I realized a long time ago that when it comes to race, you can be aware, you can respect, but you can never understand.
Makitda is probably the darkest skinned student that I have ever had. She is tall, and very pretty with a perfectly mature body and attitude. She looks and acts somewhat motherly, not in a condescending way, but a natural easy manner with people. She wants to be a nurse. Her father lives somewhere around Calumet, and mother lives up North in Cabrini Green.
When a student is extremely upset, it does not matter how they carry it. You can just tell. Like a ghost walking in front of you, you are horrified and not easily distracted away, hard to multi task and laugh and cheer on the others when you see someone who is just bleeding.
She sat their silent, wide eyed, eyes wild and white.
When the students were working on the assignment, I walked over and asked if everything was alright.
She said that her little brother had died.
I stood their silent for a very long time. Moments like this you think that the next thing that you say needs to be important, needs to help, and there is nothing that you know to say.
She told me that she didn't mind talking about it.
So I asked what happened.
He was in a gang. Something happened. He was walking her little sister (the brother 13, sister 6) to somewhere. His gang (Gangster Disciples) came and pulled a gun on them. He was holding his sister's hand. They separated them. The brother got on his knees and begged for his life. They executed him.
The sister has not spoken since then.
Three days later was the first time I saw Makitda cry. And she wouldn't stop. And she looked at me with begging wide white eyes and said "I wish I was white. I pray to God that I was white. Because then I wouldn't feel this way".
