Reflections and Transitions


This will be my last blog entry on wordpress and in the Pina’s Lens collection. I have not decided to stop writing, I decided to launch my own website this fall!



I started this blog back in January of 2013 while I was attending Harvard Graduate School of Education (HGSE) for my Ed.M in Secondary Mathematics Curriculum and Instruction. Since then, I have taught for 4 consecutive years at Codman Academy Public Charter School, began to take care of and raise my little sister, proposed to my long-time girlfriend, our President went from Black and competent to an Electoral College voted egotistical selffish lying Businessman, and I became one hell of a math teacher!

I went from:

noidea in the classroom (at least that’s what the 1st year felt like)


crushingit by implementing student-centered strategies that increase meaningful student engagement, using differentiation, and fostering a growth-mindset within my students… ALL WITH DATA TO PROVE IT!

This is why, I am starting my own website. I can post articles and updates about my ongoing research (identify and using the principles of videogame engagement in the classroom), my work with the “Better Math Teaching Network“, my poetry, and some of the best practices and teaching videos I have learned and or developed over my teaching career. I think this is a move in the right direction for my professional career, and what could be an effective attempt to merge my passions of poetry, teaching, and videogames.



I went through all my entries and had all the feelings. Feelings of embarrassment due to grammar and spelling errors in many entries (I’ll work on that more thoroughly in the future). Feelings of confusion as some entries really served no purpose (like my first entry). Feelings of amusement and admiration (can someone admire his or herself?) as quite a few entries were raw, reflective, honest, and attempted to be provocative.

This website will out-live me, but it doesn’t have to be my legacy. I could choose to delete, update, and or edit some of these entries, but I do not want to. Each entry represents a time-stamp in my life. However, there are a three entries that I feel represent my journey from January 2013 to July 2017, and I recommend you to read them on your own time.

#1 “Sleepless in Cambridge

This entry was written after my graduation from HGSE.

“…The cigar is about half-way done when I notice the duck walking along the dock. With one magical flap of her wings, the duck takes off down the river. I wonder what that duck was thinking? Could she be feeling the same way?

Words are so hard to find, yet each component of my lexicon is bursting from my mind. I do not share these words to seek any sympathy, but to subdue the headache that has been itching to come forth.

The sun is beginning to kiss the horizon, making it blush from surprised affection. I stare in awe…”

#2 “Don’t Call Me a Conspiracy Theorist!

This entry was written as a response to a conversation I had with a friend.

“… I prefer to be called a Critical Theorist for two reasons: (1) The act of activating ‘outside-the-box-thinking’ and trying to connect events thru an analysis of cause and effect and benefits IS AN ACT OF CRITICAL THINKING! However, there are many people who do try to ‘connect-dots’ after conducting some research, and end up forming in-conclusive conclusions. Hence reason (2) The connotations of being called a Conspiracy Theorist is to be parallel to being crazy, over-reacting, and over imaginative… it becomes dismissive. To be dismissive of someone, no matter how “out-there” their views may be, is not a good thing; in fact their view should be analyzed and concluded to be wrong, right, or shades or truthfulness…”

#3 “UnSpeaking the N-Word (Conclusion… for now)

This entry was apart of a series (three total) in which I was personally pursing and reflecting on the word “Nigger”, and how I use and hear it.

“…Over this series of blog entries I have explored my own experiences with listening, saying, reading, and discussing the N-Word. I have now read countless articles, watched a few hours of youtube clips, read responses and heated debates amongst my friends, and listened to some of my favorite musical artists.

Here is my conclusion for the N-Word, for now:

“I have decided to stop using any variation of the word nigger no matter the intent behind my use of the word” 2/13/2014 @ 12:58am…”

#Bonus “My Five Stages of a New Single Guardianship

This entry is one of the most personal entries I ever wrote because it was a open letter reflection about my mother’s health and stepping-up to become my sister’s guardian.

“…Most of all, I appreciate you for reading this. The most common thing I am told, “if you need anything let me know.” But, the most common response I have, internally, is “well, what do I need?” Five dollar gift cards to Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, or a local grocery store would be extremely helpful. Continued request to hangout by my friends are very helpful. But, the most important request I have for anyone who is my family, friend, or just a reader, is a check-in. Call my up and see how I am doing. Send me a random letter. Send me a random facebook message of a funny story. Send me a random text. Send this blog to a mutual friend who you think should know about what I am going through…”



Aside from launching my website, I am also going to start teaching at a new school this fall. My decision to leave my current school is a personal and professional choice.

Personally, I look forward to working at a school where I feel my work with be valued and I will be valued beyond the relationships I build with my students. As a Black male math teacher, with a masters from HGSE, and experienced, I deserve to be treated and viewed as valued. I have constantly received the message that “I’m special” because of what I have been able to achieve; rather what I haven’t done: having multiple ‘baby mamas’, a criminal record, back credit, living with my parents, and a history of drug use and or dealing. To have constantly received that message over and over for years, it’s no wonder I struggle with the contradiction of wanting to be treated as “special”, yet wanting my accomplishments to be viewed as ‘normal’ for Black people. Therefore there should be no need to be treated “special!”


Did I just open this up?

Professionally, I will now have the chance to collaborate with other colleagues who are teaching the same content, and have a math instruction coach. Having coaching in my content has been a challenge. The primary (honestly the only) support for instruction I received was in my classroom management. That is not a bad thing, but when feedback becomes nitpicky than it is time to seek deeper feedback and support. I have received quite a bit of this from being apart of the “Better Math Teaching Network”. However, when it comes to black male teachers, we are celebrated for the relationships we build with students and pushed into positions (Dean of Students, Coaches, Principals, Dean of Discipline, etc.) that are in the service of ‘managing’ students, not teaching them. This is reflected in the broader picture of public education (no matter charter or traditional). I do not want that to be my narrative, I want to be known for my craft in the classroom. This is why I am pursuing National Board Certification and having a Student Teacher in the near future.

This transition, along with a few others, will keep pushing me towards greatness and fulfilling my pursuit of happiness. I thank you for reading this entry (and any of my previous entries) and (hopefully) looking forward to witnessing my journey this fall.

