988), Sweet Clara and the Freedom Quilt by Deborah Hopkinson (1993), In the Time of the Drums by Kim L. Siegelson (1999), and Aunt Harriette’s Underground Railroad in the Sky by Faith Ringgold (1992). Another is class discussions that provide opportunities for students and their teacher(s) to discuss their feelings when talking about slavery. Additionally, author Beverly Tatum suggested a strategy that uses an open-ended format to allow teachers to acknowledge the possible discomfort of their students while affording them the same outlet. ( See Tatum’s article: It’s Not So Black and White: Discussing race and racism in the classroom.)

BlogHer: Do you have any comments on the wisdom of staging a mock slave auction as a teaching tool?

Moore: Wisdom = understanding, knowledge and insight. There is no wisdom involved here. Don’t do it! We are all human and all make mistakes, but what would give a teacher the idea that this was an appropriate strategy to teach anything this controversial? How do you think that it is feasible for even one of your students to become the collateral damage of your lesson? I think what is even sadder is reading comments posted after stories of these disastrous activities and realizing that there are people who really think the actions of these teachers are, and I am paraphrasing, funny; appropriate; done, so get over it; a great way to get students engaged; and a good opportunity for learning soured by one whining parent and child; — you fill in the blanks. My comment is, “Just don’t do it!”

BlogHer: In recent years, some school boards have tried to soften the language used to describe the experience of slavery in their curricula. Would you care to comment on this?

Moore: If you are referring to school boards in Louisiana and Texas having approved textbooks that refer to the Civil War as the “The War for Southern Independence” which was previously popular on the confederate side of the war, yes, I am familiar with the softened, if not inaccurate, language. I find that this reference to the Civil War seeks to use the other-side-of-the-coin assertion that attributes the cause of the war as being primarily over state’s rights and taxation; yet, downplays the role of slavery. To this, I merely direct readers to the 1861 Texas Ordinance of Secession. If you are referring to the sanitization of Mark Twain’s classic, Huckleberry Finn, through a censored reprint that replaces the ‘N’ word with “slave” and “Injun” with “Indian”, I am also familiar; however, I have mixed emotions that vacillate between understanding the common consensus about the intent of the offensive language Twain used in his work and my own personal exasperation about the personal physical pain I feel each time I read or hear the ‘N’ word uttered. Either way, my thoughts are personal — that whether written language is “softened” or not, it is the actions and words of people whose hearts are hardened, and who do not understand the complexities of the perpetuation of derisive terms and their impact on people. If you are not at risk of words damaging your psyche or the psyche of those you love, this will not make sense.

BlogHer: Talking about slavery and its role in American history can still create controversy and discomfort in some families and communities. Do you have thoughts about how educators and community leaders can foster constructive conversations about the lessons of our troubled history?

Moore: First of all, I have to remind myself that the institution of slavery endured 250 years and our country is only 234 years old. Slavery lasted longer than our country has been established!! Wow! What an opportunity for families, educators and communities and community leaders to talk openly and honestly about our nation’s history – an opportunity to proclaim, like the old Virginia Slims commercials, “We’ve come a long way, baby!” And, in the same breath, recoil and decree, “Yet, we have a long, long way to go!”

When answering questions about constructive conversations and the subsequent discomfort when discussing difficult topics such as slavery, I often refer to Beverly Tatum’s work about seeking to come “to terms with past and present injustice” and the discomfort in doing so that “is often cause for anger and guilt, frustration and despair.” Let me read you what she wrote: “All children, regardless of color, need to find the hope in this history. We must not insensitively sanitize the pain of those caught in the bind of oppression. We need to celebrate the strength of the human spirit to go beyond the roles of victim and victimizer. In doing so, we may inspire one another to do likewise in the struggle against the contemporary injustices we face.” I think that constructive conversations can be fostered through actively talking about our history and seeking to continue to heal. In doing so, we can use the tribulations of the past to create triumphs for present and the future.

BlogHer: Is there anything more that parents and educators should know or think about with respect to this issue?

Moore: Yes. Do not conduct drive-by discussions about slavery, racism, or other controversial topics. Controversial topics, including slavery, can become easier with each conversation. Dialogue is imperative and provides an opportunity for inaccuracies, feelings of shame, guilt or other yet-unnamed emotions to surface, be discussed and for us all to find ways to heal. Conversely, when we seek to hide our history in the shadows of the past, the message is sent that we should all be afraid or ashamed. Thus, blacks may feel afraid or ashamed of connections to slaves and whites may feel the same about the possibility that their predecessors may have been slave owners. The truth is that we should not allow slavery to reflect who we were from a shameful perspective, but who we have become as a progressive, yet struggling country. We should seek to be free of the legacy of slavery as present-day shackle of hate and expand the limited scope of this part of our history as humans.

