Vignettes from the particular:

What is academic success? How have ethnic minority children faired in my experience?

One night volunteering at Bettie’s Place, a women’s soup kitchen, I passed out crayons and other art supplies to tired, wary children while their mothers hounded me for packs of cigarettes. Interestingly the art supplies had been donated by children from local schools while the sought after cigarettes were supplied by the shelter.

At my college being an ethnic minority meant you were driven, brilliant, and often poor enough to qualify for financial aide. Laura was a gifted and passionate woman. Her scholarship was ripped out from underneath her the second year of college because her family made slightly more than the established poverty line. She was sent packing despite her hard work.

I befriended an eight year old who struggled with his school experience. He often got into scuffles with his peers and had a hard time listening to school authority figures. At home Mark was sweet, curious, and yet sullen. Three years before I met him his mother had passed away leaving Mark, his younger sister Christina, and his father behind. Matt often watched after his sister as dad, the man whom he blindly trusted, made and sold methamphetamines out of the garage.

While waiting tables, I became friends with a Colombian man named Eduardo. We bonded through my faltering Spanish and his supportive encouragement. He always took the time to inquire how I was and I tried to respond in kind as we worked our respective jobs. Eduardo has a Ph.D., but cleans dishes every night.

I met Dante who had given up on every type of institutional system and instead relied on gangs for support. He was one of the most business savvy people I’ve ever met in my life. In spite of huge cultural differences, we became friends. This 6’, 250 lb., heavily tattooed, California gang leader carried on philosophical conversations about respect with little ole’ me. We found a common ground.

A Sudanese family registered five of their children at a local school where I was employed. During recess, we were required to walk around the playground for exercise. Dana the youngest and most vulnerable of the girls frequently needed reassurance and comfort during this time. She would approach me teary-eyed and sniffling looking for a partner to walk with. Her peers didn’t know how to console a lifetime of heartache. Neither did I. We would walk hand in hand slowly and sadly around the playground.