Best and with appreciation,

Francis Patrick Pina



Job Title: Teacher

***Breathes in

***Breathes out

I’ve struggled to write about teaching. To write about what my job title means to me and how it is viewed by others. This is not going to be about ‘best practices’, the challenges of #teachingwhileblack (there are so many great articles about the research to identify the challenges), or education policy. This is going to be about politics.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “Trump . . .”,

and I know what you’re seeing,


Okay, maybe you were not seeing that, but I wanted to offer some levity because I am not talking about D.C. politics. I am talking about the politics around Charter Schools. Specifically (and narrowly) about how my job title of “Mathematics Teacher at a Public Charter School” creates ‘issues’ for recognition of respect and worth here in Massachusetts.

Now, I really know what you’re thinking, “So this is about the promotion of charter schools?!” That is a loud NO!


This is about the reinforcement of the ‘Public’ in Public Charter Schools.

This is about what I do being respected.

This is about the work of effective charter schools, being respected.


Now, if you think being a highly credentialed and awarded teacher from a charter school gives you the respect you deserve, just google my colleague ‘Sydney Chaffee’, then google ‘Sydney Chaffee Massachusetts Teacher Association (MTA)’. In short, the largest teacher union in Massachusetts is publicly refusing to acknowledge Sydney Chaffee’s accomplishment of “National Teacher of the Year”.

Why, politics. (for more info, click the link above)

Sydney represents the first ever teacher from Massachusetts to win and be honored as the National Teacher of the Year. She also represents the first charter school teacher to ever hold that title.

Sydney also was not given the appropriate stage and opportunity at the White House, unlike her predecessors, to accept the award because our President treated the moment like a photo op:


Why is he ‘front-and-center’ in all the images that show-up on google? POLITICS

But much like his Presidency thus far, it is bad politics. You would think they would allow Sydney to speak ‘loud-and-clear’ about her work as a public ‘charter’ school teacher given our Secretary of Education Betsy Devos’ views (and lack of knowledge), but that can’t even do that right! I mean, read the transcript; it has gems such as:

“Who’s from Indiana?  Oh, wow, that’s fantastic.  We have our Vice President.  We have Karen Pence.  So thank you very much”

With the fan favorite,

“When you go home, I hope you all say that your trip to the White House was something very special.  I know Melania has been working with you now for quite a while.  She is a tremendous fan of wonderful teachers.  But she’s worked very hard and we’re having some special times here.”

And the sleeper-hit,

“So thank you all very much and God bless you all.  And you go back and keep teaching those students because, like I said — oh, look, and you’re crying —”

But, that is all a digression.

For myself, I have been conflicted with the ‘impressions’ and narratives of being a Public Charter School teacher. How some feel my impact and experience is not authentic and ‘bad’ for America because of the type of school I teach in. Those people are truly forgetting the “Public” part of my type of school setting.

And I am not exaggerating this, because this past November had another contentious issue in Massachusetts: Question 2. Question 2 was a ballot question about altering the Charter school cap in Massachusetts. This debate was so contentious, yet removed from the basis of facts. A problem that has been blown-up in our major didactic duopoly of political life: pro-life v abortion, Democrat v Republican, Science v Ignorance (okay I kinda put Climate Deniers in a bad light, but COME ON!)

What was funny about this issue to me was how City Councilor Tito Jackson was so against Question 2 in 2016, yet was in favor of City on a Hill Charter School opening a second location in Dudley in 2013. Why is that? Politics. Currently, Tito Jackson is making a bid for Mayor of Boston and a ‘good’ group of supporters to have in your back pocket are teacher unions. I can’t fault Tito for playing the game, I just wish he took a more ‘honest’ and informed decision against Question 2, and I don’t say this because I was a supporter, nah! I was against Question 2 as well, but for mathematically and safe guards for quality reasons. Not because ‘charters drain money from the traditional high schools’, which is a narrowly viewed notion.

FACT: The cost-per-pupil funding per child FOLLOWS that child whether they attend a traditional public school or a charter public school in Boston.

Why is that? Because Public Charter schools in Boston and Traditional Public Schools in Boston TEACH THE SAME KIDS!

Money is not the end-all-be-all for academic outcomes, research shows that effect teachers have a causal relationship with strong academic outcomes.

Which brings me back to what I mean be lack of respect, I teach at a school that is 98% students of color, Title 1, 14.8% ELL, 22% IEP, and 100% talented. This is not that uncommon for statically successfully public charters in Boston.

So, why is it that the MTA couldn’t recognize our own? Why can’t I find just one video online of a group of charter school teachers and non-charter school teachers talking about education?

Why is there such a divide in communication between ‘teachers’?

The ‘Rally for Public Education’ should’ve had a strong coalition of teachers from all over coming together to voice their opinions. Why has the teachers decided to stay ‘mum’ about this? I guess it is politics.


As teachers of Boston we must resist the political pressures to stay ‘mum’ about issues that are in the best interests for our students, we must invest in each other by supporting, collaborating, and celebrating each other, and we must envision a district that is having open and factual conversations about spending, investment, fundraising, and teacher accountability.

Objective data collection, analysis, and reporting should determine what the ‘best strategies’ and ‘environments’ are for our students. If it take ‘flexibility’ to achieve that, for even a small portion, of our students, then let’s do that! I will not ‘poo-poo’ an entire system: be it Charters, Private, Traditional Public, homeschooling, etc. I will celebrate and try to replicate what works in my classroom and collaborate with others to try and provide the best for our students no matter their ‘school type’.

Like most issues coming to more direct light since last November, we need to have more open discourse to build understanding. I want to work in a city, my city, where all teachers are respected for their work and we can publicly celebrate each other.

As for me, I will put actions to my words and do the same.



Nosa, it’s because it is the right thing to do. I do not fear potential political repercussions for this because my goal is to be the best teacher for our students.

If that is not the guiding force for decisions being made, then why be in education?


My First March: Better Now than…

How would you end the title to this entry? Would you insert ‘never’? How about ‘later’? What are your thoughts on ‘yesterday’? I tossed those and other words around my mind, pushing myself to really reflect on what I was going to do this morning, and what I ended-up doing by this evening on Saturday, January 21st. I decided to join my fiance and many more people to march in the Women’s March in Boston. This was my first march.