The best advice I can give is, do not think that by shielding our children from the past, we are creating some kind of futuristic, post racial, altered space that makes the legacy of slavery go away. Children deserve to learn about the history of this nation from knowledgeable parents and educators who have their best interest at heart and can help them to make sense of past hurts and show them how to make progress toward a better day.

 

References

Resources

 

Kim Pearson
BlogHer Contributing Editor|KimPearson.net|

BlogHer is non-partisan, but many of their bloggers are not.

Comments

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So glad you wrote this!

April 20, 2011 – 8:55am

I’m bookmarking this and intend to get the books described here.

Rita Arens authors Surrender Dorothy and is the editor of Sleep is for the Weak. She is BlogHer’s assignment and syndication editor.

 

Thanks for suggesting it!

April 20, 2011 – 10:20am

Since you were the person who brought the Ohio story to my attention, I have to thank you. I am so glad you found it helpful. Dr. Moore is a font of useful information on this topic!

Kim Pearson
BlogHer Contributing Editor|KimPearson.net|

Blogher is non-partisan, but many of their bloggers are not.

 

perfect timing

April 20, 2011 – 10:41am

So happy to read this. I’m currently working on a project centered around how parents/caregivers can help their young children develop a critical consciousness, and the resources you provide will be immensely helpful.

I think it’s never too early to start talking about our nation’s complex history – as both a way of (hopefully) alleviating patterns of inequities and instilling hope.

As always, thank you for your relevance and resourcefulness!

Lara

Notions of Identity

 

Teaching About Slavery

April 20, 2011 – 6:55pm

Excellent article! Thank you both.
I, too, believe children should be taught about the fact of slavery at an early age. This will prepare them for the cruel, indifferent and ignorant folk who may cause damage to a child’s psyche. And I am speaking of ALL children. Tell the youth the truth!

 

For Young Children

April 21, 2011 – 12:16pm

I suggest resources such as Anti-Bias Curriculum published by NAEYC.

I also have a vast array of other resources and references suitable for the Birth to Grade 2 set.

My Second Masters Thesis at Wheelock College was in the area of Anti-Bias Curriculum, White Privilege and Parenting a Bi-racial Child, so I am happy to share if people are interested.

Dawn Rouse

Writer, Thinker, Nap-Taker and almost Doctor of Education

I am Doing the Best I can

True Wife Confessions

 

Thank you.

April 22, 2011 – 11:03am

Wow. Thank you so much for this. Much needed.

subWOW

Trying to stay under the radar so I may speak my mind.

 

 

 

slavery

April 22, 2011 – 7:18pm

I think it is also important to educate that slavery still exists and there are things we can do about it. I only buy chocolate that is organic and fair trade–not from companies that use child slaves to work their fields for example. Coffee is another big one. I am saddened that often when I bring this up to otherwise aware people they simply do not want to change their buying habits!

 

I love learning so I’m

April 23, 2011 – 1:22pm

I love learning so I’m straight and to the point with my students and children. No opinions, just facts offered through a compassionate but firm teaching of once was and is, and certainly not limited to the topic of American slaves, which is nicely outlined in this article.

My ongoing issue is having my children fit into school life knowing the truth. For example, my 3-year-old went to her early Montessori School experience almost every day correcting her teachers on such topics as Christopher Columbus didn’t discover America because the Native American people were already here; Eskimos are called Inuits; 2001 is said as two thousand one because there’s no decimal in 2001 so we don’t say two thousand and one. Sadly, my daughter has learned to keep her comments to herself. She’s in 2nd grade now and no longer at that school but still remains to keep quiet during class discussions. I tell her that one day she will encounter teachers/professors/friends who will embrace what she thinks and will wholeheartedly agree. I also told her that I wouldn’t be a good mother if I didn’t tell her the truth. She understands but she does get lonely.

This article and the other posts here give me hope that she won’t be alone.

 

Thank You!

April 26, 2011 – 8:58pm

Thank you to all of the readers who have provided comments and suggestions. I am renewed and hopeful, still, for a better and brighter tomorrow.

Alicia Moore

A Rough-Hewn Kind of Beauty

This was originally published on BlogHer.com in 2011. It has also been reprinted in the magazine for the Spondylitis Association of America. It is being republished here because changes in the ownership of BlogHer have resulted in content created on that platform becoming inaccessible.

Me as a toddler, bride, and in middle age.

Some months ago, a phone conversation with my BlogHer colleague Rita Arens turned toward my experience of having ankylosing spondylitis, an arthritic condition that froze my spine over the course of 30 years, first into a ramrod pole and now into a shepherd’s crook. With her encouragement, I jabbered on about how, along the way, I’ve loved and lost, borne and raised two children, managed a career and had bi-lateral hip replacements – two surgeries – a week apart, followed by single doses of radiation. Then Rita suggested that my story would be a good addition to the “Own Your Beauty” series.

