Miss, You Are So Beautiful

This may be the most vulnerable blog post I'll ever write. I ask for grace because my understanding of what I'm about to share will likely evolve over my lifetime. This will be messy and nonlinear because I'm reflecting on agism, weightism, and racism.

I visited Peru in June, 2023 as a Fulbright Teachers for Global Classrooms Fellow. Although I am in my 50s, my Scandanavian/Northern European DNA has generally preserved my blonde hair and my blue eyes smile with midwestern America openess. From the start, this set me apart from my group.

In America, I am invisible due to my age and weight. There. I said it.

I am able to connect with people because I have a neurological spiciness (AKA difference) that caused me to train myself to make and hold eye contact during conversations. I am confident and open, but once that momentary bridge is created, I don't expect to be remembered.

In Peru, blue eyes and blonde hair are uncommon. Throw in my native English, and I was a standout. Children wanted selfies with me. I am usually only in adolescent selfies when I photobomb in the basement hallway at BWMS. In Peru, the door opened to conversations and experiences I'd likely never have had otherwise.

This image was taken after the girls approached me asking for a photo, saying in English, "Miss, you are so beautiful."

I was taken aback. In that moment, my smile made their statement true, but I was captured by the life and beauty standing next to me...with the promise, openness, and joy embodied by those girls. We shared the light.

This popularity high lasted for two days, and then I was taught about the colonial history of Peru. When Spain began conquering South America, Spaniards born in Spain were known as Peninsulares. Just below them in power were Spaniards born in viceroyalties. These people were called Criollos.

Colorism in South America, and Peru specifically, is alive and well today thanks to the

power wielded by the lighter skinned Spaniards from the time of conquest.

I believe that there's no such thing as being "woke" for a white person. We swim in a fishbowl of privilege and it's hard to remember that we are always surrounded by the water. It's easy to lull oneself back into sleep. Maya Angelou famously said "...when you know better, do better," but we must constantly reawaken to morning in America. "Knowing better" isn't a one and done proposition. Our eyes must open again and again, and this can be a painful process.

And so, I acted with great intention. Especially around Peruvian children.

I believe that my success as a teacher is rooted in the fact that I am fundamentally a learner. My students teach me all the time and much of what I know about Education for Sustainability, I've learned alongside them. I'm not a "sage on the stage" or even a "guide on the side." I clumsily once said that I'm a "henchman in the trench, man." It's the closest to the truth I've come. I'm an aider and abbetor of learning and if my role is elevated in the classroom, it's because I'm the one who can set boundaries and then step back when kids need to push or even smash them. Unlike them, I have my own credit card, and a fairly complete knowledge of school and local laws. (Fire ring in the courtyard? Yes, but I will hold the lighter and provide the marshmallows after a hard class period of tilling or harvesting.)

In Peru, I made sure to get sleep so that I was open and connected. When working with students or other educators, I worked to quell the idea of American exceptionalism. I stopped relishing in being a novelty. To be humble means to be teachable. I am a student first.

This was especially important as I met with pre-service teachers in Moquegua and participated in a community-wide pedagological panel set up by the brilliant and hard working educator and author Luis Alberto Alvarez Flores. @JenMaryMcKenzie and I were asked to speak to Moqueguan educators about best practices in Florence, Oregon and St. Louis, Missouri. Our host teacher, Dennys Barrios represented Peru.

The Dynamic Duo: Dennys and Luis.

Gifted educators and advocates for children and families. Luis has his own publishing house, linked above. Dennys and his wife both now work for the Ministry of Education.

The American perspective outnumbered 2:1. Honestly and intentionally, I shared what I'd learned in the U.S. but, more importantly, I reflected back the teaching excellence that I'd witnessed in Peru. The evening was an amazing exchange of ideas. This was in large part due to the huge respect that had developed between Dennys, Jen, and I.

This would never have happened had I arrived as a conquerer.

If you've read this far and question whether I am overstating the impact of blonde hair and blue eyes, I have one last painful story to tell. On our last school visit, Jen and I shared an experience that disturbed us each deeply. The lighter skinned male head of school chose to speak at me as though we were the only ones in the room.

Jen, who is of Native American descent, felt invisible and marginalized. I felt like a butterfly pinned under glass--trapped under his male gaze, powerless in a way that I hadn't felt since I was 13 and newly entering womanhood. It happened on arrival and again when we left. It speaks to the strength of our new friendship that we were able to speak about it hours later.

I don't have a punchy ending for this post.

It may take years to know the "take away." Is it that in the end, worldwide, it's the men who really hold power? That racism is universal? Is it that the power of connection leads to healing? That gentle men like Dennys and Luis are part of our journey to wholeness? Perhaps the message is that there's safety and salvation in talking about power, how its weilded, and how it impacts us.

The entrance/exit at our last school visit was the one experience I'd like to "do over" from my time in Peru. In my revery, I go to those moments in that head of school's office and center on Jen and honor her words and wisdom. This ongoing bargaining helps me realize what I'm processing yet today.

It's grief.