How strange to reread this blog. When I started these little posts, it was for English 101 at Ozarks Tech. I do not even remember my professor's name, something A. She was preppy and sophisticated (if not an overtly creative Try hard,) with a preteen cheerleader daughter who I knew I would hate (or envy) but secretly relate to. I liked the teacher--OK. She irritated me; she took for granted that some of us had never even heard of MLA. Like many many teachers to come, she spoke to the class as if I was invisible.
Mrs. A conducted class as if everyone was a fresh out of highschool--entitled brats with hidden genius--soon to be unlocked by a quirky Ozark's version of Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds. I definitely wasn't the only student who felt this disconnect, but I was positive my personal disillusionment outweighed that of all of my 'peers'.' Afterall, I was closer to her age than theirs, and in many practical ways, I had more in common with her then the rest of them. Yet our experiences and socioeconomic circumstances seemed worlds apart. While it would have been nice to have our differences acknowledged once in a while, the truth is this teacher did do me a favor. Her prompts allowed me to explore both of our assumptions, and in the process of reading my peers entries (one of the requirements of the posts) I realized how diverse all of our experiences really were. That was one of the first practical lessons I learned in community college.
I live in a 'college town' but the main university, near the center of the city, is not prestigious or particularly well known for anything other than the "low cost" of its tuition--comparatively of course. While I grew up in a poor neighborhood on the 'dangerous' or poor side of town, as a little girl my mom and dad scraped up enough money to send me to a 'good' daycare between the ages of 2-10. Looking back, I now realize all of the signs of the sacrifices my mom, in particular, had made. Donated secondhand clothes (from a boy, even,) the constant harassment of collection calls, the consistently broken-down cars, house literally falling apart, late payments and the snarky daycare owner, and yet my mom insisted I be there. I went to the 'rich kids' elementary, because of that daycare. Despite being one of the very few poor kids at school, I did alright. I learned to compartmentalize, and unfortunately, internalize many assumptions in relation to socioeconomic disparity.
I had my school/daycare friends and my home/neighborhood friends. My school friends had afterschool activities, new clothes and shoes, and exposure to community, arts, and university life. My home friends had little of that, and I felt like myself around them. I was the 'rich' one at home, with my paved driveway, swimming lessons, and girl scouts (even though my uniform was 'donated' and second hand.) I sold maybe 2 boxes of cookies in my whole neighborhood. At school kids competed for privilege, at home we competed through poverty; "our family is poorer than your family." Once, driving by my future university, I casually asked my mom about college savings, and she laughed. College was for 'rich kids' she said. It stung a little, but I wasn't surprised. I believed her.
Soon after, I insisted I didn't need a daycare anymore and should be at school with my neighborhood friends, and without a lot of fuss, my mom relented, likely inspired more by the hope of relieving some of the financial burden associated with childcare then by my level of maturity. Still, I couldn't help feeling that she assumed both of our lives would be easier if I was around kids who lived more like we did. She wanted my expectations to be in check. I had to unlearn some of those lessons of separation when I finally went to college. I had to find common ground with people I felt utterly different from. I had to remind myself that many people feel invisible in school, for many different reasons. Sadly, this is a work in progress. I am still hyper aware of the disparities around me.