That shut me up.

I don’t write about AS. I haven’t really had the words. And talk about it in the context of a conversation about beauty? Beauty has been a vexed notion for me all my life. Being born into a striving black family meant focusing on achievement, not beauty. Coming of age in the 1970s, of course, I was black and proud, owned a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves, and read Essence magazine cover to cover.

But I didn’t have much of the socialization into mainstream beauty culture that it’s assumed American women go through. My friends and most of my female relatives don’t wear make-up. They like nice clothes but don’t obsess about them, and it’s only with the arrival of my daughter’s generation that I’ve heard any of them squeal about a pair of shoes.

Ankylosing spondylitis robbed me of the one thing I’d always considered foundational to being beautiful: erect posture. When I was at my most bitter and self-pitying, it seemed to me that AS made a proud black woman bend like a swaybacked Georgia mule. When the condition started to remold my body during my late 20s and 30s, I started to feel walled off from other women. I gradually lost the physical ability to do simple things women do to make themselves look presentable and professional – much less attractive. My hair, clothing, and footwear choices were determined more by what I could manage than what I preferred.

I once had a friendly relationship with my body. As a teenager, I had worked it into a fairly athletic condition using yoga, calisthenics, and weights. I loved the way my legs pumped and my lungs filled when I rode a bike. I loved the way my body flowed, bumped and swiveled to music. And yes, there was a time that I enjoyed the way it looked in a bathing suit and let me slice and kick my way across a swimming pool. In other words,I liked my body as much for what I could make it do as for the way it looked. Then ankylosing spondylitis started locking my vertebrae, sapping my energy and turning me into a woman who hunched like the hated teacher in that 90s cartoon, “Recess” and moved (to my mind) like Lon Chaney in the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I felt betrayed. Like Job, I wanted God to tell me what I had done to deserve this.

It would take a few years before I got off my high horse and acknowledged that there was nothing special about me that should make me exempt from illness or disability. Why me? Why not me? And by now, I knew plenty of people who would have been happy to have had the 29 years I’d had of being able-bodied. I also knew that there was plenty that this body could still do, if I treated it right. And so, I sought my body’s forgiveness, and we’ve reached a kind of friendship again where I do my best to keep it fed, exercised, medicated and rested, and it does its best to keep me as upright as it can …

So I can look at my body in a mirror with respect, and even care, but beauty? What does that mean for me, anyway? Around the time I turned 50, I joined Facebook. Over the next couple of years, I scanned and posted just about every picture I found of myself, from toddlerhood through middle age. Part of me wanted to tell the world that I hadn’t always looked like this. When old school friends posted their own pictures of me from college, I snapped them up for my profile. Part of me wanted my children to see what Mommy used to look like.

What amused and surprised me was the number of male friends – some of whom had been objects of my silent affection in college – who commented on how beautiful I was in those old photos. Of course, they never gave me a second glance when I actually looked liked that. A young woman grows prettier in the nostalgic mind of a middle-aged man, I learned.

My body had become so alien to me for so long that I had ceased to think of it as anything to which one could attach beauty or ugliness – certainly nothing like sexuality. It’s not that I ceased to be a sexual being; that’s just part of being human. It’s that I had to find a new way to think of myself as a sexual being, since my body didn’t function the way it once had. In those days, my body was a conveyance for my senses, and a means of doing the work I had to do to get my children grown. It was a thing apart from me.

I knew of others who had been forced to make similar adjustments. As a young woman, I worked for a comprehensive cancer center as a lay counselor and newsletter editor. In the course of that job, I learned a bit about sexuality and body image counseling for cancer patients. I worked with people coping with the loss of breasts, testicles, limbs, or the sudden presence of colostomy bags.

However, psychosocial support for ankylosing spondylitis patients is limited, because it is a relatively rare condition. I was diagnosed in 1986, and I didn’t meet another woman with the condition until 2003. I still haven’t met another woman who has dealt with AS during a pregnancy. There are now some online support groups, but the one thing I learned is that everyone’s experience with this condition is completely different.

I told a friend that I later realized that part of what I was doing was trying to see the changes in my own body over time – to make me real to me. For so long, I had felt like this able-bodied woman trapped inside this alien shell that looked like me. Seeing the photos over the years helped me absorb the truth that the body I had once had, the one that pressed its strength against the world, danced in moonlight, and rose with the dawn to suckle my first born – that body had been transformed. What has replaced it may not be as graceful on the outside, but it has its own rough-hewn appeal. It endures. it holds off the ravages of time so I can love a bit longer and learn a bit more. And it still lets me dance.

