Dr. James Whitfield

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Perserverance

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Throughout life, there are moments that, indeed, take us higher. One such moment – the Texas Rangers securing their first World Series Championship this week. A team that so many counted out, standing alone as the standard for baseball around the world. For the countless fans who have followed this team through thick and thin, drops and whiffs, and everything in-between, this achievement is more than just a sports victory; it’s a testament to the unwavering human spirit and the ties that bind generations. And with this, I can’t help but think about how proud my Ma would be.

Fond Memories with “Ma”

My Grandmother, Mintha Doris Sumner, affectionately known as “Ma”, was an avid sports enthusiast. I can vividly recall the countless hours we spent watching Mavs, Cowboys, and Rangers games together. She was a force to be reckoned with. You couldn’t tell her she was not the coach. She expected nothing less than excellence from the athletes on the screen. The only exception to her unwavering commitment was Dirk Nowitzki, who she adored. Rarely – even when that dude messed up – did she get upset with him. Oh, and Jose Canseco. She LOVED her some Jose Conseco – ball bouncing off his head and all. But I digress…

As I sat in the stands at Globe Life Field on Wednesday evening, I couldn’t help but think about all these moments with Ma. And as the fireworks shot off after the Sborz called 3rd strike, I had a bit of a mist in my eye. I was transported back to Ma’s living room where we watched so many games – all the ups and downs. I was transported to the various dollar hot-dog nights we went to at the old stadium. In the moment, I was reminded that this game was really about so much more. So many core memories. So many lessons that sports teach us.

A Legacy of Strength and Selflessness

When I think about Ma, I find solace in these vivid memories, knowing that her legacy lives on through our lives. It’s a testament to the beautiful story that the Lord painted with her life. A life that was anything but easy. 

Her life was not without challenges, and she faced them with unwavering strength. Losing Grandaddy, the love of her life, shortly after they were supposed to embark on a journey to enjoy the fruits of their hard work was a heart-wrenching blow. Yet, she continued to serve her beloved Itasca community, from volunteering at the church to delivering meals on wheels, always there for those in need.

A decade later, her life took another devastating and unexpected turn when she had to care for my mother, Beverly Jan Whitfield, who was fighting a cancer that proved to be incurable. Ma’s life shifted from the quiet streets of Itasca to the bustling metro of Downtown Houston to be by her daughter’s side every step of the way. Despite her own heartache, she provided love, care, and unwavering support to her daughter, who left this world far too soon.

And then with the loss of my mother, Ma took on the responsibility of guiding me, a 19-year-old on the brink of going off the rails, and raising my younger brother, Michael. All of this happened less than a decade after she and Grandaddy had planned to explore the country together and enjoy their hard-earned retirement. Her life had taken a dramatically different course.

Lessons from Life’s Challenges

Ma’s love was a selfless love, passionately committed to the well-being of others, born not of emotions but of choice. She never judged or condemned me, even when I faltered. Instead, she saw the best in me, believed in me, and offered a safe harbor in the tumultuous seas of the times. I often wonder how different my life would have been without Ma’s presence. That thought frightens me. Ma’s love, her pride in us, and her selfless spirit are the most significant gifts she left behind. They form a legacy that cannot be diminished or lost, ensuring that she continues to live on in our lives.

Celebration – Life and Sport

As I watched the Texas Rangers celebrate becoming World Series Champions, I could feel her presence. I could imagine her jubilation. Their ability to overcome, echoed the spirit of Ma. I’m reminded that that sorts often mimic life, and it’s more than just a game. It’s about enduring and triumphing through the challenges that come our way. Ma’s legacy taught me that, even in the face of adversity, we can lean into love – a love that believes in the best, endures through all trials, and asks for nothing in return.

Ma, we thank you for your humor, compassion, wisdom, patience, and, above all, your unwavering love. Your legacy is a testament to a life well-lived, and we can only imagine the celebration that’s taking place in Heaven. You are our joy, and we rejoice in honoring your memory. Your love continues to live on in each of us, and for that, we are forever grateful. 

Go Rangers!

Seniors

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A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of meeting with the senior class at my school. I took some time to sit down with each of them and get to know them better. I asked about their dreams, their family lives, and the things they were passionate about. This senior class is smaller than any I’ve ever served, but it allowed me to engage in some profound conversations with these students, serving as a powerful reminder of why I’m so passionate about my work.

Recommendations

Quite often, I’m asked to write college admissions recommendation letters for former students. Anytime I get a request like this I feel it to be a great honor, and work to oblige. I’ve gotten dozens of these over the years. That someone feels compelled to ask for my words as a recommendation is truly humbling.

