By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
"They need squeaky-wheel parents demanding peak performance from both schools and kids," the editorial said. "Those parents--middle class, aspiring middle class and just plain academic minded--are the heart and soul of American education. In New York, too many of them have been voting with their feet."
Of course, here in Dallas we don't vote with our feet. It's too exhausting, and no A.C. We vote with our cars. Pedal to the metal, man. Put some real distance down.
I promised myself I never would write about my family's experiences with the Dallas school system while my kid was still there. So now he's out.
I had a couple of reasons for being shy. The main one was that our son would have objected. Strange thing, being the offspring of two journalists. You'd think the kid would be grateful, being used as an unpaid model in newspapers and magazines from the age of 2, having personal anecdotes about his extremely amusing foibles published here and there over the years. All we ever got was a sour look at dinner and a mumbled remark about how "You guys need to start getting your own material."
The other reason not to write about being white, middle-class and having a kid in the public school system is that you know in advance how obnoxiously self-serving it's going to sound--the Isaac-on-the-altar syndrome, a form of liberal macho. "You're too much of a wuss to sacrifice your kids for your ideals the way we did."
So, just for the record, if sheltering your kid in a private school is being a wuss, we were wusses and a half. This whole public-school thing was his idea. We scrimped to pay tuition at a private school for 10 years. He was the one who started wrinkling his nose in an unpleasant way (also at dinner) and saying, "Private school is for special-needs kids."
We made the mistake of not voting with our car. We continued to live in an inner-city neighborhood, near the Lakewood area. Lakewood is one of Dallas' anomalous inner-city neighborhoods, where a lot of white, middle-class to affluent people continue to live and send their kids to public school.
So our kid winds up with many friends in the neighborhood going to Woodrow Wilson High School. Plus, these Woodrow white kids have their own strange brand of macho, like, "We can handle the real world, and you private-school sissies can't." Kids, as we know, are all idiots. Anyway, Woodrow was his idea. Not ours.
Woodrow is 20 percent white--roughly three times the percentage for the overall district, which is 6.7 percent white. Woodrow is 66 percent Latino, including many kids who have emigrated from Mexico within the last three or four years. It's 11 percent African-American and the rest "other."
Woodrow is only 52 percent "economically disadvantaged," compared with a rate of 77.6 percent for the district. You wind up with what should be a very odd mix economically. Many of the black kids are from very poor parts of nearby South Dallas. The Latino kids are from families just beginning their climb up from 18th-century peasantry. And the white kids, especially from Lakewood, range from middle class up to pretty darned affluent.
So what's that all about? I can certainly tell you how it's perceived from school district headquarters at 3700 Ross Ave.
Woodrow has a choral group called "The Variations," which tends to be overwhelmingly white, in spite of efforts to recruit minorities. They're fantastic, if I may say so. My son was a member.
The school does have other extracurricular activities that are overwhelmingly minority, including a spectacular Ballet Folklorico that draws audiences from all over the city. The basketball team, as you might imagine, is predominantly African-American.
Nobody ever objects that Ballet Folklorico is "too Mexican" or the basketball team "too black." Oh, I know, I know. White people really are a different case, because they were the oppressors. I believe that. But c'mon. The Variations aren't oppressors! They're kids! And they sing a wicked Rodgers and Hammerstein.
A couple of years ago when The Variations performed at a districtwide function, presided over by Superintendent Mike Moses, word came back through a parents committee that 3700 Ross "was not happy."
I was on the parents committee. That's another story--how two liberal, compassionate parents became squeaky wheels. Maybe another day for that story. But for now, I remember sitting there when we got the news that Ross Avenue was not happy about The Variations being too white, thinking, "OK, let's see if we can divvy this out.
"Talking the South Dallas black kids into joining a show choir is tough because so many of them are afraid of getting killed after their friends see them in the first performance.
"The Mexican kids all have jobs. If they say they want to quit working so they can spend their evenings wearing satin robes and singing gringo songs, their parents are going to chloroform them and ship them back to Oaxaca."