Today, my children are grown, my career is in a satisfying place and I’ve grieved enough to know that life is precious and meant to be savored, even when it doesn’t deal you the cards you expected or wanted. So I suppose, in that sense, I can own up to a kind of beauty. Yes, I can.

Related links:

Kim Pearson
BlogHer Contributing Editor|KimPearson.net|

BlogHer is non-partisan, but many of their bloggers are not.

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jennyfoo 5 pts

I was diagnosed with AS 3 years ago. I’ve got 4 kids ages 3-13. It’s been very difficult to accept that my old supermom body & even brain just aren’t capable of doing everything any more. I’m still struggling to accept the limitations this disease has put on me. It’s very hard. I keep fighting for more, hoping something else will be my miracle cure, but in 3 years, I’ve just gotten worse. It’s difficult for me to not be able to do the things I want with my kids & husband. I’ve always been a stubborn overachiever. My family & friends were so concerned when I adopted a drug addicted baby boy from foster care. I was so determined to show them I could do it, that I adopted 2 more, a girl, then another boy. I’m now raising 4 wonderful kids who all have special needs, & I guess so do I. Somehow we make do.

Your story was an inspiration to me. I hope that some day I will be able to accept what AS has done to me, but for now, I’m fighting it with all I’ve got. I’m still young(34), I’ve got young kids. I fight for them.

hlab27 5 pts

I am just 36 but already fed up of this life. It’s so painful. I have seen almost all renowned rheumys in the US. There is no cure for this disease. This disease reminds me everyday, morning and evening, that life is beautiful but there is nothing that I can do. All I can do is fret upon my bad luck.

Very beautiful article! A source of inspiration for people like me! Thanks for sharing your story.

Regards

SSA

shura9123 5 pts

Thank you so much for sharing your story. It reminds us of our humanity,and what is increasingly important, and that is the truest of beauty that lies inside our souls. You are so beautiful and inspirational and I will share your story…they’re are many who can learn from your life lessons.

SeasideMaestrina 5 pts

My father has also undergone a physical transformation due to AS. He was a football and baseball player, an active student through college and graduate school around military service and engineering research. Now, he is an engineering consultant who struggles to find comfort just sitting, much less actively standing and moving around, in the lab where he works. He’s an involved, loving and interested grandfather with a reputation as the “project guy” rather than the “swim and throw the ball guy” because a comfortable seated position at the kitchen table is the best and only way he can participate in things with them. My memories of learning to throw balls, swim, run, play games, are an identity my children will never know of him. I am not sad for their loss; I am sad for mine. It is his hope, as it is mine, that this legacy is not shared with those children, so they never know this transformation the way he, and you, have.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

From your lips to God’s ears! Thank you so much for sharing your story. I wish your father and your family much joy. SeasideMaestrina

Elin 5 pts

Kim, Thank you for writing this! What a beautiful, inspiring, and honest article! I know the spondylitis community, as well as anyone who’s had to struggle with the ‘relationship with their body’ as you put it, will find much here to draw strength from. Thank you for reminding us what grace looks like.

Elin Aslanyan

Spondylitis Association of America

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Wow, it’s great to hear from someone from the SAA! Thank you for your words and for all the good work you do. How cool would it be to see people who look like us in women’s magazines or other media? Of all of the unexpected pleasures of having written this post, one of the greatest is hearing from others with AS who feel that I’ve helped them. Thanks, again. Elin

bereccah 5 pts

This is an amazing post. I wish there was a way to tell you, a perfect stranger, how proud I am of you as a person without it sounding weird. Oh well, I’ll just take my chances. 😉 Thank you very much for sharing.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Not weird at all. I’m grateful for your words. Thank you. bereccah

Eve1 5 pts

Thank you for the wonderful blog! Sharing your perspective of life and how you balance everything with understanding and compassion for your self is wonderful. You have “grace” which is a rare atribute to find in many people.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Thank you. Eve1

Moni86 5 pts

“…I’ve grieved enough to know that life is precious and meant to be savored, even when it doesn’t deal you the cards you expected or wanted.” Thanks for this beautiful post. It takes a lot to share something so personal and to get that to that point in your life where you can be at peace with your condition. I’ve just forwarded it to a dear friend of mine who at the ripe age of 25 was recently diagnosed with MS. Hope this will post will be an even greater inspiration to her.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Moni86 Thank you. I’m honored to hear that you think my words might help your friend. I am sorry to hear of her diagnosis. I wish love and light to you both.