I have been to two New England Patriots Superbowl parades, one Red Sox World Series parade, one Bruins Stanley Cup parade, one NCAA Hockey Championship parade for BU (in my Senior Year and there was cake), three Saint Patrick’s Day parades, and a few New Years First Night Parades in Boston.

I have not marched for “Black Lives Matter”, “Occupy Boston”, “Boston Pride”, “Peace Walk(s)”,  or any other march/protest that I do believe in. This was my first.

I don’t want to excuse my lack of physical activism by the fact that I am a teacher and poet. While those outlets are helpful and powerful in their own right. I haven’t put my feet where my facebook post is.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been impartial or silent in my beliefs or views. I just think I’ve made decisions to act in ways that are safe and not vulnerable. While I want today’s Women’s Marches (globally) to be safe, peaceful, and encouraging, I placed myself in a more vulnerable position then watching it on TV or via live-stream.

As I was getting dress I started to think, my first march was as an ally. I started to wonder how all those White people felt whose first march was along MLK Jr.? What of those White people who rallied with Abolitionist, not because it was the ‘hipster’ thing to do in their time, but because they believed in it? Any movement looking for success, needs allies for encouragement, support, resources, and to build a coalition that provides a stronger front.

I marched, not just to support equality and the rights of women, but to also help physically build that coalition. To meet any stares at my ‘pussyhat’ with smiles and confidence that progress can be made.

I also marched because…



No movement in this Nation, this Country, this idea has been successful solely due to Presidents; it was the boots on the ground, the door-to-door, the media shareout and blasts, and the marches, sit-ins and rallies that garnered the spirits of THE people.

I witnessed the raw power, diversity, and conviction of the American people who want progress, tolerance, and Civil Rights upheld for everyone today.

One sign I read stated: “Things are not getting worse, they are getting uncovered. We must hold each other tight and continue to pull back the veil – Adrienne M. Brown”.

Reread that quote again.


I marched and will continue to march and build coalition thru my actions because of that sign.

Besides, Mother Nature has always had a way of humbling humanity and revealing truths (Climate Change). And if birds are marching:




Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

When I was growing up there were a few things I developed a fear of: Flying, swings at playgrounds (that’s another story worth hearing about how irrational this fear still is), swimming, sleeping without something covering my feet thinking something will touch them at night, whippings and being kidnapped. I would have nightmares about these things happening to me. It was only as I got older that I started to overcome those fears; I’m learning to swim, I learned that the statistical probability of someone kidnapping a non-wealthy Black child is very low… like very, very low, and I haven’t ‘deserved’ a whipping since 5th grade.

However, those fears have been replaced by others like, not being able to pay my bills, having one of my students make-up a lie that gets me fired, and encountering an Officer at anytime that I might somehow decide to exercise my rights. I’ve kinda avoided writing about all that is going on because so many people are already doing that and being way more eloquent than I think I can be. However, I realized that no one can be as eloquent about my own fears as myself, and that my non-Black friends and family might want a perspective that is closer-to-home or coming from someone they may trust.

Let me not shy away from my experiences: including non-Black women clutching their purses or crossing the street while I was walking down Commonwealth Ave while attending Boston University, being followed in stores, and being disrespected by white customers while working at Rite-Aid (formally “Brooks”), as a Shift-Supervisor, by Fenway Park (a tear rolls down my cheek as it has since closed).

Let me not mince words: I’ve had interactions with people, whom I even come to love, who had assumptions about how I would or should act when I first met them; that I must be a “model” Black male since I have both a BS in Economics and Ed.M in Math Education. However, me being racially categorized as Black, doesn’t necessitate me “acting” culturally Black (to fulfill stereotypes YOU or others may hold). This is what makes my skin-tone so unique, that Black as a race has been defined to hold onto a culture! White Americans can walk down the street and I hold no, I mean none what-so-ever an expectation that they should fulfill a cultural archetype because I get that being “White” is only a racial identifier, and not an ethic classifier. I get this because the “Black” community is so diverse: Jamaican, Bajan, Haitian, Cape Verdean, Trinidadians, African-American, etc. YOU may even hold these same truths for people racially identified as “White” because their cultures reflect Italy, Ireland, German, Isreal (Jewish), and etc. decent.

Let me not lose focus. This is suppose to be my cathartic action of sharing what scares me being in America. I think my first glimpse into what my current fears are came in 1991 (I was a little over 4 years old) when I first overheard my father talking about Rodney King. It would be many years later that I would see the footage myself and think, wow, how did a high speed chase, with priors, turn into over 5 minutes of being beaten with batons after being tasered?

RULE#1: Don’t give an officer a reason to use force or arrest you: By instigating a high-speed case, driving drunk, running away from the cops, or getting-up when ask to stay down.

This would be my cardinal rule until I started making extensions following Henry Louis Gates in 2009.

RULE#1: “…”using disrespectful language or responding to disrespectful foul language with your own.

then another extension following Oscar Grant in 2009.

RULE#1: “…”or resist arrest while a cop is on your back and you’re face down.

another, Eric Garner in 2014.

RULE#1: “…”or debate a charge by police that you may have done something illegal that may lead to police not listening to your pleas of not being able to breath.

another, John Crawford in 2014.

RULE#1: “…”or pick-up an open BB gun in a convenience store and walk around on your phone because no one will ask you to put it down or ask if it is a toy (Tamir Rice), or hold a gun in an open-carry-state while being Black.

another after another, after most recently Charles Kinsey has me currently at this:

RULE#1: Don’t give an officer a reason to use force or arrest you by committing a crime, and if believed to have committed a crime remain silent, lay face down, put hands out, and argue for your rights and any dignity, if you’ve been wrongfully accused, at a later date.

My fear is being in the wrong place while living in our time. While this entry may seem to have a direct connection to supporting the “Black Lives Matter” movement, that is not my goal. I simply (due to complex residuals from American History , red-lining, poverty, and my race) experience these news story differently.

Like how 9-11 feels differently to a New Yorker.

