The Chameleon in Me

Our family is headed to a party to celebrate the 160^th anniversary of the liberation of the Republic of Liberia.  As my daughter heads out the door, I call her back, "What are you wearing?" I ask with a note of frustration in my voice.  She has on a bright orange pair of men's basketball shorts, a blue t-shirt, a black headband with skulls-and-crossbones and a green pair of flip-flops.  I think she's covered just about every color of the rainbow.

"What's wrong with this?" she asks incredulously, as if we haven't talked about proper attire for social events a million times.  I just give her "the look" and she rushes (in a huff) up to her room to put on something more appropriate for the occasion.

I am a little obsessive about outward appearance because I suffer on a regular basis from what I will call "mis-identification".  In my professional life, I am careful to always wear a suit or a skirt and blouse combination with heels and a good pair of earrings.  My hair is always done, and I am certain to wear at least some make-up for a finishing touch. I have learned to do this as a result of several unforgettable encounters I have had during my past sixteen years of adulthood. 

The first encounter occurred almost 10 years ago.  My husband (one year my senior) and I were playing in a men's basketball league.  We had just finished a game in which our team had handily beaten the other team.  As I jogged over to the water fountain, a man from the opposing team approached my husband and said, "Wow!  Your daughter sure can play ball!"  My husband laughed and informed the man that I was his wife, not his daughter.  The man apologized profusely and walked away, unsure of what more to say.  I was 27 years old at the time and had two children already.  I was glad for the compliment but a little surprised that the man thought I could be in my teens.

My second, most vivid memory was my first day at a new middle school where I had just been hired as a French Immersion teacher.  Being a little overzealous about preparing for a new year, I decided to set my room up almost a month before the first day of school.  The language program was located out in the annex of the school, which was where the district was hosting summer school that year.  I was careful to show up after the classes were finished for the day so as not to disturb the students as they worked.  After putting my things down in my new room, I decided to find the ladies' room.  I noticed the door immediately and began to head in that direction.  As I reached out to grab the handle, I heard a loud, "You can't use that bathroom!"  from a gentleman who was just leaving the men's bathroom some twenty feet away.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"You cannot use that bathroom.  You must use the bathroom over there."  He pointed to the student bathrooms behind him.

"Um...Excuse me.  Is there something wrong with this bathroom?" I asked, thoroughly confused.  I could see no sign anywhere that anything was wrong with this bathroom.

"No.  That bathroom is for teachers only.  You must use the student bathrooms."  Now, here I was, my first real day on the job, and this man thought I was a student, a middle-school student, nonetheless?!  I know I look young, but...

"Well, Sir, I am a teacher here.  My name is..." but he had already turned on his heel and raced down the hall in the other direction.  I considered chasing after him with my driver's license and teaching certificate in hand but decided my need to use the restroom was overpowering my need to prove to him that I was really old enough and qualified enough to be here.

I am now a 37 year-old African-American woman with three children, ages 12, 13 and 14 who still looks like a 16 year-old when I am in shorts and a t-shirt with my hair in a pony tale.  Imagine trying to garner respect from your professional peers when they think you're young enough to be their daughter.  Imagine walking through the grocery store with your husband and three teen children in tow.  Imagine what people are thinking, what they are saying with their eyes and with the disgusted shake of their heads.

And so my daughter gets her millionth lecture about why it is so important for us as a Black family in a predominantly White middle class neighborhood to make sure we are "representing" (our term for presenting ourselves in a manner that would befit the educated, cultured, well-mannered family that we are).  My daughter has heard the lecture a million times, but she is only 13 years old and still does not understand that first impressions can only be made once, that people will judge me by her, that they will treat her based on their first assessment of her appearance.  They will judge my husband and me by the way our children interact with their children on the school bus.  They will judge us based on the Cosby family or the Fresh Prince of Belair or the latest athlete or artist who has made the news OR by the example we set for them.  Although I know it is not fair for people to judge based on physical appearance, I also know these judgments are a reality, and my experience tells me that people judge much more harshly those who do not look like them.

