Grade 3 to AP: Memoirs of a Black Male Educator

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The American public education system is, undoubtedly, a machine. Many would argue its efficiency, but it is a machine nonetheless. Educators and School leaders are the cogs that keep it afloat. Often, this comes at a great deal of expense to those who are on the front lines, serving in our school buildings on a daily basis. What is the nature of this understanding for black educators, considering the historical context of racial inequities in our society? What does this mean for black students? Furthermore, what are the implications for a black male educator who is a product of the public school system himself?Cedric Scott, Jr. is an educator who has served in the District of Columbia Public Schools as a teacher, instructional coach, and Assistant Principal in the elementary education sector. Being a product of the Pittsburgh Public Schools, the author offers his account of matriculation through school as a student and progression as a professional educator, all while navigating life's challenges and what it means to be a young, black male in America. “Grade 3 to AP: Memoirs of a Black Male Educator,” presents a narrative composed of self-realization, opportune circumstance, and deep reflection.

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About the Author

Author Name : Cedric Scott, Jr.

     

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Don't I feel like a loser when I learn you're through with me.
It was news to everyone, especially to me.
Don't I feel pathetic, like there's something wrong with me.
She is far more beautiful than I could ever be.
I stand here null and solemn, though it must be written on my face,
that I've found before the world what you couldn't say to my face.
You blow right on by me with your new love, hand in hand.
So smug, haughty, and thoughtless.  You are not much of a man.
Filled with anger, through and through, I feel like I could drown.
I lift my glass and drink fast to chase the feeling down.
I close my eyes.  I still see your face.  Somehow I should have known.
You kill me inside with a passing glance, and now my heart grows cold.
So much time spent in a one sided love was wasted all on you.
Don't I feel like a loser for ever caring about you.

By Anne Rasico (Joyce)

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