Like how the Boston Marathon Bombing feels differently to a Bostonian.

Like how Obama’s first election feels differently to a Black person.

Like how Obergefell v. Hodges supreme court ruling feels differently to the LGBTQ community.

I don’t share this to talk about politics, or to debate “shouldn’t all lives matter?”

Well, I guess I can say this: All lives matter when each and every American, on average, has equal opportunity to achieve and pursue their happiness. If we lived in THAT American, then the the racial breakdown of America would be proportionally represented in these average pursuits of happiness. That is just how math (statistics) works when all variables are controlled to allow fairness. This means, given the US Census ( of 62% White (non-hispanic), 17% Hispanic or Latino, 6% Asian, 13% Black and/or African American, that those percentages should be what we see in racial breakdowns for College and University attendance rates, prison rates, elected government officials, police killings, and etc.

We don’t live in that America. So do the research, look-up those stats, then you will understand why the disproportionality of race and gender have given rise to social causes aiming for change. Aiming for fairness.

I currently walk the streets, to work, home, shopping, parks, T-Stops, Poke-Stops, mailboxes, and the like wondering could I live by my rule? Would I not speak my truth to my rights like Sandra Bland? Would I choose not to travel to cities that foster the KKK or Confederate Battle Flags (because I feel that differently too)? Would I need to become more familiar with my Miranda Rights than our Bill of Rights?

Perhaps it’s no surprise that the topic of “institutional racism” and “prejudice” continues to be a hot-button, when we have yet to stand-up, sit-down, or in some physical position, discuss these matters from a problem-solving lens. I don’t need anyone to feel any type of “White Guilt”(look this term up if you are not hip). I don’t need reparations.

I need more processing time. I need to explore my fears. I need to think, read, and share more about this.

Perhaps it’s just a phase, or maybe it’s just the way we are conditioned in America. But at one time or another the average person is afraid of the dark.

Were you?

Are you?


Spring Closet Cleaning via Poem

DISCLAIMER: I did not write this free-verse poem to prompt immediate out-pouring of support or love via facebook comments, reposts, twitter likes, or anything like that. While I do greatly appreciate it, this free-verse, barely edited, written-right-now poem is a form of catharsis; it serve as an update and outpouring from my heart as to how I’m feeling right now.

Spring Closet Cleaning: Not Fair

This poem is not fair, but I guess if life isn’t fair, and really how can life be fair, then it makes sense that this poem is fair.

It is not fair that I will never be able to share how angry and frustrated I am at and with my mom, she is slightly doing better, she put on too much weight, has been moved to Boston, which makes those trips to her shorter, but that shorter distance has only equated to my shorter patience with her.

It is not fair that her decisions and actions brought on some type of dementia that put me in the position I was not ready for. I am not ready. How can any person be ready to be a parent?

It is not fair that my sister is carrying such a heavy burden that she is questioning herself, her existence, who she is, what she does, she is not doing so well right now, she has not been doing well right then.

If this was twitter I would type “mothers dementia + absentee family = sister’s depression #unbalancethisequation”

If this was a meme I would have a picture of a rabbit racing a turtle because we all want progress to be fast, but slow and steady wins the race, and no doctor, no pill, no PHD can physically get you to take each step towards the finish-line.

Mom, I am sorry that I can not see you as much as you want and that I sometimes use your short-term memory lose as my comforted excuse not to see you.

Sister, I am sorry that I get so frustrated and annoyed by consistently waiting for you, to go to school, to meet me somewhere, to get dress, to talk to me, to respond to me, to express what you want from me.

Self, I am sorry that you are struggling to be a parent who did not get the opportunity to perform mess-up-parenting for the prior 14 years before a 15 year old was placed in your care. You are so unaware of what tone, word, actions, supports, repeat, tone, word, actions, supports, repeat, tone, word, actions, supports are needed to raise a child in distress.

It is not fair that my closest friend is a co-worker who is leaving.

It is not fair that my closest friend is a co-worker instead of being someone whom I grew-up with in this city, this city of transplants who stay rooted in mobile flower beds, but my roots run deep.

It is not fair that instead of telling all this to my family face-to-face it has to happen upper-to-lower case.

It is not fair that you may need to read my previous blog entries to get the full story of why I might be writing this poem in the first place.

It is not fair that I haven’t told you when we were texting each other yesterday.

It is not fair that we are not checking-in with each other weekly.

How is your mom? Is you dad doing okay? Did you sibling figure out their life? Did you know such’a-such’a is getting married? Did you know such’a-such’a got divorced? Who had a kid!?… Did you stop cutting yourself? Is he no longer beating you? Are you still unemployed? I’m sorry for your lose.

It is not fair that I was the first to write all these words making you possibly feel guilty when you have just as much going on.

Fact is, the world is not fair, how could this world be fair, so of course this poem is not fair.


This Be (Poem)

This Be
This be an opportunity to speak freely,
To combine words and movement with sound
This be 3D
Punching circular fist into you mental sheet of paper like Braille,
If you can feel me then you can read me.
This be a break from the mainstream pollution,
A dilution of your problems,
This be a solution!
A focus on being humanistic, hell,
This be Confucian!
This be too big to fit,
So poets, I can’t go in!
When was the last time you jumped up and down,
Mixed your mental around and allowed your mind to bust?!
If you don’t release your mental pressures you will be left
This be going down you green pipe dreams,
This ‘B’ is held down so you can run faster, stomping goombas,
Trying to make it to Star Road.
This be untold, like using the skeletons in your closets as hangers
Hoping nobody sees them.
If you need courage, then
This be Freedom.
A three minute blitz with no glitz or glam
This be “Dayum! Did you hear that shit?”
This be not for quitters,
If you bat left then speak right,
This be for switch hitters!
This be the bottom of the ninth,
Two men on,
Packing heat like Lara Croft,
This be a swing of a vernacular bat, “knock” a Walk-Off!
This be first class thoughts flying coach.
It’s uncomfortable to initiate a topic most don’t want broached.
Like, “Nigger”.
This word triggers my double consciousness.
This be counting on some to count me out,
So when I make it, there is no doubting this!
Raising a black fist clutching my master’s degree.
This be a struggle, the process of paying your dues,
This be an expired subscription worth a renew,
The chance to make the Red, White, and Blue,
Safer for the L.G.B.T.Q.,
Safer for the me and you.
Safer… because some statements don’t come with
air bags.
This be a free verse Ferrari with the missing roof,
A vehicle for the youth to speak their truth.
Mr. President.
This be a pre-emptive strike and an exit-strategy,
This be that catharsis when things are going badly
The space needed to recharge your battery
This be my appreciation for you listening to me,
This be, Poetry.

