A Tale of Two Students

This is my son Cameron (it's a couple of years ago, but you get the idea). I asked his permission to use him in my article this week and much to my surprise, he said yes! So, let me tell you about Cameron. I remember going to his 4th grade teacher conference and his teacher telling me "Cameron is a genius you know." It was a very nice thing to say, but to be frank there wasn't much traditional evidence of that. Cam has never liked school very much and has pretty much no interest in homework (perhaps as a result of all the Alfie Kohn books I read while raising him). When I pointed it out to the 4th grade teacher she said, "oh not the kind of genius who does school stuff, but trust me he's a genius." Well my Midwestern modesty says the jury is out on the level of genius, but I can confidently say he has a gift for language, he's a good person, and he still hates playing the school game. He started high school this year, and it has actually gone pretty well. He has teachers he likes for the most part, and his gift for language put him in the freshman honors Humanities course, which is a combination of History and English and team taught. I've worked hard to let go of concern about grades and focus on learning, but Humanities has been the one course where his grades aren't good. It's a twist on the now familiar tale of my son and school; He actually likes this class (that's the twist), but still has no interest in worksheets and things like that which are givens in our school system. This means he has been neglecting to complete a number of assignments, and this in turn has led to some tough conversation with his teachers, and the possibility of being moved to a different track. Now, what does this have to do with poverty informed practice? Let me tell you.

Earlier this week, Cameron's teachers reached out with some concern for his performance and behavior. The teacher who wrote was obviously upset, and to be honest the note wasn't very kind. I was told he could "choose" to "earn" poor grades, but distracting behavior would not be tolerated. It was upsetting, but I'm an educator too, so I took a deep breath and sent an email. The email asked for further examples of their concerns. It also pushed back on some of the comments I thought were unfair and ended with an offer to talk by phone or in person. I got an immediate response and followed up with a relatively pleasant phone call. I was empathetic, but made it clear my son valued the class, and I was more worried about his learning than his GPA. When the teacher expressed concern because Cameron is a "college-bound" student, I shared I worked at a college and he could certainly go there, which I hope he will. It all ended well, and he remains in the class and is committed (he says) to trying to do more of what they want. If I'm honest, it's the type of conversation I've had annually with at least one teacher since my son started school. I don't make apologies for advocating for my son, but I've always had guilt around it because I am so keenly aware of people who don't have advocates like me. I know having college educated parents who feel like they are able to talk with school staff gets him the benefit of the doubt, and no one thinks it's unusual. It's just part of the built-in help middle class kids get, and no one thinks twice about it. The longer I work at this notion of being poverty informed, the more insidious it all seems. I'm afraid our systems (like schools) were built on unfair and inequitable principles to begin with, so they are designed to perpetuate those inequities. And that is only mitigated, if you have someone who can "work" the system, like I and other middle-class parents do for our children.

So, what about people who have all my son's gifts (and more), but don't have me? In my training with Dr. Donna Beegle, she often refers to using your title on behalf of others to navigate the system. I didn't disagree, but it always seemed like a small part of what we could do, but now I feel differently. I think it's actually huge, and if your organization is committing to serving people in poverty better, this is a great low-cost place to begin. There is a gulf of difference between giving people the phone number for a service that can help them and making the call with them. It's not right or just, but it matters a call that starts with "this is Vice President Chad Dull" gets a different response, it's just true. And you don't have to have a big title to make this strategy work. I've seen faculty get individuals into homeless shelters after the initial request was denied. I've seen financial aid staff get parents to share FAFSA information when a student couldn't convince them to. It bothers me how well this works, but it is reality. As I said earlier, the system is built on some faulty foundations, so sometimes we need to subvert the system to make it work for the people we advocate for. And we've been taught this is "cheating" when in fact, it's just another version of what I would do for Cameron, and no one ever questions that.

All of this made me think of another student I spoke with in the last two weeks. I don't have her permission, so I won't use her name. She is an adult who has none of the advantages Cameron has, and I think that makes her behavior suspect in situations no one would blink at for my son. She reached out to me after being removed from one of her courses due to a confrontation with an instructor. This student comes from generational poverty and her vocabulary and behavior do not indicate her intellectual ability (meaning she doesn't do middle class things). She also has a strongly developed sense of what she thinks is fair and what she thinks isn't fair. On this particular day, she believed her instructor was being unfair and would not back down on the topic. The instructor was pulled into an emotional reaction, and unfortunately the exchange ended with the instructor telling the student to "get the F#$% out of my class." I'm pretty connected to this student and started getting messages that night about what had happened. She had decided to drop out of school and had been ordered to stay off campus until the following Monday. And if she didn't tell me, the story ends there. I'm not the hero of the story, but I am someone with perceived power who could make phone calls and emails on her behalf to see what could be done. She could feel assured people would respond to my inquiries and the issue would be resolved. Sadly, she didn't believe her own self-advocacy would yield the same results, and she has a lifetime of evidence to support that belief. I spent 20 minutes on the phone and writing emails to key folks, and in the end, she returned to campus to try to finish the term. My title and status simply helped her navigate a situation like it would have for Cameron.

My heroes at Amarillo College tell us we have to love our students more than we love our policies. I think this is exactly what they are talking about. When people who know middle class norms violate policy, they (or their advocates) know how to negotiate and mitigate the response to those policy issues. But all too often for our students from poverty, it is just a confirmation of their powerlessness and a reminder they weren't supposed to be here in the first place, and therefore the end of the road. So, being poverty-informed changes the behavior of those of us in power in distinct ways. If we embrace this, it would remove the guilt of intervening on behalf of students who have nothing. For those of us who are parents, it would simply be the equivalent of what we would do for our children. I like to say that poverty-informed practice is an intentional choice to love the students we have. We do things differently for people we love, including using any tools in our toolbox to navigate a system which does not serve them. We should be on a dual track of navigating the flawed system and fixing it simultaneously, but in the meantime, I think everyone is entitled to the same privileges the handsome guy at the top of the article gets through an accident of birth.