The messages of train delays and power outages along the route blared through our packed subway car during yesterday evening's rush hour. The D train slogged along, seeming to be affected by heat, just like its riders. Normally, I try to avoid riding the subway at rush hour, but no such luck. I found myself wedged in and standing over a group of high school girls. Through my expert inference skills, I deduced that they had celebrated the end of their school year by going to a beach... probably Coney Island, since that's where the D train ends. They were in various stages of dress - all in bikini tops and shorts, but some wrapped up in bedsheets together to stay warm on the air conditioned train. (p.s. The D train is known to be as cold as a meat locker. I advise carrying an alpaca sweater during the peak of summer whenever riding the orange line.)
There were eight of them. They sat huddled in two separate clumps across from each other on the subway car, and even though the car was packed, they'd yell to one another, ripping off jokes, one-upping each other, swearing up a storm, only concerned with impressing each other.
"N*gga, that b*tch said she's ready to f*ck you up!"
"Nah, it ain't like that. I have known that girl for four whole years of my life, and she ain't like that."
"Ha! Four whole years of your life, n*gga? Four WHOLE years? What you think you know in four years?"
"Yo, shut up. I know enough. She ain't like that so pop off."
"Get your dirty weave offa me!"
"This is genuine 100% Indian human hair. Wet but clean. At least my forehead ain't ashy."
"Wait, my forehead's ashy?"
"Ashy and sandy. Did you face plant on the beach?"
This went on... and on. I tuned in and out. Teenage interactions like this are common on the NYC subway. It can be simultaneously amusing and annoying, but MUCH more annoying, I have to admit. I think it was my friend Deborah who first made me realize that NYC youth have minimal private space. When we were kids, we acted like jerks in our families' basements. We said cringe-worthy, inappropriate things that would have been annoying and disconcerting to anyone listening in. We yelled, screeched, and hurled foul, foul language - we would try out incredible combinations of swear words and derogatory remarks. We'd come up out of the basements into the light of day, and we'd code switch back into reasonably acceptable members of society. These kids don't have private spaces to be social and stupid. So, I've gotten used to it, and in some ways, I feel for them. They make all their mistakes - share all their ridiculousness - right out in the open.
...
"Who's pulling on my sheet?!" There is a quiet pause and a mumble just below me. Then I hear, "Who? That lady?"
I am pretty sure the girl being referred to as London is referring to me. I look down and acknowledge her.
"Did you pull on my sheet, Miss?" she asks me. Her friends scrunch down in their seats, lean into each other and giggle conspiratorially.
I smile and shake my head. "No, I'm afraid I didn't."
"You sure?" London blinks her big brown eyes.
I laugh and nod. She sits up and gives me the most alarmingly open smile back.
London pauses. "You're pretty," she says with such sincerity. The smile and compliment combination startle me into momentary silence.
"Thanks," is all I can say. Something shifts. All the girls get quiet, almost embarrassed, as though they realize for the first time that other people are surrounding them. They have come up from their figurative basement to face the light of day.
Finally, I continue, "You all in high school?"
"I'm in 11th grade," London says.
"Must be nice to be done for the year," I reply. "I'm with middle school and we're so envious."
"You a middle school teacher?!" one of the girls pipes up.
"That's why she's not afraid of us," another says to her.
"You teach black kids?" London asks.
"I teach all kids," I say. She nods.
"Where?" another asks.
"Brooklyn."
"Where you live?"
"Harlem." I say. The girls' eyebrows lift in unison.
"Oh, so... you one of us. You in the hood." London gets up, kneels on her seat and looks me straight in the eye. We are now almost equal height. I grin and shrug.
"Why you a teacher? You gotta get some chicken?"
I shake my head, not understanding the reference. "What?"
"You know, the money. Get some chicken means get the money."
"Really?" I say eyeing her. "I think you're pulling my sheet now."
"Nah," London giggles and leans towards me. I think for a moment she's going to put her hands on my shoulders. She holds my gaze. "Say I gotta get some chicken."
And even though I am sure this is a joke, I go along because it's not malicious. It's funny getting some older white lady to use urban vernacular... youth speak. I enjoy her teasing.
"I gotta get some chicken," I say and I sound ridiculous, and sure enough, we all smile together.
"You got it," London nods.
"How 'bout that," I nod with her.
The D train rolls into the 145th Street. I look at the clumps of them and say, "Have a great summer." I weave through the crowd toward the door.
"You too. Get that chicken!"
"Don't you know I'm gonna get that chicken," I call back and laugh.
...
This subway interaction has stayed with me. I mean, here are teenagers, all puffed up and full of bravado, but at the heart of it, they are just silly and soft like, well, pretty much all teenagers. This is why I love being a teacher. Their behavior doesn't leave me shellshocked. While I often find the things they say in public offensive and inappropriate, I keep it in perspective. No, I don't like when they curse and yell at each other across the train car. I'm irritated by their big, loud shows. But scratch that surface and there is so much more.
No, I am not afraid of our youth. They are not foreign beings to me. First, I know them, because I was them. The vernacular changes, but the spirit is the same. Second, I know them because I teach children like them. I know that in other settings, they shine. They can be magnificent - funny and reflective and thoughtful and smart. They fight against injustice. They protect each other. They apologize. They even say thank you.
They need to know we're not afraid of them. We need to show what we enjoy about them.
I'm telling you, don't be afraid to go on and get some chicken.