Dreams from my Mother: One Year Later

Next week will mark one year since I’ve lost my mother. My mother is not dead, but it is the type of lose that accompanies an individual who suffers from dementia. My background as an educator pushes me to look at my mother’s dementia (specifically Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome) from a strengths-based position; as a set of circumstances that causes her to interact and learn differently from others. But even with that, it is not easy. As I reflect on the last year of my life, I’ve learned so much about my strengths, limitations, goals, and needs. I write this blog entry without fear and from an open heart. I share with you the three most important lessons I have learned over the last year, and three personal goals I have for the next year.


The Three Most Important Lessons I’ve Learned



I must take a special strong type of someone to be a loving boyfriend, loving son, loving brother, loving parent, loving teacher, loving friend, loving colleague, and a loving learner while facing uncharted territory that no average 28-year-old would even be prepared for. Being a parent is a tough and evolving responsibility, especially when you match that with being the care-taker of one of your parents. On the night of my 10-year highschool reunion, a good friend of mine said, “Not to get all religious and stuff, but bro, the lord only gives you what you can handle.” That sentiment was later echoed by one of my mentor’s when she told me, “If you were given it, then you must have been able to take it.” So when I look back at my successes: planned my 10-year highschool reunion, restarted and relaunched the Alumni Association for that highschool, earned my teaching SEI Retell Endorsement for Massachusetts, co-coached my job’s Slam Poetry team to a State Championship, supported my girlfriend and sister with love, encouragement, tears, laughs, hugs, and so much more, I realize how strong I am. I did not learn of nor gained my strength by-myself; it took love, support, and listening ears to get me there. I don’t intend to stroke my ego with what I have stated, rather I am trying to connect to the second most important lesson I have learned. I need to love myself.


I have beaten myself up a lot over the last year. When my mother first got sick I jumped right-into ‘logistical-management-mode’. I spent so much time balancing obligations and time-sensitive tasks that I forgot to equally, if not more, balance socio-emotional obligations. It wasn’t until the beginning of summer that I started to authentically reflect on my lack of socio-emotional supports for my sister, my mother, my girlfriend, my father, and most importantly myself. Whenever you board a plane and you’re about to take-off, the flight attendant instructs you that in the case of an emergency, that you place the air mask on yourself before helping others. In my case, I placed the air mask on only cover my nose and that did not allow me to take the deep-breaths needed to relax. I reached my emotional breaking-point on a few occasions and I still have the scars from beating myself up afterwards. It is only now that I am using those same hands to apply ointment to those scars. By loving myself, I can forgive myself, and by forgiving myself, I can help myself. Now my air mask covers my full face. I’ve been breathing deeply the last couple of weeks.



My family has always been small: my mother, my sister, my father, and a cat. Due to the age difference between my sister and myself, I haven’t had the chance to develop a strong brother-to-sister relationship. My sister was born when I started highschool, my sister was entering kindergarten when I started undergrad at Boston University, and by the time my sister was entering 7th grade I began my master’s program at Harvard Graduate School of Education. There was no middle (buffer) child, and my family (both mother and father’s side) did not get involved (unless they wanted something). As for my sister’s father (we have different fathers because my parents divorced when I was 7) and his family, they also did not get involved. So how was I suppose to feel when my sister’s father didn’t ‘step-up’ when my mother was hospitalized? How was I suppose to feel when my grandmother (my lone-living grandparent) decides to visit for nearly two months and refuses to see my sister, myself, and her own daughter during the Christmas and New Years? How was I suppose to feel when no family member reached-out to invite my sister and I over for Thanksgiving? If my family was already small, it became that much smaller when my mother was removed.

I came across this quote, “Blood makes you related. Loyalty makes you family,” and only now can I grasp the weight of what it means. For a few years I reflected on the natural process of becoming an adult and beginning to know and understand family members as ‘people’ and not titles. I’ve only began to understand and truly appreciate the man my father is through our discussions man-to-man. Discussions that are not limited by topic or content. Discussions that have helped my father and I build a bond deeper than father and son, a bond of friendship. Friendship is the bond that I have come to value to the most in my life. My girlfriend and I have a relationship built from friendship. When you call someone your friend, you do so by choosing that relationship, by trusting that relationship, and by maintaining that relationship. That effort, trust, and hopeful reciprocity, is not always present in a blood-family. This same phenomenon is experienced when an individual breaks away from their family’s ‘history.’ Think of ‘first-generationers’: those who first break the poverty cycle in their family, those first to marry outside their race, those first to marry someone of the same sex, those who first enter college, those who first move away from their home state, and those who first break-away from the ‘family-business’. It is possible to grow-away from your family, and to maintain the relationship, one must find value in it. Just like some friendships I have had, their are no relatives that I do not find value in maintaining a relationship with. That previous statement not only weights on me, but it places me in a vulnerable position.

This lesson has given me the insight to value and put the effort forward to maintain and develop friendships that I can then call a ‘family-relation.’ A few years ago a close friend of mine from B.U. and I got into an argument. We both allowed it to escalate and let our ego’s get the best of us. We would go beyond just losing a friendship, but we would lost a brotherhood; a brotherhood that is ever more important given the current situation in America when it comes to Black Lives. We have since started repairing our friendship and are on mends. I did not ever think it would be possible for us to reconcile our differences. It has been such a relief and fruitful for both of us to have each other in our lives. When I think about the future for my girlfriend and myself, I look forward to making my small family a bit larger.

My Three Personal Goals for the Next (school) Year


Although I only shared three lessons in this blog-entry, I have learned many lessons this last year. It is through my collective lessons that I present these three personal goals I have for the next school year. These goals are not only attainable, but they are also fulfilling and scratch an inch I’ve had for some time.


