Introduction
"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." Martin Luther King
The fall of 1978 brought some real changes to my world. Growing up in the suburbs of Newark, Delaware, I lived with my mother, father, and younger sister in a three bedroom pink house with brown shutters and a carport. My father worked second shift at a local car factory so we rarely saw him. My mother had recently returned to work as a secretary. Instead of home-sewn clothes we finally were able to purchase shirts and jeans at the local JC Penney's. That was a big deal! I also had to take on more responsibility around the home – cleaning, cooking, and taking care of my sister. Everyone in our white, blue-collar neighborhood had the same type of life – swimming in the pool a few doors down during the summers, playing outside until dark, and keeping the doors unlocked. My sister, friends, and I would walk to school together where the middle and elementary schools were/are still connected. We would leisurely travel down West Stephens Drive passing the neighbors' houses, up the long and tall hill that we would sleigh down in the winters and then across the field where baseball teams would play during the spring. For eight years I had made that walk to schools I adored with teachers who instilled a love of learning that I still have today. As I entered my eighth grade year, unbeknownst to me, legal matters were being dealt with in our state capital courtroom regarding who attended what schools. That September, desegregation had finally come to our school more than twenty years after the initial Supreme Court ruling in Brown vs. Board of Education.
I look back on that time and think about how I have no memories of anyone in or outside of school talking about or preparing me for what would be a different type of school year – a year in which I would not attend school with my sister, a year that there would be African-Americans students bused to our school. My sister did not come to my middle school. As a sixth grader, her new feeder pattern included the same 40-minute bus ride as the Wilmington students, except in the opposite direction. Students living in Newark in grades four through six all had to do this while eighth through twelfth grade students living in Wilmington came out to Newark. This practice continues today for those who are not enrolled in one of the multiple private or the growing number of choice schools. Although I was immersed into this new situation, I did not really understand what was happening.
Reflecting on this moment in time, after having read various texts and documents regarding African-American history as well as the concept of race, and sitting in seminar listening to in-depth conversations and content, I realize now that the silence of that experience was what made the difference – the difference in not understanding. Although years have gone by and today's students' perspectives may be a bit different, I believe that my unit can be a vehicle for providing a forum for conversations that will allow for the opportunity for understanding.
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