As a seventh grader at George Washington Carver Middle School, I was more concerned with getting the attention of Rhonda Butler, Audrey Richardson or Pam Wyatt than participating in a class discussion about To Kill a Mockingbird. And like most 12-year-old boys, my idea of getting a girl’s attention equated to being a classroom disruption. Within moments, I was removed from class and given a stern lecture by my English teacher.
The words of my English teacher were going in one ear and out of the other. I leaned against the wall; never looked him in his eyes; and all of my replies were “yeah” and OK”. I wanted to make sure he knew that I neither cared about nor respected what he was saying. While he was in the middle of this verbal reprimand, Mrs. Barbara Norris, my science teacher, came down the hallway. She stopped about ten feet away from where I was being chastised. Mrs. Norris stood in my line of sight and gave me the look. In the Black community, the look means, “act like you have some home training.” Immediately, I stood up straight; looked my teacher in the eyes; and “yeah” and “OK” became “yes sir” and “no sir.”
My English teacher was nothing more to me than someone I saw five days a week. On the other hand, Mrs. Norris was more than my science teacher. Her husband was my family’s doctor. They were both active within the community. I was going to see her at The Roots Cultural Festival, The Delray Beach Affair, Pompey Park or just at the grocery store. Mrs. Norris knew me as Samuel Adams the person not just a student. She understood and helped prepare me for the challenges I would face as a Black male in America. I respected her the same way I respected my parents, so when Mrs. Norris gave me the look, it was as if my parents were giving me the look.
Mrs. Norris was an effective educator because she was an integral part of my community. Unfortunately, today’s Black students have few teachers who are fighting for or even aware of the issues affecting the Black community. Most teachers are visitors and not active participants in the Black community. When the last bell rings Friday afternoon, these teachers exit stage left until 7:30 Monday morning. They have convinced themselves that their only job is to provide quality lesson plans for reading, writing, arithmetic or the latest standardized test.
America has shown little to no interest in nurturing the hearts and minds of Black children. Black students have become collateral damage in the war for higher test scores. In times like these, Mrs. Norris and teachers of her ilk are in demand but few and far between. Teachers who have intimate knowledge of what it is to think, live and breathe Black in America are needed in the classrooms. Because those teachers know that the classroom is simply an extension of the community and that the community is simply an extension of the classroom. These are the teachers that transform lives, the teachers for whom students are forever thankful. Thank you, Mrs. Norris.
