Relearning History – How transferring schools began to open my eyes.

It was the Fall of 2003. My parents and I had decided that it was best for me to transfer from my Catholic high school to the public high school in my area, Omaha Northwest. Contrary to it’s name, Northwest High School sits more in North Central Omaha and has a very diverse population. I was leaving a school that was easily over 90 percent white to a school that I estimate was a 50-50 split.

One requirement that Northwest had that wasn’t present in my prior school was a class required for cultural diversity. So to make my transfer to a new school to be the most movie like story possible — this lower middle class nerdy white kid who weighed not much over 100 pounds walked into his very first class at his new school with thick wire framed glasses …”African American History.”

I remember the first words I heard in that classroom. A senior boy, who would end up turning into a great friend… looks at me and says: “Oh there’s one.” I ended up being one of two white kids in African American History. I remember the teacher asking us near the beginning of class to give a summation of what we knew of the history. My (very sheltered) account was slavery, civil war, Abe Lincoln … Rosa Park’s on a bus and everything was good. (After the government made a few angry phone calls).

I remember part of the class was watching the Roots mini-series. Our teacher would lead discussions about the prejudices, the history and so on. But then the conversation took a turn — and it was only something I could listen to. “Do you know what it feels like to be Kunta Kinte?” Suddenly, I learned why our public school curriculum writers had this class listed not as a history class but; “cultural diversity.” I remember one boy in our class talking about how he was often assumed to be stupid, (he was one of the smartest students in the school.) when he applied for jobs.

After several weeks, I began to get comfortable enough to participate in class discussions. My sheltered life, my prejudices had quickly been uncovered. Yet, at the lead of the teacher … and on their own regard as well, my fellow classmates were very patient with me. I soon learned more about my classmates life then I did in any other class. I remember discussions about faith in the midst of suffering… How do you believe God is still present with such cruelty?

The interesting twist is this. That group of friends I made in my first class in a public school were foundational to my time at Northwest. They became some of my closest friends. Much to my surprise, a large number lived in my own neighborhood (again my prejudice showed). Driving in my car, I learned that one boy and I had near the same taste in music… (which shocked me because I was into Indie Rock at the time…)

I was reflecting back on this journey of almost 17 years ago the last few days. Wondering, is my mind as open now as it was as a 16 year old transferring into a new school. When I came in touch with a reality that was different than the opinions I had formed I was willing to revisit and listen.

Here is the point. I believe that a majority of our minority brothers and sisters are just like these friends I made in 11th grade. If I admit that I don’t know — that I really don’t understand — that after some dialogue, after listening we will grow in mutual respect for one another.

God Bless and a shout out to Huskies of 2005!