Seeing me on the basketball court or in my jean shorts as I water the lawn, you wouldn't know that I speak four languages or that I have traveled to 14 countries and over 25 states.  You wouldn't know that I have eaten lunch with Barbara Bush, sung with John Denver and shared a stage with Danny Kay.  You wouldn't know that I attended Bryn Mawr College or that my greatest desire is to be a motivational speaker.  You wouldn't know that I have been married to the same man for 15 years and teaching for the same amount of time.  You wouldn't know that I grew up in the Netherlands and attended the American School of The Hague.

But isn't this misdiagnosis of my physical appearance, this "mis-identification" true for so many folks in America?  Do we not devalue and misjudge the cashier at the store, the waitress in the restaurant, the students in our classrooms based on what the media has told us or some past negative experience with someone who "looked like that"?  Is it possible in our efforts to categorize that we have lost the ability to see all human beings as unique individuals, as potential mentors or friends?

As a teacher of teachers, I have been asked to provide professional development around issues of cultural diversity, especially with regard to working with African-American students.  I often use my ability to look young and to dress "urban" to raise the issue of how teachers often pre-judge African-American students.  During presentations I enter a classroom usually full of white middle-class women dressed as a stereotypical African-American athlete - Nike shoes with a matching pair of shorts and t-shirt, often with my hair pulled up in a pony tale, topped off with a pair of sunglasses or a matching Nike visor.  I enter the room loudly, sure to be noticed.  After making a little scene, I leave the classroom, pretending to have forgotten something.  In my absence teachers are asked a series of questions related to my age, my academic record, my potential. Somewhere near the end of their discussion session about "this student" who so rudely interrupted their workshop, I return to the classroom in my professional attire, recognizable, but noticeably different.  Teachers are shocked and amazed at the transformation and then embarrassed at the number of questions they now realize they have answered incorrectly.

This exercise provides a platform to talk with teachers about how their misperceptions of me in this one isolated situation impact their students every day.  What they think about African-American athletes impacts what they think about African-American students who dress like athletes.  What they think about African-American women (they're all single teen moms on welfare) impacts what they think about the potential of the African-American girls in their classrooms. It also begs the question - what other misperceptions or "mis-identifications" do teachers practice every day?  Are you one of those people in the grocery store who look at me cross-eyed trying to figure out at what point in middle school I started having children? Do you look at those kids covered from head to toe in black and judge them based on the one kid at the mall that time who accidentally scratched up your car when he fell off his skateboard?  Do you judge the cheerleaders based on Ms. Popular from your high school who blew you off when you tried to invite her to your Sweet Sixteen party?

Teachers are people who are influenced by their own personal experiences in school and in the community.  We have suffered the effects of bias in our own lives.  We have had negative experiences with people from a variety of cultures including our own.  Teaching is one profession in which we cannot truly separate who we are from what we do.  We teach through the lens of who we are.  We necessarily respond to the world through the paradigm with which we perceive the world.  As we take the time to consider the ways in which we have developed prejudices or biases, it is important for us to consider our mission as teachers - to provide students with the tools they will need to be successful, responsible citizens - and to be sure we are not limiting any of our students by our "mis-identifications" of their potential.

Although I am of the belief that appearance shouldn't matter and that every person on the planet should be given the opportunity to prove herself on her own merit, I am also aware that the world is not as forgiving or as self-reflective as those of you who are reading this piece.  As a woman who has spent most of her life around professionals and among professionals, I have learned that there are certain "rules" by which one is judged. I have determined to learn those rules and use those rules to help the disadvantaged gain access to opportunities that should be open to everyone.  In my classroom it means teaching all students, regardless of color, how to speak and dress and conduct themselves on job interviews.  It means exposing some of the hidden rules of the white middle-class culture that dominates the professional and school environment.

And so my daughter hears another lecture about dressing for special occasions and I continue to put on a suit to go to work to ensure that I will be taken seriously. I, who have the benefit of personal experience in a middle class white environment, apologize to my students for the realities of life but try to provide them with the tools they will need, tools their parents sometimes cannot give them, to be successful in this nation and to make a physical impression that matches their abilities, talents and skills.

My daughter comes out of her room, clothes changed, somewhat unhappy that she cannot just show up at the party in her favorite lounging outfit. Although her final selection is not quite as formal as the other little girls at the party, she's neat and presentable.  She has complied with my wishes although she doesn't yet understand their implications.  I dream of a time when the lectures are no longer needed.  I dream of a time in our nation when all people will be judged based on character and skills rather than on appearance.  Until then, there is much work to be done.