It's been a long time since I've written an entry...but today I've been doing some soul searching. Sometimes, you just can't get the rest you want, until you've released what's inside of you into the mysteries of the universe. So here goes.
I'll never forget proclaiming when I was at Macalester, "I will never come back to an environment like this!!!" To put things in context, I had just been asked what I hated about being in that space. At the time, I couldn't articulate what it felt like to be the one black student from South Carolina. I guess I was feeling like I was the only kid that had to negotiate not only hegemonic racial boundaries, but also hegemonic class and familial boundaries. As an underclass black kid, who had been brought to school by aunts and uncles, I often felt like I was pariah. I'm sure every angsty college student coming to terms with who they are (and where they come from) has such epiphanies...but I think life sometimes reinforces that you are not supposed to be here (over and over) again.
One of the beautiful things about going to HBCUs immediately thereafter, was that I found myself thrust into a diverse world of brown and ebony faces whose stories sometimes mirrored that of my own "Up From Slavery" narrative. Now, I must admit, my close friends have typically come from two-parent, middle class homes. I don't know why, but that's who has seemed to befriend me easiest...and even in these predominantly black environments, I have found myself to be an outlier to those I know best.
Feelings of inadequacy can shroud accomplishment at graduations, when parents and siblings aren't present. Deep feelings of grief can tear at the happiness induced by Greek crossings, SGA winnings, Concert Performances, Weddings, Awards, Speeches, and Ordinations...because somewhere in the back of ones mind is a feeling of loneliness, bitterness, and rejection. Unfortunately, there is no amount of accomplishment that can heal the heart of a child left to fend for him or herself. Because in the end, accomplishment cannot say, "I love you." And whatever victory a child like me has had, these bittersweet victories have come with a heavy, heavy price.
As an educator now (called to a space that educates top tier students), it is sometimes difficult to work in a place of privilege, helping students who are destined to take the world stage, because a calling like this causes one to reflect on one's own inadequacies. When you are living in close approximation to opulence and opportunity, you can see a world that you have never known. In fact, I help create dreams and moments for others that I never had. Of course, I want my students to succeed! Of course, I want them to be great! At the same time, I found myself feeling like, I too, am "the help."
That would be okay, if every once and a while a little Sean Palmer, whose story isn't so neat and clean shows up at my door...so that I can prepare him too. My challenge is that I don't really see many Sean Palmers gracing the halls of privilege...maybe its because they are elsewhere...maybe they haven't come by my office...maybe they don't exist. But, every now and then, it would be good to know that I'm helping a student overcome (persevere) a similar experience to my own. It would be great to be a blessing to the forgotten child in a place of privilege.
It's in this moment that I'm reminded that our callings sometimes don't work like we want them to work. Sometimes, God has built in irony. In a conversation with my wife and one of my closest friends, I said to them...isn't it funny that both of you who grew up in stable families are called to foster care kids, and I am called to privileged kids. Isn't it funny what God will do with us, even when we had other plans for our lives. What I am learning in this moment is that a calling on my life - my life's work - is a beautifully difficult task.