But this year’s requests strike a bit of a different chord. These requests are coming from students who were caught up in the transition from middle to high school at the height of the pandemic. These are students who crossed the street with me from Heritage Middle School as 8th graders to Colleyville Heritage High School as Freshmen. This was the year I’d hand them their diploma in May. But due to unforeseen circumstances that none of us ever could have imagined, that is simply not a reality.

Experiences

Reflecting on the past two years, I find myself thinking about the journey that led me to be a panelist at the Education Law Association conference in Reno, Nevada this week. Our piece centered around the legacy of the landmark case, Brown v. Board of Education, and how it relates to the experiences of our students and families today. 

This weekend I attended a wedding that brought me to reconnect with students and families I’d served as CHHS when I was an assistant principal in the 2018-2019 school year. It was so great to reconnect with these young people and hear how their journey has played out. Each of them, college graduates well into the next phase of “adulting”. We reminisced on the journey from then to now, then celebrated the union of a beautiful couple.

Transition – From Middle School to High School During a Global Pandemic

Throughout my reflections, I can’t help but think of this year’s senior class at CHHS, especially those who joined me from Heritage Middle School. During the 2019-2020 school year, I was their middle school principal. Now, leading into the 2020-2021 school year, we’d make this journey together. Them, as high school freshmen. Myself, as a first-year high school principal. I’ve often pondered the challenges they faced during that transition, and just how amazing they truly are.

Before the world turned upside down in 2020, we had a blast at HMS. We organized various events, from ice cream socials to Veterans Day ceremonies. Our staff even did a surprise Thriller dance performance for our Halloween pep rally (with ya’ boy as MJ). But then, spring break arrived, and suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of a global pandemic. It was a time of uncertainty and chaos, and we had to quickly adapt to make education accessible for students stuck at home.

For so many, school had served as a sanctuary, a place of security, and that was taken away overnight. Families and staff members faced hardships daily, from illness to job loss to the loss of family members. We had to reimagine education, distribute laptops, and reassure families that we were there for them. Amid the chaos, we even organized a drive-through eighth-grade sendoff, a small gesture to acknowledge the importance of this transition in their educational journey.

They’s Always Watching

This brings me to the present, as I think about the Class of 2024. They have endured not only the pandemic but also a tumultuous space in time, filled with a lot of vitriol and toxicity. I’ve always believed that our students are watching us, learning from our actions and attitudes. As an educator responsible for their well-being, I strive to be a positive presence in their life, daily. I hope to convey that they are seen, heard, loved, and valued each day. 

I am also keenly aware that they are watching our every move – seeing if we’re just saying they’re “seen, heard, loved, and valued” or if we really mean it. And my goal has always been to show them the latter. Flowery words on mission statements are one thing. The way we go about educating the hearts and minds of young people and creating spaces where students can truly be is another. Students know who’s real and who’s not.

To the Class of 2024

So, seeing as though I will not be able to hand them that diploma in May or deliver my heartfelt remarks, here goes: 

As you approach the end of your high school journey, I want to take a moment to acknowledge the incredible strength, resilience, and determination you’ve demonstrated throughout these challenging years. Your class has faced the unprecedented trials brought on by the pandemic, and you have emerged stronger and more prepared for the future as a result. 

The last few years have been far from easy. You’ve navigated uncertainty, adapted to new ways of learning, and faced many disappointments and missed opportunities. Yet, in the face of these challenges, you’ve shown remarkable courage and resilience. You’ve learned to embrace change, to find opportunities within adversity, and to support one another in times of need.

Despite the hardships, I want you to remember the moments of triumph. Remember the friendships you’ve forged, and the personal growth you’ve achieved. You’ve become a part of history, a generation that didn’t just survive a global crisis but thrived in the face of it. Your resilience and the lessons you’ve learned will be one of your greatest assets as you move forward.

That ability to adapt and preserve through the tough days of life will serve you well in the years to come. Life has a way of throwing unexpected curveballs, and the experiences you’ve had in high school have equipped you with the resilience and problem-solving skills to tackle whatever comes your way. 

When these difficult moments come, I encourage you to embrace them, as they can be the foundation of greatness. At the moment, it may seem to be a failure, or it may actually be a failure. That’s ok. Remember, failure is not the end but the beginning of something extraordinary. Those who have achieved greatness have often stumbled along their journey. I hope you always know that, even in chaos, there are lessons to be learned. It’s okay to fall down – just don’t stay there.