MommyRachelle 5 pts

I’m in tears right now because I know how very difficult it is to share something about yourself so candidly. You are, indeed, a beacon of strength that has a beautiful outlook on accepting all life throws at you and discovering a personal friendship with yourself (self worth). Beautifully written.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Thank you. I think the biggest challenge has been to plumb the layers until I am really being honest. Part of the reason I used to worry about writing about this because I did not want to violate my family’s privacy or stress them out by expressing feelings that would make them sad, and that they couldn’t fix. I am fortunate, especially, in that my children are very supportive of anything I do that gives me greater agency in confronting this illness. It is yet another way in which I am blessed. MommyRachelle

Wordologist 5 pts

Kim, I remember the day when I went to see you after the strange phone call about how you couldn’t move and had to go to the hospital. We both were young then. Little did we know that you would be a template for living with a disability. Little I know that when my turn came and I got crushed to the mat by a disability-fibromyalgia that I looked to you as a role model to tell me keep trying and to snatch back pieces of my life. So what we both had to wear sensible shoes or regard each staircase as Mt. Everest or use electric scooters while doing life’s journey.You helped me decide to climb and drive it anyway. Thank you for being the scout. Thank you for leaving the markers in the wilderness, creating a trail spying out rest spots and opportunities for me and for others to follow.

Also, thank you Kim, for mentioning the task that making friends with your body isn’t easy. It always remembers the arrogance that you assumed it would keep on doing what it’s always done with no complaint. But making a peace treaty can be done and if you can do right, sometimes your body will allow you to dance the electric slide.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Wordologist No fair making me cry. I am very proud of you for the strides you have made and are making. Love you old friend.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

And PS – yes, I remember that time and many others. Thank you for all of your help, advice, support and hugs through the years. Wordologist

DitchYourJobNow 6 pts

Wow. That was an incredible, honest recap of the emotions you have been through in your lifetime with AS. It’s sounds cliche to say that it put things into perspective, however, just the thought of joining Facebook and putting a profile pic up is something one doesn’t think of. That must have been quite a hurdle for you. That said, I am honored to have read this post. I am inspired with women who “feel’ the pain of life sometimes, but come out on the other side with a whole new respect and lesson learned that they can teach others. Kudos to you!

Kim Pearson 6 pts

DitchYourJobNow Thank you. I am determined to be as healthy as I can, in mind and body. This experience is showing me that I don’t have to be stoic in pursuit of that goal.

anicolosi4 5 pts

Kim,

As I told you last night–you truly are special and my hero. Thanks for sharing this.

Love,

Annie

Kim Pearson 6 pts

anicolosi4 Thank you, Annie.

bklynstacy 5 pts

So, so beautiful. The words, the life, the video! But especially the words and the fierce and proud soul that wrote them. Thank you.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Thank you. bklynstacy

Rita Arens 7 pts

I have to say, the video is totally the best part.

Kim Pearson 6 pts

Thanks to all of you for your kind words. Gena Haskett , show them how we Philly girls do it! 😀 I have a lot of people to thank for helping me open myself to this conversation, but I should especially thank the family member who shot the video, and my daugher ja_tun and Freakwincey. which is the band that was playing. Watching the video, is what finally got me to open up, I think.

DesiValentine4 27 pts

There is profound beauty in strength – in YOUR strength. Thank you for telling us your story.

Gena Haskett 6 pts

Rock on Professor! I’m going to the BlogHer11 dance session and tap out a step or two in your honor. The over 50’s gotta represent in all aspects of life. I feel a bit sheepish. I thought you were holding the camera and then it hit me that you were really dancing.

Too cool for school, it is unquestionable that you rule!

Mir Kamin 6 pts

I love this, every word. Thank you for opening up, Kim. You’re one of the most beautiful women I know, inside and out.

Nordette Adams 6 pts

Beautiful and inspirational, Kim. Also educational, and I especially loved the Electric Slide video of you. 🙂

Conversation from Twitter

professorkim
professorkim

PeacheyPlanner ArtAppleADay Thank you so much! Nice to meet fellow survivors.

PeacheyPlanner
PeacheyPlanner

ArtAppleADay my body and I are still indisagreement. learning to #cope and just get over it! 😉

ArtAppleADay
ArtAppleADay

PeacheyPlanner that was great – my body is rebelling at the present time 🙂 so no agreement has yet been reached – something to hope for!

PeacheyPlanner
PeacheyPlanner

ArtAppleADay i love the quote “I sought my body’s forgiveness, and we’ve reached a kind of friendship again” #teamspondy reunite!

ArtAppleADay
ArtAppleADay

PeacheyPlanner I know – me too. So glad more people are sharing their stories. #teamspondy is awesome!

My Great-Grandfather Was Enslaved

Note: This is a re-creation of a post that was originally published on BlogHer.com in 2010.  Since BlogHer was sold to SheKnows.com, some content has become inaccessible. 

