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Brianna Amoscato: I took a moment in my classroom to learn tolerance

Brianna Amoscato
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Brianna Amoscato
Student artwork is displayed in Brianna Amoscato’s third-grade classroom at Hartwood Elementary School, Indiana Township.
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Brianna Amoscato
Part of a lesson in Brianna Amoscato’s third-grade classroom at Hartwood Elementary School, Indiana Township, this month.

A poster with the word WEIRD written in purple ink hangs in my classroom, documenting one of the most important teachable moments of my career.

At the beginning of the year, my third graders took part in a self-portrait project about the visible and invisible characteristics of ourselves. I showed them Angelica Dass’s Humanae Project, a direct reflection on skin color, humanity and stereotypes, and we mixed paint to portray our own skin color.

We read “Sulwe” by Lupita Nyong’o and “Eyes that Kiss at the Corners” by Joanna Ho to discuss biases. On day three, students were discussing and creating their hair using yarn and textured fabric.

Emily, one of my white students, pointed to John, a Black student, touched his hair without asking and said, “Your hair is really weird. It doesn’t look like anyone else’s. It feels weird, too. You’re weird.”

Silence fell. Naturally, every student turned their head to stare. I quickly thought to myself: “I can briefly address this comment, say it is wrong, have her apologize and begin math, or I can stop the class completely and have a discussion about what just happened and fail to have math at all.”

I made the time because explaining the why behind a question or comment is when true learning or unlearning takes place. Taking the why out of a lesson is not a lesson at all. Unlearning biases and relearning tolerance only occur in a classroom environment where students feel safe expressing themselves and engaging in open and honest conversations. In my classroom, avoidance would have sent a clear message to John that his identity and his feelings did not matter.

Why, as humans, do we immediately use the word “weird,” or perhaps even worse words, when describing a part of someone’s identity that looks “different” than our own? I asked my students this; they had the following answers:

“The word ‘weird’ could be used out of fear. People are sometimes scared when they see differences.”

“The word ‘weird’ makes the person saying it feel more powerful or better than the other person.”

“If you think about it, everyone is different.”

“Maybe we use the word ‘weird” because we think of the hair as ‘not normal.’”

“Not normal” was powerful coming from Emily, who was used to seeing individuals who look a lot like her. I could relate. My elementary school experience was full of mirrors: I saw my identity reflected back to me in every teacher, every book and every assignment in my predominantly white, suburban school. I thought this is what “normal” looked like as well.

Growing up, I had a few friends who did not have such mirrors; they never once saw their identity reflected in the classroom.

When I became an educator, I realized my impact would be damaging if I did not begin acknowledging my own biases and narrow perspectives, altering curriculum to center student stories and student experiences, and having intentional conversations with my students about authentic history, race, disabilities, gender and stereotypes

And so I used this moment in my classroom to take action. I read aloud “My Hair is a Garden,” and we discussed how Black hair is not weird. Words such as “weird” really hurt; they affect how people see themselves. Hair is an important part of our identity, and the diversity we see around the room with our hair and how we choose to care for it and wear it creates a garden within our own classroom. In this way, when Emily said she was sorry, she understood why she was apologizing.

The conversation in my classroom that day wasn’t perfect. However, I reminded myself that this is just the start of a lifelong journey toward facilitating honest conversations. My third-graders are now aware that using the word “weird” to describe another classmate’s race, name, gender, personality or hair texture different from their own is disrespectful.

It is our obligation as educators to celebrate and respect the differences surrounding us. Every student in my classroom deserves this.

Brianna Amoscato teaches third grade at Hartwood Elementary School in Indiana Township. She is a 2021-22 Teach Plus Pennsylvania policy fellow.

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Categories: Featured Commentary | Opinion
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