You have served as an inspiration for myself and so many others. It was you that were at the forefront of my mind when I testified before Congress. You were with me as I shared my story through various media outlets, shining a light on what all the chaos was truly about – ensuring you have access to a safe, nurturing learning environment that affords you an excellent, robust education that prepares you for the world you will step into. 

Quite often, people ask me how on earth I do what I do – working with young people each day. A common refrain is “kids these days” with a tone of hesitancy. I always respond by telling them that I know “kids these days.” They are not a generation disconnected from us. I sit with them, listen to their hearts, celebrate their achievements, and question them when they might be on the wrong path. 

Now, as you stand on the threshold of the next chapter in your lives, take with you the knowledge that you are capable of great things. Continue to dream big, set ambitious goals, and pursue your passions with unwavering dedication. The future is full of possibilities. And I have no doubt that you will embrace them with the same courage and determination that have brought you to this point.

Your journey through high school during the pandemic has not defined you. But it has certainly shaped you into a generation that understands the value of unity, adaptability, and perseverance. As you embark on new adventures, whether in college, the workforce, or elsewhere, carry the lessons and strength you’ve gained with you. Your future is bright, and I can’t wait to see the incredible contributions you’ll make to the world.

Remember, you are not alone in this journey. You have a network of support, including friends, family, teachers, and mentors, who believe in your potential. Keep reaching for the stars, stay true to your dreams, and never stop believing in yourselves.

While I may not be physically present as you transition from high school to the next leg of your journey, I will always be one of your biggest cheerleaders. You’ve made a significant impact on my life, and I hope that I’ve made a positive difference in yours. 

Congratulations on your achievements, and best of luck in all your future endeavors. Your resilience is an inspiration, and I have no doubt that you will achieve great things.

With love, admiration and unwavering support,

Dr. Whitfield 

 

Gratitude

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I’ve thought a lot this week about how fortunate I am to be here. At this stage of life I find myself reflecting more and more on the graces I’ve been afforded, and just how much of a miracle it is that I’m even here to write these words. I’m filled with gratitude.

Upbringing

I grew up in Midland, Texas. No stranger to tumbleweeds, dust storms, and tornado warnings that never seemed to materialize. I was also no stranger to all the nefarious elements that come with being a pivotal point along a main thoroughfare for illicit drugs heading to the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. It was a wildly chaotic childhood and hard to imagine when, where, or how life could be better.

Movin’ on Up

When I was heading into middle school I learned my family was moving to another house, two streets over. The house we lived in was crumbling, we were behind on our rent, and it was just past time for us to leave. This place held pain, toxicity, and nightmares. My mother told me we were moving from this house at the “T” of Comanche and Eisenhower to “a house on the corner on Kiowa Drive.” I was excited to hear of this new place. 

Armed with this notice, I rode my bike over to Kiowa. I knew there weren’t many neighborhood kids over there – most all of us were strewn up and down Comanche – and I had to see what was going on over there. I remember seeing a house on the corner – an off white, brick house with a couple of nice trees in the front yard. “We hit the jackpot, I thought” If this house looks anything on the inside like it does on the outside, we’re movin’ on up! 

I quickly rode home, threw my bike down in the yard, and hurried inside to ask my mom “mom, you said ‘house on the’ corner, right?”

“Yes”, she plainly responded. 

I shouted “YES” and gave my mom a great big hug. She reciprocated but I could tell she was a bit thrown off by my excitement over this new place. Upon the move, I would understand why.

The Move

As we rounded the corner of Eisenhower onto Kiowa drive, I looked out in the distance to that house on the corner on the south side of the street. I was locked in. As we got closer I could feel it. I tried to envision the layout and how it would feel as I walked in. My imagination didn’t get to run wild for long, as the truck came to a stop on the north side of the street, just the other side of a large pasture. I looked out the window to the house we’d pulled up to. A salmon colored, frame house that looked to be on its last leg thinking “what’s this?”

The truck was thrust into park and everyone got out. I thought ‘ok, maybe we’re just parking here but we’re really taking stuff over there (to the white brick house). Nope, that would not be the case. This place, with a dirt front yard, seemingly one step from being condemned, would be the house we called home for the entirety of the rest of my life in Midland, TX.

