Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Dia de los Muertos

I was a bit of a hot tamale in high school. Think Dead Prez with a perm, a Guess jacket and a lip gloss fetish. And my girl, PTosh…she was the urban chic version of Malcolm X to me. She was rockin a natural way before it was popular. Her style of clothes was eclectic and sassy. She made the kind of art that made the counselors call her parents in and question her sanity (I did too). We had lots in common, but the most important thing about our friendship was that she helped me to see who I really was as a woman and an artist.

Well, her son, my two-year-old Godbaby who I talk about to no end, just started speaking Spanish. He watches Dora the Explorer. Well, it was funny because me and PTosh became radicals and friends after being kicked out of Spanish class, threatening to boycott, while in high school. Our argument: the Spanish teacher wasn’t teaching us anything, which would make our college years much harder. We were right. I got kicked out of class several times, had several meetings with the principal. They all knew we were right. And when I got to college, I flunked out of Spanish and had to spend a summer taking three French classes to graduate on time.

Last night, we chuckled over the fact that little baby PTosh is running around yelling “ocho, ocho, ocho!,” adn we can only count to "once." Then she tells me that our Spanish teacher died. “Oh my God, when?” I asked her. She told me she heard last year that this woman died about three years ago. “What did she die of,” I questioned. “Stress,” PTosh said.

“We killed our Spanish teacher,” I sobbed. She laughed. And after about five minutes of her reassuring me that all people die, it’s natural and we didn’t kill her, I felt a little better. But we did kill our Spanish teacher. We stressed that woman out. Her union representative worried her about her job. I know she was worried about it too. Because of me and PTosh’s lack of cooperation in class, none of the other students respected her. At least once a week, she had to leave class, crying, because we questioned her teaching skills. Watching the Lion King with a Spanish Mufasa wasn’t exactly my idea of language immersion. She was a bad, bad teacher. Even the principal admitted that to us. But we didn’t have to kill her!

Maybe PTosh’s son is reminding us of the stress we caused our old Spanish teacher. Maybe I’m overreacting. I tend to do that. But in standing up to that teacher in high school, it taught me that equality and public schools doesn’t exist. It also taught me that Disney doesn’t know squat about Latinos.

Song For Today: Dinner With Delores, Prince. The new Prince CD is coming out next week, so be on the lookout for another banger. This song is a quirky throwback from Diamonds and Pearls.

Tonight: Kem featuring Leela James will be at the Ohio Theater. Will you be there?

Leela James will be having a listening party at the Cove afterwards. You can get in free with a ticket stub...and maybe a mention about the Pink Ghetto will earn you some clout, who knows? Check out The Urban Starr for more details.

Also Columbus College of Art and Design will be hosting a panel discussion about women and hip hop, complimenting their BLING exhibit. It’s at the Canzani Center and starts at 5:30 p.m.

4 Comments:

At 1:36 PM, Blogger Miz JJ said...

Y'all killed your spanish teacher?!? Kidding. She sounds like a terrible teacher. Why didn't she just try to do something else? The teaching union is something else. A teacher has to practically kill somebody to get fired.

 
At 8:07 PM, Blogger notyouraverage.... said...

el profesora de espanol es muerta! lo siento!

 
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