As we three Perry teachers drove to the funeral home on our lunch hour, my stomach was in knots and I was nervous. Not about going to a funeral during COVID, but about managing myself. I had not known this child well. It didn't matter. He was 20, and he was dead.
When I entered the funeral home, I noticed a tall, attractive young woman in a jumpsuit with stripes running toward her little waist. She was not facing me, but I was admiring the broad leather belt she had on, until she turned around. That's when I saw her hands were cuffed to the belt, and there was a woman standing behind her from a correctional institution. The young man who had been murdered had a big sister, also a Perry graduate, who was imprisoned. She was allowed out long enough to attend his viewing.
There were children who appeared to be from a middle or elementary school there, supporting my student’s younger siblings. They were somber, sitting and standing around with their teachers.
My student's mother kindly ushered us to his casket. Each Perry teacher I was with approached him. I took my turn. The funeral director must have stuffed my student's chest, since he had been shot in it several times before the murderer left him in his doorway, dying or dead.
My student lay there in his casket, in a perfect plaid shirt. I stared down at him. What could I say to him? Would he have been here if we had done a better job? I knew my answer. I started to apologize. I told him how sorry I was that we hadn't helped him more. That we should have done better by him. That I hadn’t gotten to know him better. That he deserved so much more.
Two former students were also murdered, a week or so before this one. And a week after the viewing of this student, we found out that a 2019 graduate had died of a preventable health issue. Perry lost four students this year: one child who should have been graduating, and three previous graduates. "Lost," as in they are dead.
My friend who works in the District says Pittsburgh is a bloody city. Today, a current student went through a 2018 yearbook, and pointed out dead students from that graduating class.
I am starting to wonder: what am I doing?
In the six years I have been at Perry, I have had five Principals. Each of them swore they would spend forever at Perry, be true, and fix as many of our problems as they could. Each one lasted about a year and a half. Last year, the District cut five positions at our school. This year, they cut five more, including our beloved female Vice-Principal, a Spanish/Portuguese teacher, Ceramics, Choir, and a Project Manager.
Next year, there will be no Marching Band or Instrumental Music at Perry. If the Art teacher retires and is not replaced, there will be no Art. (Hopefully the District would not allow this.)
For the first time, I will be teaching three classes. which means I will not be able to spend the necessary time hustling for donated books. If I am not able to obtain a Library budget, I won't be able to get any new books for our students. That's bad. I have grown our Library program, and lots of eager readers through the generosity of a lot of amazing donors, led by Katha Pollitt, novelist, poet and writer at The Nation.
Pittsburgh, what are we doing? Why are our children of so little value? Why are our schools so bereft of resources? Why do we hate our Black families so violently? Why are football and hockey teams so rich, and school libraries so poor?
This is not a rhetorical question. I am really asking. Why?