A Heartbreaking Revelation

I’ll spare you the details of what that house held as surprises when we got inside. There’s far too much to describe here. I was devastated. For the better part of the last week, with pride, I’d shown my friends the house I thought I’d be moving to. It wasn’t so much a “brag” as it was “can you believe this?” type deal. I was excited to finally not be embarrassed to have friends over to my house. And they were so excited for me. And all of that was crushed as I entered my new house and saw what awaited. 

I found out later that we’d been evicted from the other house and this was the best we could find that would allow us to remain in the area, where I wouldn’t have to change schools. 

Two Houses, Two Worlds

I never stepped foot in the white brick house, but I can still envision the thoughts I had as we turned up that road towards it. As I look back on it, the house wasn’t anything super-special. But from my limited understanding of what could be, that place was a mansion. 

I have a blueprint of that old salmon colored house, with all the chaos it embodied, imprinted in my brain. That place represented so much of what I never wish for anyone to endure at any point in their life. 

I’ve never forgotten either of those houses. Those two places, a stones throw apart, represented an interesting dichotomy of life for me at an early age. It was so wild to have something I deeply desired squarely within view, but completely unable to attain. Within reach, but so far away. 

I knew how I didn’t want to live. And what I hoped for in the future, despite not having a clue as to how I’d make that dream a reality. 

Beyond the Brick and Mortar: A Journey of Hope, Guidance, and Gratitude

Yes, I’m in that brick home now. But it’s really about something much deeper than the material building that was so important to me as a child. It was the hope of something different, more hopeful and brighter, that the house symbolized for me. Along my journey, I’ve been blessed to have so many amazing people, guiding me towards a more hopeful, brighter place in life. 

From several coaches and teachers, to the random kindness of strangers, to colleagues, students, and families, to my loving family – I consider myself so fortunate. While the road has been marred with plenty of pain, chaos, and trauma, there’s also been moments of joy, clarity, and comfort. I think, to varying degrees, that’s the case for most of us. 

We’re all faced with disappointment, discontent, and hopelessness at some point along the plot line of our lives. And then, somewhere along the way, we’re given a glimpse of hope. A glimpse of what could be, and a sense of purpose, pushing us forward. 

I encourage you to continue to look for that hope and purpose in the midst of your trials. It may not be the brick house on the corner you thought was yours. You may be stuck in the chaos and pain of the moment. It seems unending and out of control. But never let your current circumstances limit your future possibilities. Trust that this season is preparing you for something greater than you ever imagined.

Imagine

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Early this week I noticed that a John Lennon poster had flown into my front yard.

I know, pretty random, right? (Any of my neighbors reading this – y’all missin’ a poster?)

As I went to grab it I couldn’t help but think about his hit song, “Imagine”. That song always has a way of calming my soul. And as I watched the news surrounding the horrific terrorist attacks in Israel unfold each night this week, I couldn’t help but imagine a world where folks could attend an outdoor music festival without being slaughtered.

I truly believe that we all have much more in common than many would have us believe. Yet here we stand at another critical crossroad in our world’s history with war unfolding by the day. It always seems like when I catch a glimpse of the good in the world – whether it be at school, local community, or some far off land – it’s met with a firm and resistant evil. 

Pure Evil

What we have watched unfold over the last several days in Israel and Gaza is unconscionable. In Israel, friends and families gathered at a music festival to celebrate peace, love, and unity. Then, in a matter of minutes, a horrific, terrorist attack by Hamas turned that joyful festival into a living hell for the concert-goers and their loved ones. 

It’s hard to imagine the fear, pain, distress, and trauma that was inflicted on those poor, innocent souls. The accounts from survivors speak to a pure nightmare scenario, the likes of which we have rarely seen. In Gaza, millions of innocent citizens are left to suffer the consequences of Hamas’ diabolical actions. Hospitals overrun, homes and businesses in ruins, innocent lives taken. They, too, are now stuck in a living hell.

Finding the “Right” Words

In the aftermath, I’ve watched so many try to signal their compassion, empathy, and support for these innocent souls in Israel and Gaza, only to be met with a lot of vitriol. It’s been quite astonishing and disappointing to watch. 

What we must understand is that this is not a zero-sum game – love never is. This is literally people’s lives we’re talking about. Two things can be true:

  • You can condemn Hamas’ pure, unadulterated evil AND
  • You can have compassion and empathy for the citizens of both nations who are simply just trying to live their lives in peace who are caught in the crosshairs.

One does not diminish the other. Quite the contrary. It illuminates our humanity.

Forward

It is my deepest hope and prayer for a swift and peaceful resolution to the current war that has been waged by Hamas, and countered by Israel. Without such a resolution, I fear the outcome for so many innocent people in the region.