My great-grandfather

Dear Great Grandfather Jordan,

I write to you with some trepidation, not knowing what, if any, characteristics or values accompany a soul as it traverses from the mortal to the immortal plane. You lived from the mid-19th century to the mid-20th, and like most men of that time, I’m told that you held to the belief that children were to be seen and not heard. Uncle Bill told me that among your daughter Mattie’s children, you shared your slavery-time stories almost exclusively with him, since he was the oldest living, and a boy besides. Then again, cousin Mel heard a tale or two from you, perhaps from when you stayed at Melvina’s house (his grandmother, your daughter). But you have haunted me since I learned about you back in 1977, and now I have a picture of you, and there are things I must know.

I first learned of you while watching “Roots”, the landmark miniseries about one family’s journey from Africa, through the Middle Passage, to slavery and the epic struggle for freedom. I think it was during the scene where Kunta Kinte’s foot gets chopped off for running away that my Dad quietly said, “My grandfather used to talk about that.” I stared at my father. Your grandfather? “Yes, he was a slave.” You KNEW him? Yes, he lived with us. WHAT?

I peppered him with questions and soon learned that you were born in Devereux, Georgia, in Hancock County, about 100 years before me, and you almost lived long enough to be there for my birth. You and your family were owned by John Mitchell. Your wife, Martha Holsey Mitchell, had also been a slave. She died when my father was a toddler. You were strong and able for most of your life until someone decided that you should see Georgia again before you died, and after that, you were all mixed up about past and present, places and people.

Returning to campus that Sunday, I went straight to the microfilm room in Firestone Library at Princeton and pulled the reels for the 1860 Census. The were the free rolls and the slave rolls, organized by county. From the free rolls, I found two John Mitchells. One had six slaves, but John WH Mitchell, owned 34. This was probably the man, I reasoned, since my father had referred to a plantation. The man who owned my family.

That took me to the slave rolls, where I learned that you and your family weren’t recorded as people, but catalogued like livestock. In the left column was the owners name, and each slave was listed individually according to characteristics related to property value: male or female, black or mulatto, approximate age, and special notations for runaways, those who had been manumitted, and those who were “Deaf, blind, insane or idiotic.” Here is the beginning and end of the inventory under John WH’s name:

An excerpt of the slave rolls for John HW Mitchell in the 1860 census

I stared at that microfilm for what seemed like a long time, my eyes flooding with water. It was real. You were real. You were a little boy. Somewhere in there, there were brothers sisters, parents. It happened. It happened to my own flesh and blood. And no one thought you were important enough to record your name. I had to use family lore to find you. And here I was at Princeton, being trained to trust official sources and records. I staggered from the microfilm room with the printout in my hand, showing it to anyone I knew. I never felt the loss of Grandmom Mattie more keenly than at that moment. She had died just before Thanksgiving, freshman year. I needed to talk to her; I needed to see you.

A few years later, with the help of a photographer friend, I got some additional details about your life from Cousin Claudia. Her grandmother was your sister, whom they called Aunt Duck. You were close in age. Aunt Duck said you all had to get your food from a big trough, like what they use to feed horses. She also remembered beatings, but there were some times of singing and dancing as well, especially the shouts of “We are free!” when news came that slavery had ended.

Of course, I wondered what the war had been like for you and yours. My son, your great-great grandson, wondered, too — so much so that during his middle-school years, he played the role of fifer in the U.S. Colored Troops — more than 209,000 black people fought in the Union blue to win their freedom. You were too young, of course, and they were coming from the North, but I wonder whether you saw them, or whether your older brothers, Holland, Ned, or Henry, for example, had any thoughts of joining up.

I wonder what your parents, Holland and Judy Priscilla, thought, too. Cousin Mel said your father was seven feet tall and so strong that the master put him in charge of the other slaves. He said you told a story about how your Daddy let the master beat him with the lash one time just to show “how things were going to go,” as he put it. I wonder whether it was your boyhood reverence of your old man that made you think that he was in a position to dictate how many lashes the master could give a slave.

You lived most of your life as a free man, under the cruel vagaries of de jure segregation in the South and de facto segregation in the North. You would have been the same age as the exploited tenant farmers and laborers that WEB Du Bois described in this chapter from The Souls of Black Folk about his sojourn through Dougherty County Georgia:

It is a land of rapid contrasts and of curiously mingled hope and pain. Here sits a pretty blue-eyed quadroon hiding her bare feet; she was married only last week, and yonder in the field is her dark young husband, hoeing to support her, at thirty cents a day without board. Across the way is Gatesby, brown and tall, lord of two thousand acres shrewdly won and held. There is a store conducted by his black son, a blacksmith shop, and a ginnery. Five miles below here is a town owned and controlled by one white New Englander. He owns almost a Rhode Island county, with thousands of acres and hundreds of black laborers. Their cabins look better than most, and the farm, with machinery and fertilizers, is much more business-like than any in the county, although the manager drives hard bargains in wages. When now we turn and look five miles above, there on the edge of town are five houses of prostitutes,—two of blacks and three of whites; and in one of the houses of the whites a worthless black boy was harbored too openly two years ago; so he was hanged for rape. And here, too, is the high whitewashed fence of the “stockade,” as the county prison is called; the white folks say it is ever full of black criminals,—the black folks say that only colored boys are sent to jail, and they not because they are guilty, but because the State needs criminals to eke out its income by their forced labor.

