Now that the temperatures are creeping below 20 degrees, I haven't been walking as much. Instead I have been grabbing the bus between metro stations, school, and home. Riding the bus is like being a part of a little community (as my housemate, Ryan, is always reminding me). I love riding the morning State Street bus in East St. Louis. I have heard the craziest stories and the most colorful swearing ever. I have had to get used to hearing F-words yelled back and forth across seats in casual conversation. I have had to realize that sometimes people will try to smoke on the bus and because I am white, I will always be asked if I have a couple bucks. I have learned that here people scream and swear at their kids when they are angry. It is a different world. Once I was on that bus with an older white woman who was headed to the District 181 building right next to Vincent Gray. The both of us had just watched as a frustrated teen mother slapped her little girl and told her to "shut her damn mouth." As we exited the bus together she leaned over to me and said, "if she didn't want the baby she shouldn't have had it. No wonder they're all stuck living over here, not going to school."
Fr. Greg Boyle says that we should "stand in awe at what the poor have to carry rather than stand in judgement at how they carry it." I have learned a lot about poverty in the time that I have been a JV in East St. Louis. My students may not initially seem like they are in poverty. They all have smart phones and ipods. They wear designer clothes and designer cologne (too much of a good thing, kids). They get their dreds and their weaves redone every other week and the girls constantly have their acrylic nails reapplied. They sport new tattoos whenever they can get them. They constantly go to movies and clubs with covers.
But, when you look closer you realize that their families live in collapsing projects with big-screen TVs in them. They eat hot-chips for breakfast and Starbursts for lunch and never see a problem. They are afraid to walk alone and to even go to a park with friends. Their dads, uncles, brothers, and friends are in prison. They have babies when they are 17. Some of them still believe that if you shower first, it will prevent STDs. Their idea of a high score on the ACT is most peoples' idea of a low score. They work overnights to provide for their fatherless families, babies, and baby mommas. They believe that every romantic relationship involves cheating at some point and that expecting loyalty and trust is expecting too much. They are used to their playgrounds and sidewalks being covered in broken glass, crack pipes, and garbage.
Their poverty is the poverty of opportunity and expectation. East St. Louis is a place you try to get out of, and if you do, you don't come back for anything. You are not expected to do anything phenomenal. Or even anything less than phenomenal. After enough of being aware of your severe lack of opportunities, it is easiest to lose all motivation.
Theirs is a poverty of mistaken priorities and values. Mark (19), Derek (17) and I were talking about teen pregnancy one day. Mark has a daughter and Derek has two sons. They said that girls try to get pregnant to make sure that their man will stay with them and take care of them. If she has his baby, he won't leave her. When I asked why teen males want to get girls pregnant, their answer came like a no-brainer: "you know you are a man if you have a kid."
When I was in English 101 at EWU and we were writing our narrative essays, we were all writing about family events, fun/meaningful things we did in high school, trips we'd taken, siblings that had been born, etc. In my Vincent Gray essay class, Rashonda and Ernesia are writing about having their first baby, Deanthony is writing about the day his uncle was shot, Jasmine is writing about how she almost got run over by a car, Juan is writing about breaking his arm after flipping off of trashcans with his friends in the projects, and MarQuesha is writing about how she was stabbed three times and lost a lung.
This community baffles me with its poverty.
But, almost simultaneously, it floors me with its richness.
On Sunday we had our January graduation for the 5 students who graduated in the first half of the school year.
Chica, a delightfully fun and sincere woman who plans on training to become an LPN.
Eric, a huge jokester who is an incredible singer and musician, brought rows and rows of his proud family to the ceremony.
Tiffany, graduating at age 22 with a 4 year old son, is continuing school in August.
LaToya, an adorable and outspoken girl, shorter than me, made it through her last classes extremely pregnant and had her baby (a girl named Jamaya) on New Year's Eve.
And lastly, Travion, who stayed after school with me every day for two weeks in order to pass his graduation essay test, who came back to get his diploma at age 23 after three years out of school and is already scheduled to begin classes at Forest Park Community College next week to embark on his path to become a nurse.
Travion's unstoppable tears as he thanked God, family, teachers, and friends became my tears as I wonder how I am supposed to ever leave this beautiful community.