I have Israeli friends who I love dearly. I have Palestinian friends who I love dearly. And I have Israeli and Palestinian friends who love each other dearly. 

I urge you – please do not allow your humanity to be compromised to an extent to which you believe various people of the world are your enemy simply because of where they’re from. When we do that, evil wins. And we create the conditions for further bloodshed as we build up hate and intolerance in our hearts. 

Quiet as it’s kept, our capacity to love, show empathy and compassion, and unite towards basic human decency is the greatest weapon we have to create a more safe, loving, and peaceful world. 

You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will be as one

Imagine!

Resist

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It’s as if James Baldwin was talking to me from 1963 when he stated, “It will be hard, James, but you come from sturdy, peasant stock, men who picked cotton and dammed rivers and built railroads, and, in the teeth of the most terrifying odds, achieved an unassailable and monumental dignity.” (The Fire Next Time)

And here I stand!

Stand Up. Speak Out.

When I see something that is nefarious trying to rear its head, I feel a responsibility to speak out. I don’t speak out for self-preservation. Honestly, if that were the goal I’d likely just keep my mouth shut, as so many choose to do. I speak out because I see something that is tearing away at the fabric of our society, pitting us against each other as enemies, appealing to the deepest fears in our souls. When I see it, I call it. I stand by it, firmly. There is too much at stake. 

And I refuse to sit idly by and allow my fellow man to suffer under the weight of bigotry, hate, and intolerance. Silence serves no one. Not even yourself because, as history has shown, while it may not be you they’re after in the moment…they’re coming, just you wait. No, silence is complicity to whatever is seeking to plague our society.

And Then They Came For You…

I’ve done my due best to speak up and sound the alarm about what is going on in our local communities surrounding schools. Some chose to ignore those cries and believe that there was some world where this small group of hateful, intolerant, Facebook Echo-Chamber Warriors were just after me. Once I was a distant memory, all would be well in the land, and they could go on about their beautiful lives.

But it was never about me. And that is, precisely, what I told every news outlet I spoke to for the better part of the last two years. I’d be a fool to believe this was all about me. Many were fools that ended up believing that tale. No, my story is no isolated ordeal. Nor is it new to our communities. This is historical. 

But far too many people fail to embrace history in such a way. They’re blindsided when the dog whistles of “parental rights” and “protect our students” crops up. Then, by the time they realize that this turns out to be the same old manufactured panic we’ve dealt with over the course of our nation’s history, the bill is due. The nonsense has landed, squarely, at their door and they look around, baffled that this could ever happen to them.

I’ve been trying to tell you. Do you hear me know? Is it clear to you?

They are after the whole thing!

The Guardians of Our Society, Educators

I’ve had the opportunity to speak to thousands of educators over the course of my time in public education. Every chance I get, I tell them my story and how, had it not been for a handful of educators, I know that my life would be drastically different. They rescued me from a very dark place. 

I share that with them to emphasize that there are students like me in their classrooms every day. Some facing greater challenges, others fewer. Yet, their responsibility is to educate them all as they come to them. It’s not an effortless task. 

They bear the weight of addressing so many of society’s ills in addition to the content they teach. Nevertheless, they tackle it with a smile and unwavering determination. They are truly the guardians of our society.

And that’s what’s at stake – our society. We have folks with nefarious agendas pumping millions of dollars into a machine that seeks to destroy public schools as we know it. I know you’ve heard the rallying cries. But it ain’t all what it seems. So I want you to be informed. And I want you to reach out to your legislators as we head into this crazy special session to let them know that you won’t stand for the lies.

Deep in The Heart of Texas

In Article 7, Sec. 1.  SUPPORT AND MAINTENANCE OF SYSTEM OF PUBLIC FREE SCHOOLS in the Texas Constitution it states 

A general diffusion of knowledge being essential to the preservation of the liberties and rights of the people, it shall be the duty of the Legislature of the State to establish and make suitable provision for the support and maintenance of an efficient system of public free schools.

That doesn’t say it could be. It doesn’t say it should be. It says it SHALL be the duty of the Legislature of the State to establish and make suitable provision for the support and maintenance of an efficient system of public free schools.

Support and maintenance of an efficient system of public and free schools could look like a few things:

  1. Fully funding special education so students with specific needs aren’t left behind. 
  2. Increasing teacher pay so teachers aren’t forced to work two and three jobs just to make ends meet. 
  3. Increasing the basic allotment (which has not been increased since 2019)
  4. Ending the reliance on outdated standardized measures of assessment that don’t take into account meaningful, relevant learning experiences and 21st century skills our students need and various industries desire.
  5. A meaningful cost of living increase for our retired educators.
  6. Keeping public dollars in public schools.

