When I taught my first class two years ago, I was nervous. I don’t like to be the center of attention, and yet, here I was placing myself in front of a group of strangers to speak. Am I even qualified?
After swirling in my insecurities, I realized that my weaknesses could also be strengths. My vulnerability made me relatable. My self-doubt became fuel for self-reflection. And not being experienced helped me approach teaching from a fresh perspective.
A “first class experience” is a term usually equated with excellence when it comes to air travel—not so much with teaching. An actual first experience in the classroom can be terrifying, since we take the task seriously. Which is a good thing, since with both air travel and teaching, we are entrusted with guiding a group safely to a destination.
When considering the words separately, “first” can mean original and “class” denotes a group. In my poem, the first class experience comes from me, the original woman who is also a teacher.
My first teacher was my mother. To help me combat the racism I endured as a child, my mother taught me about the Dragon Girl, a parable from the “Lotus Sutra” based on the eight-year-old daughter of the Dragon King. Because she is young, female and half-beast, many didn’t believe that she could attain enlightenment. In a revolutionary scene, the Dragon Girl stands up in all of her beastly glory, declaring “just watch me” and proceeds to show the doubters her ability to instantly attain enlightenment. She taught by making herself an example.
And I’m learning how showing we are at once imperfect and glorious is the kind of education that can liberate others.
First Class
Is it because I wasn't loud enough?
Like when I stand
in a classroom of children
who don't listen
when I try to instruct them.
Each time, it takes a male voice
to draw their attention.
It is not enough
to be soft and open.
Is it only when life takes form
in the shape of a gun
when you awaken?
The proverbial fist in your midsection.
Is it not enough
to speak with composure
like I am composed of all that matters,
a composition that can't match
the composite sketch
drawn from my false image–
Eve, the first terrorist.
Better yet guerilla
who turned the world upside down–
“Gorilla” I was called in the zoo
for my blackness.
Call me savage–
what’s more primal
than the heartbeat we hear
of our mother inside the womb
where all is black?
I’m most civilized
when embracing my animal
like the service animals
we hold for comfort
when boarding the plane.
We about to take off
and I stand in front of you again,
the classroom of children,
the rows of passengers.
I, the one who attends to your flight,
raise my voice to give you instruction.
And when you remember
that you’ll be lifted into the air
and delivered,
you will listen.
—
Editor’s note: Peter Meineke is working on his and Jeanne’s return to Poet’s Notebook, which will include Yuki Jackson going forward.
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This article appears in Jul 23-29, 2020.