Where the White People Are

As a child, I was fascinated by Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are.  The illustrations captivated me, and the notion of entering another world both intrigued and terrified me.  

I’d forgotten about that wonderful book until I started the first week of school.  I’m not sure the exact moment the book returned to my consciousness, but at some point I stared at my class of thirty-two students and didn’t see a single person of color.  Then reality hit: I was Where the White People Are.

I had no idea that places like Los Blancos High School still existed.  When I visit family in the Midwest, for example, I anticipate less diversity, but not in California.  So when I looked at my third period roll sheet and saw a sea of British, Polish, and Russian surnames, I realized that my landscape at changed.  Dramatically.

And working at Where the White People Are has also meant a shift in cultural values and expectations.  First of all, parents have immediately referred to me as Mark.  For the past eleven years, the Asian and Latino parents at South Pasadena called me Mr. Afram.  To be fair, the parents at Los Blancos have been cordial and introduced themselves by only their first name.  Still, most parents have assumed a level of familiarity with which I am unaccustomed.  

I’ve observed another cultural shift with athletics.  Yes, South Pas valued its teams, but different sports held sway.  Track and cross country were extremely popular, as were boys volleyball and girls tennis.  Los Blancos, however, loves its football.  In fact, it’s a sort of a football powerhouse.  When I was moving, several Bay Area friends commented on the legendary coach who’d led the team to victory over the past thirty years.  I attended countless football games at my former school, but those games were casual affairs.  Los Blancos, by contrast, takes it football seriously.

With all these changes, I am reminded (to state the obvious) that I’m not in Kansas anymore.  There are new relationships to build, and I must work to earn students’ confidence.  Kids don’t know me, and I’m an unknown quantity. At this point I suspect that they are withholding judgment, waiting to see how I treat them and their fellow classmates.  These first weeks are pivotal in establishing trust, and I want to extend myself and assure them that I’m on their side.

I know that I made the right decision in moving, and on the first day of school, while I was passing out papers, one of the students whispered to me, “I think they like you.”  I was thrown by this unexpected kindness, and the teen’s reassurance boosted my spirits. At the end of the day, an origami flower mysteriously appeared on my desk, a gift from a student in Period 7.  Welcome to Los Blancos, indeed.