Texas currently stands at 43rd place in terms of per-student funding and our educators are facing a significant pay gap of $7,500 compared to the national average. Addressing these disparities in teacher compensation and providing attractive incentives for new educators should unquestionably top our list of priorities.

However, regrettably, our governor has called a special session to convene with one of the aims being to advance the controversial concept of vouchers. This shift in focus is concerning because vouchers have the potential to exacerbate our education challenges rather than alleviate them. By diverting resources away from our public schools, they could usher in larger class sizes, a further decline in teacher salaries, and ultimately, detrimental outcomes for the students of Texas.

How Did We Get Here?

In case you’ve been sleeping up till now, let me introduce you to Tim Dunn and Farris Wilks, a billionaire duo out of West Texas. These two aren’t just your average rich folks who just like fancy toys; they’re the architects of a stunning political narrative that’s shaping the Lone Star State in ways that could soon leave it unrecognizable.

These billionaires have a plan in motion that involves a not-so-secret scheme in the world of education – a private school voucher system. But, their ambitions don’t stop there. What they’re really aiming for is a monumental transformation of Texas itself, steering it towards an authoritarian, Christian Nationalist state. 

Two billionaire-pastors with an abundance of riches are pouring their fortunes into making their extreme Christian nationalist worldview a reality. In the second-largest state in the U.S., no less. Before I go further, let me remind you – I am a Christian. But I ain’t this. The Christian nationalist worldview is something out of a dystopian novel – think Handmaid’s Tale. I don’t say this, jokingly. I’m dead serious.  It continues to shock me that this incredible story flies under the radar. But we better start paying attention.

Their financial influence is otherworldly. With over $100 million in contributions, they’ve effectively bought their way into the hearts and minds of Texas politicians. And it’s not just politicians; they’ve also created a vast web of PACs, think tanks, and media outlets that dance to their tune. Every extremist policy coming out of Texas recently? Well, it seems to trace back to these two.

When they’re not busy bankrolling politics, Dunn and Wilks take to their pulpits, where they preach a theology of power, control, and domination, rather than the universal love typically associated with Christianity. Alarming as that may be, their radical beliefs are translating into Texas law.

Their reach is staggering. Nearly every Republican State Senator and over half of Republican House members in Texas have accepted their money. For some, a whopping half of their campaign contributions stem from these two billionaires. Even the highest-ranking officials in Texas have their pockets lined by Dunn and Wilks.

Out of one side of their mouths they’re claiming that teachers are indoctrinating students and the other they’re bankrolling PragerU, a right-wing “education” platform, they’re determined to push in to shape the very curriculum in our schools. Talk about irony. We exist to help young people develop critical thinking skills, amongst other valuable 21st century skills. They LITERALLY want to indoctrinate young people to believe as they do, or else. You can’t make this stuff up. Always remember, their accusations are, quite often, admissions.

But here’s where it gets downright audacious: they’re embarking on their most ambitious endeavor yet—replacing public schools with Christian ones. Governor Abbott has even called a special session to push through their voucher scheme. The playbook has been front and center from the beginning. Many of us have tried to sound the alarm so many times, but here goes again. 

They seek to sow mistrust by fueling controversies to discredit public schools. And in the midst of the confusion and fear they will pass private school vouchers to defund them. Then, in the end, close public schools entirely, shifting the entire system to private, Christian nationalist education.

Call to Action

I love my home state of Texas. We’re above this. We are too monumental to be sold to the highest bidder. Fear, hate, intolerance, and bigotry cannot rule the day. We may still have a ways to go, but we’ve come so far. In the end, school vouchers – ESA’s, whatever they want to call them – in Texas undermines our Constitution and our commitment to providing equitable and quality education for all of our students.

I hope you’ll join me in reaching out to your legislator and letting them know, LOUD and CLEAR, that we want public dollars to stay in public schools. Let them know they’ve insulted our intelligence for far too long. And we refuse to be sold to the highest bidder. 

SAY NO TO SCHOOL VOUCHERS!!!

 

Weekly With Whitfield – Legacy

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I love my kids. The impact they’ve made on my life can’t be quantified. Daily, I’m reminded of the great privilege it is to be their father. I feel the deep pride that comes with looking at all the great things they’re each doing in the various stages of their lives. There is a profound power that rises up in my soul when I think of the lengths I would go to protect them. My love for them knows no bounds.