I’ve wanted to be a mentor for quite some time. It goes back to my time working a Year Up when I was tasked with matching my students with mentors. Ever since I left Year Up I wanted to become a mentor for a Year Up student, but my schedule and profession made that a difficult venture. I have two mentors and call both of them my friend. I appreciate them for their guidance, support, love, listening-ear, and friendship.

One professional goal of mine is to support, mentor, and nurture new teachers. I have a more years of teaching and experience to go before I feel like I can do that adequately. However, I have enough experience to mentor a highschooler. This brings me to how I will become a mentor. I’m working with the John D. O’Bryant Boston Technical Alumni Association to establish a mentoring program that will connect alumni with current highschoolers. Through this effort, I will soon have my mentee.


Poetry is life! I found my most effective and honest mode of expression when I became a spoken-word artist. Since my time at B.U., I have self-published two chapbooks, performed for many many crowds and venues, and attended many spoken-word and slam poetry events. I’ve been planning on releasing a third chapbook for the last four years and have not delivered. I have written some poems, now I haven’t exactly completed each one, but I do have material to work with. I’ve read and edited more poems for my friends and students over the last two and a half years than writing my own poems. While that is not entirely a bad thing, I want to deliver on my goal of producing my third chapbook. More importantly, I want to continue to express myself in the most powerful way I know, poetically. These blogs have been my replacement from writing poems, but my artistic edge is not expressed in these blogs.

Expect your copy to be available by Christmas, on a sliding monetary scale of $0 to $5.


My third goal loops back into the first two [did you just see what I did]. Over this last year I put forth the effort to reconnect with a friend and I got myself a bike. I’ve come to the realization that my actions must reflect what I need, want, and/or love to do. It’s not about making decision solely based on being right, wrong, or wronged, it’s about being genuine to my heart and what I need, want, and/or love to do.

What entices me the most about this goal is how adaptable it is. I enjoy playing tennis, so I will try to play more. I enjoy bike riding, so I will ride my new bike longer and further than ever before. I love to travel with people I love, so I will plan to do so. One short coming of this goal is the lack of accountability. Perhaps this is where you come in. YEAH, YOU THE READER! You can hold me accountable by commenting on this entry, asking me if I have achieved my goals.

As I enter the next year of my life, I hope that my next entries are more of the ‘poetic’ nature. I don’t see a way to wrap a bow on this blog entry. The truth is, I don’t want to. What I am going through is a process; of understanding, of healing, of progression. My mother’s dream for me was to be healthy and happy with what I do in life. It is hard to accept that my mother will not be the same, but I try to remind myself of the mom I had. The friendship I’ve built and continue to build with my dad will not happen to the safe effect with my mom. However, her dreams for myself and my sister will carry on.

So, until my next entry and/or adventure with you…


The Three States of a Personal Matter


It’s been over 9 months since my mother suffered from Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome… since I began the legal task of becoming her Guardian, since I began the legal task of becoming my sister’s Guardian, since splitting my time between two apartments, since embarking on another challenge that my Love and I must face.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading, reflection, and writing about what has been on my mind over the last 9 months. Reading books like “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chodron, have helped me reflect and brought me to realize that this process has been like giving birth, but I don’t know what coming to a full-term means in my context. Perhaps this post is my baby?! In my previous post about my mother I shared my “My Five Stages of a New Single Guardianshiphood”, and this post is an extension of that. This post is my three states of a personal matter.



In order to build a house you need a proper foundation, a solid foundation. So if I plan to build a new house for my life, I would need to accept the solid aspects of my life. Real aspects such as my mother not being able to retain new memories and my sister living under my roof for at least 3 more years. My relationship with my Love has faced many challenges: long-distance via graduate school, long-distance via Vietnam, and now short-distance due to time and living arrangements. While I can’t clarify the short-term, I can clarify the long-term of one day making a family with my Love. This has to be the most solid ground I accept because it keeps me grounded. Not to say that is more important than any other solids in my life, but it is the most cherished.

I love my little sister, but 14 years of an age difference and living together a total of 5 years (2 of which she can recall) has its impact. My relationship with my sister has been one of growth. We have been able to get to know each other over the last 9 months more than the last 9 years. The most solid ground I accept about my sister is that we will have a push and pull relationship as I get to know her, not just as her brother, but also as her Guardian.

Other solids that I must accept in my life have been what has demanded my time:

-Taking an Sheltered English Immersion course for 12 weeks, for 3 hours per session, with 6 strategy implementation assignments, 2 professional network meetings and reflections, weekly Blackboard postings, a major Capstone lesson plan, and a written reflections


-Teaching an MCAS Math Course with Upward Bound once a week for seven weeks


-Teaching “full-time” at my job while wearing the many hats that come along with teaching at a high-caliber charter high school.


-Planning my high school 10 year reunion and helping to mange the Alumni Association


-Spending quality group, solo, and partner time with friends, family, and friends.


In order for a balloon to stay afloat, the gas must fill the entire volume of the balloon. So, if I planned to stay afloat I would need to stretch; pushing my boundaries to stay afloat. I’m not just trying to be metaphorical, I’m trying to be scientific! Just look at the ‘Ideal Gas Law’:


The amount of pressure and growth I can take equals the amount of events in my life and my temperament (temperature) during those challenges. If there is one thing that is constant about all of our lives, it that change is inevitable. Perhaps my connection to the ‘Ideal Gas Law’ is a bit of a stretch (see what I did there),  but what I’m getting at it that I have been feeling a lot of pressure the last 9 months: pressure to support my sister and her transition to high school, pressure to support my sister academically, pressure to make sure my sister is healthy emotionally and physically (like getting her new insurance for a dentist visit, physical, and new eye glasses post an eye exam), pressure to ask for help, pressure to not need help, and pressure to just graze my ‘bursting’ point, because ‘bursting’ is not helpful for my Love, sister, family, friends nor my students. I am not trying to disregard the pressures my sister, Love, my mother, or my father feels, because I know each of them have their own and feel some of the same pressures I do.

