Explaining Character in Shakespeare

Introduction

After thirteen years, one would think that teaching character would be easy. In a sense, it is. Year after year, I hear myself chanting: “the seven types of character are…” and “what three character traits are seen in that line?” However, in an effort to go deeper, I must deal with the flip side of this literary element. More and more I find it necessary to get at more applicable aspects of character, the part that really matters, and has a more indelible impact on the lives of my future college graduates, intellects, workers, parents, and leaders.

I grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y. in the 80’s, otherwise known as the “crack era”. It would be fine, I guess, if I were telling a story of drugs and defeat, or of loss and redemption. Those common themes my students could accept. What they couldn’t understand was what happened before Brooklyn. In Harlem, where I was born, I was raised in a two bedroom apartment with my two brothers and mother. My father passed away from an overdose shortly after my younger brother’s birth, so I don’t recall him. Left to raise three children (the oldest being six), my mother did what she could-I guess. I recall being five years old when my mother announced that she was going to the store and would soon return. We were often left in the apartment for her “quick runs” so this wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was her delay in return. One hour turned into one day, one day became one week, and one week became two. My mother never returned to take care of us and, to make a long story short, we grew up in foster care.  Transported to Brooklyn, my brothers and I were raised by a woman who would eventually adopt us and change our last name and lives forever. It was by the grace of God that we were in a good home and raised by a wonderfully strict stranger, who had no education past the 8^th grade, but had the faith of a Disciple and the strength of Samson.  This woman, affectionately known as Nana, instilled in me the morals and values of the church, the importance of education, and, laughingly, the aggressiveness of a lioness. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the link among these qualities and lost the ground under me. I floated on the wind-uncertain of who I was and where I belonged. Both the development and the knowledge of my character came after I became a teacher.

Calvin Coolidge Senior High School sits in the Northwest district of Washington DC. The North side is the more affluent side and thus, Coolidge is an urban school with urban problems residing behind a façade. On the outside, green grass, beautiful trees, and attractive homes surround the building. It has the largest gym on the East Coast (competing only with the University of Maryland), and many tournaments along the coast are held here. It is a widely popular and well known school, with widely popular and well known urban issues. Just past the metal detectors, seven security guards, (two police officers when necessary), and the dean of students, is my class where I teach 12^th grade English. I love teaching English. It is a required subject for graduation and one that allows me to peer into other arenas of life and tie it back into literature (the ole “art imitating life” spiel). My students are predominantly black- many with backgrounds in Ethiopia, Ghana, Senegal, and Cameroon. I have a few sprinklings of Hispanic students- mainly from El Salvador. Ironically, my students who are black American are my lowest performing students. With this particular group, homework is rarely done, class work is not completed with focus, and enduring understandings are not quite…enduring.  They love me and the way I teach, but don’t share my affinity for learning. I find that this particular population of students needs the most tutoring, discipline, and overall mentoring. I stick with Shakespeare for this reason. Believe it or not, it is the one time of the year when my students are locked in and fight to stay above water in class. Shakespeare will be the only death on their watch.