With this week encompassing National Daughter’s Day and National Son’s Day, I couldn’t help but scroll through old photos. It’s crazy how technology has changed this aspect of reminiscing for me. Not too long ago, I would’ve been pouring over physical photo albums. Now, I have them on my phone. The process of selecting a handful of photos to share on a Happy National Daughter’s/Son’s Day was quite complex. Years upon years of so many beautiful memories. 

A Precious Stroll Down Memory Lane

During my stroll down memory lane, I came across a picture of my mother holding my oldest son, Jordan. And I sit with this photo, in deep thought, for a good while. Nearly two years before this photo, she’d been diagnosed with Leukemia. From the moment of diagnosis to the time of this picture (July of 1996) she’d undergone several rounds of chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant at M.D. Anderson in Houston, TX, gone in and out of remission, watched her eldest son (me) graduate high school, and, now, was able to hold her first grandchild.

This would be the only time she ever got to hold him. And it was as if she knew that this would be her final opportunity. My mother was not feeling well, at all, but was able to leave M.D. Anderson and she return to my grandmother’s house in Itasca, TX to celebrate my 18th birthday. My mother was one of the strongest women I’ve ever known, if not the strongest. But Leukemia doesn’t care how strong you are…neither does the chemo…it devours and denies.

And, while that is so true, on this day I saw my mother transcend the pain and absolutely glow as she held this beautiful baby boy in her arms. Most will agree that, rarely, do pictures fully capture the beauty of these moments. But as I look back on this picture it’s about as close to a true reflection as I’ve ever seen. The way she held him. My arm around her. My baby brother, Michael, just over her right shoulder with a bright smile. One would never guess that poison was running through her body. The immense pride in her smile still speaks to me. She was glowing.

Cherish the Day

I remember never wanting that moment to end. I sat by her side the whole time. Although weak from treatment, she did not want to let Jordan go. She held him. And held him. And sang to him. And played the piano for him. And sang to him some more. Soon, it was time to gather in my grandmother’s kitchen for them to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. Time stood still. It seemed like those candles were lit forever. I didn’t want to blow them out. Not for any dramatic symbolism or anything like that. I just didn’t want that moment to end. Eventually, I blew them out. My family did that ceremonial applause. And then we enjoyed the chocolate cake my grandmother had baked and enjoyed the rest of our visit. I’m so very grateful God gave us that day.

A Painful Farewell

Over the next 5 months my mother’s condition would worsen. We spent Christmas down in Houston at my grandmother’s apartment, as she’d refinanced her house to relocate to be with my mother throughout this time. This visit would not be as joyous. My dad, brother, put on our hospital gowns and face coverings and entered my mother’s room. She lay there, resting, her eyes closed, as they’d given her medication to ease the pain. As we approached, her eyes slowly began to open. While I fully knew the pain she was in, I still felt as though she was going to jump out of the bed. 

But this is not the movies – that didn’t happen. Instead, she slowly began to try to nudge her way up in her bed to sit up. She was alert and coherent, and that made me smile. I grabbed her frail hand and just sat by her side. We talked and tried to sing a few Christmas carols, as Christmas was my mother’s favorite time of the year. Through the pain, she smiled and even cracked a few jokes. The prognosis was looking worse than it had before, but I didn’t want to believe it. 

Heartbroken

I can’t describe the feeling that came over me when I left that hospital room that December evening. My mom, Beverly Jan Whitfield, turned 40 on December 30, 1996. Then on January 17, 1997, she passed from this earth. To this day, I remember, vividly, each detail of that day. My whole world flipped upside down. I lost my best friend, my everything, on that day. And it would take me years to see past the anger and pain and towards the possibility of brighter days.

Over time it started to hit me, just how lucky I was to have her as an example of how a parent should love their kids. As I sit here at 45 years old – a whole 5 years older than my mother was when she passed away – I’m reminded of just how strong my mother was in those final years and in that final Christmas with my brother and I. To look out into your children’s eyes and love them so deeply, yet know that you will likely miss all the key moments of their lives. While I know my mother knew she’d be with her Heavenly Father when she left this earth, I also know that she was a human and that must have caused such pain deep in her soul. But she never let it show. I cannot begin to imagine such pain.

An Enduring Legacy

The journey from then to now has been quite an adventure. And that adventure has included the three amazing young people I’m so proud to call my own. It’s hard to imagine what life would be like without each of their unique presence in my life. I praise God for each day I get to be with them. I know, all too well, that every single day is a special gift and I do my best to cherish it. Not a day passes that I don’t think about my mother and what life would be like with her physical presence.