Was this the land you knew and the life you lived? Did you know about the debates between Du Bois and Booker T over whether and when you needed higher education, or the vote, or an end to lynch law — and how to achieve it?  Had your father told you of Frederick Douglass, who had pondered the Meaning of the Fourth of July to the Negro back in 1852 — indeed, did he know?

The censuses of 1910 and 1920 record your name like any other householder, along with your wife Martha and children. You were sharecropping on the Mitchell plantation, and worshipping at Mitchell chapel, one of the five small churches built on the old place. I heard tell that they built the churches near the trees where they use to have camp meetings during slavery time — sure would like to ask you about that. They all bear family names — Mitchell Chapel, Warren Chapel. Pearson Chapel 1s now an AME Church. Must be a fine place with its own road named after it … Cousin Nonie used to talk about going there in the buggy, when they could borrow the mule. I also heard about how easy it was to lose your land to the taxman or your life to the lynch mob. Then there was the boll weevil, and the tales of better times up North. What exactly it was that drew you above the Mason Dixon, I can’t pretend to know.

By the 1930s you had come to New Jersey. Mel says that picture was taken in Burlington, although he doesn’t know the exact circumstance — “It was just always around.” Great-grandmom Martha — described as a small, quiet woman — went to be with the Lord in 1936, but you lived about another 15 years. They say you kept to a lot of your country ways, walking everywhere, so far and fast that half the time your family didn’t know where you were.

Steven Thomas, aged 12, with my father at a re-enactment of the Battle of Appomattox.

You lived long enough to see Claudia, your baby sister’s granddaughter, graduate from college and become a teacher — so many of us have followed her lead that some of us joke that it’s the family business. I wonder what you thought. I hope you were proud.

Maybe I’ll never know in words what you thought about all of these things, but I know that you endured and brought your family through. And in the end, I guess that’s all that matters. Thank you, Great-Grandpa. Happy Independence Day.

Related:

A meditation on intimacy

I don’t, as a rule, blog about personal relationships or intimate feelings. I do, however, care deeply about how we build community, and how we constitute family and social connection is at the heart of that. As since age and disability have brought me to a place where I understand what it is to be erased, to feel invisible, I think a great deal about how we set expectations and manage communications about intimacy and community.

I think we do a poor job of it. Or at least, I have observed many instances in which we — I — struggle to do it well. And I think this has larger implications, which is what makes it worth blogging about.

A Facebook friend shared a blog post by a couple named Josh and Lolly Weed that set me searching for language this particular morning. In the post, they explain their decision to end their marriage. They are devout Mormons who, despite their deep affection, children and generally happy home life, have decided that their marriage cannot accommodate Josh’s same-sex attraction. We are assured that there has been no infidelity, but that it’s not healthy for them to remain in a marriage where he can’t love her the way she deserves to be loved, and neither of them is free to find love with someone else. This paragraph from Josh, especially, sent me off on a reverie that had little to do with their revelation:

The love I felt [for Lolly and their children] was real, but something in me wanted to die.
 
It’s the thing that wants to die in all of us when we don’t have hope for attachment to a person we are oriented towards. It’s actually a standard part of human attachment: when we don’t have attachment—and have no hope of attachment–our brain tells us we need to die.

The post is worth reading  for its testimony about people of faith struggling to reconcile what their church teaches about homosexuality with their lived experience. I don’t intend to address that here. What I want to say about that paragraph is that it resonated deeply with lived and observed experience – a lifelong crisis that I once thought existential, only capable of being articulated in art, but increasingly, taking shape in public policy.

Too many of us don’t know how to create and sustain connection to other humans. Too many of us live outside of structures of extended family and community. Experts say the lack of connection is killing us. The UK now has a Minister of Loneliness. A former US Surgeon General took to the pages of the Harvard Business Review to declare loneliness a public health crisis and to call on employers to change their cultures. A 2010 AARP study found a strong correlation between loneliness and poor physical health.

Weed’s words triggered very specific memories.