The amount of pressure I feel increase my volume and reflects my room to grow. I grow equally by the number of events that require me to do so and as long as I maintain a temperament that augments those events. If I make decisions while I’m mad, I tend to be erratic in my behaviors. If I make decisions when I’m calm, I tend to be more comforting in my behavior. To achieve this calmness so I can take the pressure and grow from it, I must “Be Like Water.” -Bruce Lee



In order to reap a good harvest, the water must flow. This has been the most natural state for me. As I entered the unfamiliar territory of insurance applications, medical papers, court papers and dates, social security, long-term care plans, and Guardianshiphood, I had to constantly go with the flow. As I entered brokering responsibility with my sister’s father, understanding the lack of support from my mother’s side of the family, I had to candidly go with the flow. As I worked tirelessly, meet all my deadlines, maintain a high degree of functionality for my job and non-profit work, I had to consistently go with the flow.

Being in a liquid state means I must be able to adjust to any restrictions. I must shift between solid, liquid and gas. I also must strive to be all three states at once. I must strive to reach my own ‘Avatar State.’



In the animated series Avatar, the ‘Avatar State,’ is “a defense mechanism, designed to empower you with the skills and knowledge of all past Avatars.” (Avatar Roku) For me, being in ‘Avatar State’ is being my most compassionate, calm, and courageous self. It is critically thinking about the solid states of my life, responding well to the gas states in my life, and being flexible in a constant liquid state. When I really think about it, are we are all in a constant liquid state. Given the fact that our bodies are more than 60% water means we are all capable of achieving ‘Avatar State.’

I guess in order to do so, we must be tested in ways that stretch our perceptions of our strengths and limitations.

Audacity to Hope

Beginning this blog entry has become an exercise of restrained grief and dark thoughts. While most of my posts are more provocative and, in my hope, stir some critical thought, hashtags like “Black Lives Matter” push me to go deeper into my psyche.

Before I submerge my readers into my still waters, I want to pre-face by saying that I do believe there is hope.

Here are the questions I am wrestling with: How should I feel about the Michael Brown case? How should I feel about the Eric Garner case? How should I feel about Tamir Rice? How should I feel about Rodney King? How should I feel about high school and college students protesting and getting pepper sprayed? How should I feel if taking some of the focus off race is slighted by others?

While I am struggling with how to feel, there are some things that I do feel. I feel I can not escape living my life through the lens of a Black man because I do see America through Black man eyes. I do not have the choice to ignore racial implications when those same implications follow me.  I do not have the choice to ‘join’ a discussion about race when I am the topic of discussion. I do not want Black to be the defining characteristic of myself at large when I am a civilian, patriot, poet, teacher, son, scholar, and tax payer as well.

Three themes jump-out at me about being a civilian in America: Policing (not excluding militarization of the local police forces), the state of Black America, and having hope in America.



It is hard to be a civilian in America. There is a lack of clarity and accountability for authoritarian force, but lucidity about human collateral if police are simply doing there job; responding how they were trained. Look, I am not saying ‘e’f! the Po’ Po’!”, I am suggesting if police are trained to shoot at chests when someone is running towards them (when it seems leg shoots would suffice), if police can break protocols (such as a choke-hold in Staten Island, or having a gun drawn while on patrol) that result in deaths and administrative consequences, then may be something is wrong with the way we train police and hold them accountable for excessive force. Sure, the Obama Administration can push for cameras on members of the police force, but cameras have not resulted in justice and accountability before. Some will argue, “Hey, just cooperate with the police and death does not need to happen.” But, you see, we kinda have a thing called ‘rights’ in America. As a citizen, I expect my chances of death when interacting with someone who has a gun to be lower when they have a badge. As a citizen, I expect the police to ‘serve-and-protect’, not ‘serve-and-detect’. As a citizen, I expect other citizens to think and form ideas about these issues, because it is not just a Black American issue, it is an American issue.



Speaking of which, what is the current status of Black America? Well, on the entertainment front it is easier to “Act-Black” and be successful, than to “Be-Black” (I am looking at you Grammy committee!) On the educational front the number of Black men in post-secondary education has outnumbered the number of Black men in prison. On the census front, African Americans and Blacks made up 12.3% of the population in 2000, but made up 12.2% of the population in 2010, and the number is going down. But, we must look into this data carefully because Black and African American have two very different cultural implications. When we talk about being Black in American we are talking about race, but when we talk about African Americans we are talking about culture. Now, I will admit, the lines between Black culture and African American culture are practically non-existent. What I am trying to clarify is that Black as a racial category includes many different cultures. The number of immigrates from the African continent and Caribbean Islands are trending to out number the number of African Americans. Sure, racially they belong to the same group, but culturally, there are differences and historical backstories.

Does it matter to me if the African American rates are decreasing, yes, but not in the way you may think. The latino population in American has been on the incline for several decades, pushing for more recognition of struggles and adaptability to what the melting pot of America has become. While this is a tangent, I believe we are moving towards actually being a melting pot, where the different flavors and colors actually mix together, and that I am all cool with (and is an entirely separate debate about ‘race-mixing’). Again, I am fine with it and I don’t prioritize it as race-mixing, just like I don’t prioritize it with gender-mixing (or lack there of), I prioritize love-mixing. So love who you want to love, **** what others think!

So, what exactly am I trying to say about the state of “Black America”? I’m trying to give background to the credence of feeling hopeless and left-out by Black Americans in America. On one hand if the number of racially defined Black Americans is decreasing then the major issue facing the traditional power structure of American is Latino Americans (legally and illegally). Race discussion between Black and White tend to center around debating if there is a problem and that, like, slavery was so long ago, if there are lingering effects from slavery, and like whether we are post-racial or not, and crap.


So what is the state of Black America, a shrinking state that is being fought on all sides from merging with the state of America.



