Appreciating Diverse Inspiration
In my youth (between 1992 and 1997), I remember being influenced by a few inspiration specialists. One could call them educators, but they were more than that. Among them were Mr. Hannan, Mr. Kelcey, Mr. Kalfon, Mrs. Kennedy and Ms. Lam.
None of these inspirers realize their importance in my life, but it’s time they realize it and my gratitude, particularly now, as we discuss the need for Afro-centric schools — a means that would limit, based on race, the inspiration pool serving young people.
Inspiration began with Mr. Hannan, whom I recall as a tall, skinny, bespectacled man who entered my life in his middle years, and who’s love of English and poetry helped ground my teenage years. He enjoyed the little rhymes I spun, and in return, shared the works of poets like Edgar Allen Poe. I remember him whenever I look at a book that he gave me: American Verse. It’s lost its spine but still notes the place of my introduction to great poets: Don Valley Junior High.
Mr. Hannan’s encouragement led me to believe that I was talented and with a book of poetry, encouraged a little light within me to keep burning. He also helped me define my strengths at a time when I needed strength to build my foundation.
Mr. Kelcey was a math man whose paunch suggested his other love was beer. Maybe he’d had a few when he suggested that I should pursue an advanced (university bound) rather than general (college bound) curriculum in high school. Regardless, convinced of my ability after an A+ test score, he refused to sign any course list that included general math, when he was sure I could handle the advanced course. He explained that by taking the advanced level courses I could still go to college while keeping the door to university open. That show of confidence forced me to stop low-balling my prospects.
With his steering, I decided to take a different path from my friends. This was my first exposure to strategically planning my future. Adding will power helped me overcome the nagging self-doubt that sought to erase his influence.
Mr. Kalfon was from Morocco, North Africa. It’s a country I’d never heard of until this dimpled, bronze-skinned man revealed his homeland. He spoke French and an accented English that was music to my ears. Unwittingly, his immigrant story inspired me. Though African, he wasn’t black like me, and even after knowing the continent of his birth, I didn’t categorize him as anything but an inspiration. After all, he was proof that immigrants can succeed in this frozen land, and maybe, so could I.
I don’t remember him for teaching me history in HCT1A0; I remember him for teaching me the value of the multicultural brotherhood and humanity that binds us as we listen to each other’s story.
My high school co-op teacher, Mrs. Margaret Kennedy challenged me to look at myself differently. Beneath her unruly, greying curls, she had eyes that surely didn’t need the glasses fronting them. Somehow, in our brief interactions between placements and maybe because of my journals, she saw qualities that I had never seen or known within me. She described me using words like quick-witted, eloquent and smart — who, me? This woman was as crazy as her curls, as far as I could tell. Still, she suggested that such traits made me the perfect candidate to moderate our school’s elections assembly.
She helped me prepare for my first political involvement and was congratulatory afterwards. Her insight led to one of my proudest accomplishments, and taught me that I can do things that both scare me and seem impossible.
A young Asian woman who wore bangs with her bob, Ms. Lam, taught English in my high school as a supply teacher, until she earned a permanent position within our school. She worked hard to challenge us and we knew we were challenging her, but she seemed determined to help us learn. So when we wanted to listen to music in class she said we would all have to listen to the same thing, but it would be classical music because that would simulate our brains for learning. The record player she brought to class must’ve been an heirloom, but it achieved its purpose. She performed her experiment and we learned compromise and valued her much more. I believe it’s that experience that has me occasionally enjoying classical music for the contemplative state it puts me in. So now I cross cultural barriers with a universal love of music.
Ms. Lam’s also helped me to improve my writing. She was a demanding teacher, but she challenged me to keep my thoughts in order, question what I read, and provided much needed constructive criticism. I enjoyed writing for her and worked hard to impress her.
Finally, and notably, two men of African descent appeared as role models in my high school years. I wasn’t a student of theirs but their presence comforted and inspired me: Mr. James, who coached the girls soccer team and guided the Afr-Can Heritage council seemed to defy racial stereotypes-he practiced martial arts and just seemed to do his own thing, but then that’s what artists do, I think; and Mr. George A. Cornelius, who appeared a wise elder/principal of George S. Henry in my first year there. From one hallway conversation with him, and though I was intimidated to speak to this tower of power, I came away wanting to handle power with the grace and dignity he displayed.
Both men gave those desiring it, something to aim for, and stood in the face of stereotypes which suggest that black men are powerless, uneducated and criminal. While it is important to have those men play such important roles, a school filled with black men and women is not what helped me make it through my most unstable years; it was the diverse crew who were eager and available to inspire me whenever the opportunity appeared. Each, in his or her own way, took the time to reach me, without knowing if their methods were magical enough to inspire me to reach my full potential. After all, there is no formula for inspiration; it’s unique to each individual.
Years after graduation, as I reflect on my teenage years, I realize that I responded well when others displayed confidence in me; but that response is likely universal. Also, heart appears to have more inspirational power than hue; therefore, it would be nice to see the focus be on providing young people with diverse inspiration so that they can enthusiastically dream of unlimited futures, even when the present is fraught with limitations and negativity.
Again, thank you, to all my inspirers!