When I was a child, far too young to know of romantic relationships, there were two songs that moved me to tears, that touched something that I knew deep inside from having been uprooted and displaced: Aretha Franklin’s “Ain’t No Way” and Dinah Washington’s “This Bitter Earth.” I never spoke of the way these songs made me feel. I suspect that Aretha’s song sounded like the pain of some of the adult women I saw in my neighborhood, or heard my aunts and uncles talking about in conversations I wasn’t supposed to hear: “Ain’t no way for me to love you/If you won’t let me…” But “This Bitter Earth” spoke to a fear I carried:

This bitter earth
Well, what a fruit it bears
What good is love
Mmh, that no one shares?
And if my life is like the dust
Ooh, that hides the glow of a rose
What good am I?
Heaven only knows

Oh, this bitter earth
Yes, can it be so cold?
Today you’re young
Too soon you’re old
But while a voice
Within me cries
I’m sure someone
May answer my call
And this bitter earth, ooh
May not, oh be so bitter after all

I was a lonely child, unsure where I belonged, how I fit in, and Dinah Washington spoke to that so powerfully that I resolved not to listen to that song, lest I give in to despair. At that age, it was a slew of things that loom large for a child, but less so for adults, such as being told by a relative, “You must be a genius, because you are weird.” Or being bullied in school. Or thinking Janis Ian’s ode to teenage angst, “At 17,” was written for me. I grew up, and have lived much of my life in the friend zone, hopelessly crushing on people who would confide their love for my best friends. Oh, well. l learned early on to be philosophical about this.There’s a reason my middle school classmates called me Spock.

Later, I would be told that I had been a rebel in college, not adhering to the expectations of how young women were supposed to behave, ignoring people who were attracted to me (or in the words of one friend, supposedly in love with me.)  The truth is that my parents pretty much raised me to read books, take care of home and family, and exercise. I was rarely allowed to date or have a job other than babysitting. This is how my parents hoped to keep me from being derailed before I got a chance to have a life.

I didn’t break the rules; for the most part, I never learned them.  So if you wanted to step to me, you had to make it plain.   Later, of course, I learned that most of us are misfits in our own way. Sometimes we find others who understand our nerdiness, and we can be misfits together. Sometimes that connection comes through a partnership called marriage that lasts for decades. And sometimes not.

Anyway, it’s with this understanding that I came to Josh Weed’s words. And then I thought about people I had met from other cultures, other stations in life.

I thought about the people I have met who come from cultures that consider “love marriages” inferior to arranged marriages. I know women in arranged marriages who are at peace with their lot, for whom intimacy is built on shared history, values, and priorities. I don’t know how they process the idea of the kind of passion of which Josh Weed speaks. And then I remember the young man I met in Biratnagar, Nepal, who told me how his wife’s family disowned her because she chose her husband. He was from a lower caste – which wasn’t supposed to matter, but it did. I remember having a conversation with another man, a student, who said he couldn’t possibly enter a love marriage, despite the fact that they are growing in popularity. It would be too devastating for his family; it would ruin his career; he would lose standing in his community.

These are the dilemmas of the search for intimacy: to conform to the expectations of one’s culture at the expense of the possibility of deep connection. To search for connection and fail, repeatedly, because you can’t measure up to set of rules you may or may not understand. To follow the rules as you understand them, only to realize that you don’t know what healthy connection looks like. To enter a marriage with hope, and to stay for decades out of a sense of soul-crushing duty. And, occasionally, to stare in wonder at that rare couple who has managed, against all odds to find a way to be together until, “the last of life for which the first was made.”

I have sat with older people, some close relatives, who no longer see a purpose or place for themselves. Spouses gone or dead, children grown, work life behind them. I remember some of them deciding they were done, and before long, they were. I remember a lively widowed friend in her late 70s who ached for a companion, and I hear there’s a bar in town that has become something of a pickup joint for seniors. Well, why not I say. Just be careful out there – STD rates are rising for older people.

I have participated in support groups and forums for other people with disabilities struggling with the pain and disappointment of losing lovers and marriages because their partners can’t understand or cope with the ways in which their bodies and lives are changing. I am also reminded of the happily coupled people I know who happen to use wheelchairs or have some other impairment, and what it’s like to deal with others’ assumptions that their dating and marriage options are limited.

I am living Josh Weed’s fear – “no attachment, no hope of attachment” – but I am determined not to die.I have resolved for myself to stay connected to life, through writing, through work, through church and community involvement, through friends.

I appreciate the connections I have to old classmates. Even if we weren’t intimates in youth, we are at an age where we share much that is meaningful that younger people wouldn’t understand. We don’t have to read a book to know what it felt like when the Kennedys and Dr. King were murdered, or why Vietnam was so divisive, or why wearing pants to school was a radical act. We’ve had chronic illnesses and scares and losses. We remember Carol Burnett and platform heels and Belmont Plateau and Summer Madness. We go out, share a meal, dance to old songs, sometimes accompanied by a man, sometimes not.  And then we laugh and tease about how we’ve still got it.

I think, in this next phase of my life, I will revisit Paule Marshall’s Praisesong for the Widow, which I read when I was far too young to understand. I am one data point in this public health battle against loneliness, but I think that this quest for deep connection is a researchable problem, and I will be part of its solution.