If we, as civilians who represent the crayon box that American uses to draw success, can come together and recognize matters of race, gender, sex, religion, and other life-choices as true American issues that we are ALL ACCOUNTABLE TO FURTHER CHANGE FOR, then maybe we can truly move forward. Equal Pay is not Men versus Women, it is entitlement vs dignity. The protests are not truly about Black males and white cops, it is injustice via unempathetic vs justice via empathy. If race is what galvanizes a cause, it is collaboration and tenacity that keeps it going! Imagine if the energy we put forth fighting a parking ticket was the same, collectively, energy used to fight for something that is bigger? This is why I am hopeful. Because some people are starting to get it.

-People are starting to get accurate representations of the struggles of sexual abuse

-People are starting to get that justice is not being delivered at rates that it should be

-People are starting to get that healthy food choices can be a choice

-People are starting to get that college is too damn expensive and other options are available

-People are coming together, no matter the racial background, and stand with each other

-People are reaching across the aisle or accepting the from the other sides because issues don’t have to be dichotic on the surface for things we had no choice in

People are starting to get it and as more people get it, the more you realize what needs to be done. Sure the number of people who are getting it are not at tipping-point rates (esp. depending on what the issue or topic is), but the communication and ability to share those ideas have become so easy and accessible. I mean, YOUR READING THIS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! You are my reason for hope. My future family is my reason for hope. Our potential for a better future America is our reason for hope.

Call me whatever you want, but the truth is: Without hope, then the desire to live in this country hits a low point. We have so many issues, it’s as if we have a subscription, but the prescription lies in vitamin U.S. Let’s take that pill… or shove-it down the 1% throats! (why did I just type that?)

If I failed to push you to dig-in and analyze your current state of hope, the video below just might help.

Dear White People, Dear My People

I’ve been wanting to see this film since it appeared on Democracy Now and started generating buzz on the Sundance Circuit. So, today, I made it happen: I saw “Dear White People”(D.W.P). If you are unaware of this film, please click and what the link:


This movie struck me on many chords: my experience being a Black male undergrad at Boston University, my experience being bi-racial and cultural, and the connection to my previous post(s) on the N-Word.


I enjoyed the film. While there was some hype built around the topics and perspectives in the film, I don’t think it lived up to that hype. In fact, the fact it didn’t live up to the hype is a good thing. What makes this film good is the dialogue, perspectives, and under-current feelings that are expressed through the protagonists’ non-verbal communication. Since there are multiple protagonists’ in the film, the perspectives are not just solely theirs. In simple terms, the tangental characters also present multiple views on topics such as ‘post-racial society’, ‘segregated housing on college campuses’, cultural appropriation, and rhetorical micro-aggressions (ie. micro-aggressions from racially white characters towards racially minority characters that are met with silence). This film is not only worth seeing, but it will spark dialogue, self-reflection, and many related searches on youtube.


My BU experience had many similarities to the film: the Dean of Students is a Black man, the Black Student Union presented conflicts with racial responsibility and what it means to support a Black community, and I have friends who would fit the tropes presented in the film. While the characters are tropes, it is done in a way that allows the characters to be complex, flawed, and not satirical (al beit, the dialogue was often saturated with satire). I related to Troy (the straight black male protagonist) because it is hard to strike a balance between navigating American society as a Black man in the domain of White American Culture (think of any boardroom meeting, Wall Street, your college math classes, the racial make-up of your high-school teachers, etc.), and navigating urban and inner-city society as a Black man around other Black men and women. In a nutshell, my Black identity is mostly challenged and prompted to produce a ‘Black-Card’ from within the Black community, while my polished, educated, and code-switching Black identity is encouraged within the broader American society. In simply terms, I’m Black at home, but African-American at work, and a danger in public.

I remember the Black Student Union having ’emergency meetings’ in regards to perceived racial slights, but very few meetings about racial solutions. I remember being stopped and questioned why I haven’t attended the Black Student Union meetings and other functions. I remember not having the social capital within the Black community of BU, outside cashing-in my capital from being a spoken-word artist. Troy and Lionel speak to me in experiencing a dose of what my hardwork and success would land me post college: being a pepper flake in a mostly salt workspace.


I have delved into this topic previously, but what I can’t shake is the projection (not only in the film) that some non-Black racially observed individuals have a need to be able to say the N-word. When I think about the power the Black community has in restricting this word, I can’t help but think that maybe, the N-word is the main social WE have!? Simply put: Black people relish the fact WE can use it and even put it-in a box, hand it to others, and tell them they can’t open it; and why not?!


ANALOGY: Speaking in historical terms, it’s as if White-Male Americans gave the Black community small-pox ridden blankets causing many Blacks to die. After providing vaccinations (via Emancipation and Civil Rights), many Blacks were cured but still held onto the blankets for warmth. Now we are at a turning point were we have central heating, but we still toss around the blankets as a show of defiance, unity, and emancipation towards America. I think it is time we tossed the blankets into the fire that burns from our passions.


It is time to re-enable consciousness!


Now I’m not referring to “Black Consciousness” specifically, but the critical thinking-bigger-picture-no-bull-my-brother’s-and-sister’s-keeper consciousness. Think about the appropriation of Black culture and I offer you two critical thoughts:

  • What if WE stood up in unity and stated, “Dear White People, we no longer accept that you are appropriating ‘Black Culture’, because that ‘Black Culture’ is American culture and you can’t appropriate something you already share. Therefore, keep admiring the fruits of minority labor for entertainment and lifestyle choices, because now we I close my eyes and picture boots and a hoodie, I can just as easily picture you.
  • What if WE included YOU? So YOU can invite THEM because it is no longer THEM against US, but US against OURSELVES


This post is not suppose to be a call for militancy, but more of a thought of consciousness, which I gather, was the purpose that Justin Simien (D.W.P. Director and Writer) was aiming for: a dialogue of consciousness. Don’t see the movie and simply critique it, see the movie and think of how it speaks to your experience, how it speaks to your lack of experience, how it speaks to a perspective you never thought about, how it represents America.

This is the ultimate beauty of our nation. WE, collectively, as citizens can not wash away the sins of our country’s past, nor ignore them because we had no physical hand in it. However, WE can try our best to keep the future pure and accept that no matter your background, ethnicity, race, religion, sexuality, political leanings, that SOMEONE AT SOMETIME DIED FOR YOUR CURRENT COMFORTS. Accept that comfort and live a life that shows that you earned it!