Hellooo, February

Only the first of February would be welcomed with 60-something degree weather—a luxury and rarity in the midst of a New Jersey winter. A good omen? I think so.

I almost wore my latest and (one of my) favorite purchases today: a blackberry, turtleneck sweater dress with, of course, black pumps and leather jacket (taken from my mother’s closet, I adore it to no end). (Have I ever waxed poetic for you about how much I love turtlenecks? Sweaters? Sweater dresses? If I haven’t, it won’t be long before I do. Promise.) But I was barely out the door when I realized that my outfit was more suited for a date night than a morning lecture on “Statistical Methods and Applications in Business,” and promptly changed back into my uniform. Ah, the woes of a college student.

My excitement in getting ready for the day, pre-reality check, was only a superficial recognition of the fact that I love the first of every month—it’s another milestone. But the first of February is unique: it’s the signifier of winter’s closing, and spring’s awakening. And amongst being the month burdened/honored (your choice, here) with Valentine’s Day, February is Black History Month.

I sometimes need to remind myself this.

I’m conflicted. The effort in recognizing different ethnicities and cultures is commendable; I appreciate it. Students are exposed to individuals and movements the textbooks only give a minute footnote or single paragraph about. But after that one month, once the 28th rolls around, posters are stripped down and left to collect dust in the backs of supply closets or trash bins, and we forget until the next year. Establishing a “_____ Month” is admitting to a predominantly white-centered culture and hinting at the disposability and segmentation of minority history and culture from “the norm.” Year-round recognition is deserved. It needs to be interwoven and incorporated into education. Into the textbooks, so history is less one-sided and more wholesome.

“There should be a drug class, there should be sex education, there should be a class on scams, there should be a class on religious cults, there should be a class on police brutality, there should be a class on Apartheid, there should be a class on racism in America, there should be a class on why people are hungry, but there are not, there are classes on… gym.”

—Young Tupac

Yes. And more. We shouldn’t have to wait until our college/university years to be given the opportunity to have our minds opened and let our hearts question with courses on gender, race and class. They say better late than never, but if our society is any indication of what we can hope for in the future, these are the classes that need to be taught to kids. Kids aren’t stupid; it is in our youth when we retain the most and learn the best.

I understand that on more than one occasion—this being a prime example—that I’ve digressed from what this blog (and why I blogged, back in the LC days) began as. I have no control of my fingers, they type at their own free will.

I’ll resume to more frivolous things soon, promise.

.   .   .

x

{image via}