But her powerful presence lives within me. She nudges me in moments of uncertainty or fear. I can feel her pride when I accomplish something I set out to do. Her strength props me up when I’m faced with things that seem impossible. I feel her in moments of joy. She is my ultimate guide along this journey of parenthood, as she left such an amazing blueprint. Throughout the days of my life I commit to building upon the legacy my beloved mother left us.

Weekly With Whitfield – Unity

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I have a love/hate relationship with airports. I didn’t take my first flight until I was a young adult. To that point, all of my travel had been on that gray dog – Greyhound. As a kid, my mother and I would ride the Greyhound bus line from Midland (TX) to Dallas (TX), in the summer and, sometimes, over Christmas break. My Grandmother would pick us up at the Greyhound station and off we went to her home in the tiny town of Itasca (TX).

Greyhound Adventures: Childhood Curiosity

Riding the bus from Midland to Dallas (and back) was a lengthy ride, often going far out of the way of what the most direct route would be. But, even with that, I enjoyed my time on those bus rides. After I talked my mother’s ear off, I went up and down the aisle talking to whoever would engage with me. And my mom could finally dig into whatever book she’d brought along. Other than the long ride, the process was easy – you showed up, they loaded your bags, you got on the bus, rode to your destination, then quickly retrieved your bags on the other end. Easy-peasy. 

I’ve always been fascinated with people. Even as a young boy I was more interested in the invisible bags that people carry over the ones that were thrown under the bus. I remember looking around the bus and finding my “marks” as soon as I got on that bus. And, often, I had located them in the bus terminal. My sense of curiosity ran wild:

Who’s sitting by themself?

They have long hair, I wonder how long it took them to grow that out?

He has a Walkman, I wonder what kind of music he’s listening to?

She looks very sad. I wonder what happened?

Wonder upon wonder ran through my mind. Not that I wanted to interview all these people. Trust me, momma wasn’t about to let me act a fool on that bus like that. But it never stopped me from wondering and caring, while doing so at a distance.

ASALH: An Inspiring Immersion

This week I presented on a panel in Jacksonville, FL at the 108th annual conference for the Association for the Study of African American Life and History. ASALH was founded by Carter G. Woodson, the father of Black History Month (which actually started as Negro History Week in February of 1926). It was truly an immersive, inspiring, and invigorating experience. I will try to capture  the essence of my short visit to the conference in a subsequent blog. But, for today, I’d like to capture a bit of how my childhood fascination with people and their stories continues to unfold over the course of my travels.

Navigating the Airport: An Anxious Experience

I don’t know about you, but going through security at the airport these days stresses me out. Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful for the many folks working hard to keep us safe but, my goodness, every time I walk up to that conveyor belt my anxiety rises.

Does everything go in a bucket, or do the bags stay out on the belt?

Do I need to take my laptop out, or can I leave it in my backpack?

Hoodie? Do I need to remove it or do I leave it on?

And so much more…

Then it’s time to board the plane…and that’s a whole other ball of confusion. Yes, we all have our group numbers and it should be pretty clear that we all have a ticket, therefore, we are all getting on the plane. But that doesn’t stop the mob of a “line” that forms, spilling out onto the concourse. Everyone is in a desperate rush to get in that “comfy” airplane seat and sit there for however long their flight is. As for me, I sit back and watch. People’s body language says a lot.

A lady walks in front of another lady to get in the boarding lane. The look says it all – “I know you didn’t just jump in front of me!”

A guy who’s clearly had too much to drink (by noon), tries to scan in before his group is called. After a brief engagement with gate agents, he’s almost denied entry onto the flight.

A family with 5 kids of ages (roughly) 2-13 gets into the boarding lane. As they move up in line I can see the look on many faces saying “Oh Lord, please don’t seat me near them!”

There’s a couple who clearly adores each other by the way they look at one another. And the way they can’t keep their hands off each other.

And so many more. But you get my drift. Perfect strangers, we prepare for our journey tens of thousands of feet in the air inside of a metal tube.

Perfect Strangers: Stories at 30,000 Feet

It’s quite fascinating for me to watch the loading on the plane. This process is dependent on cooperation and coordination. While there may be times that are definitely smoother than others, it always seems to work out.

I watch a man help a mother who’s on her own with children to store their belongings in the overhead compartment. Further up the aisle, I see this action several more times – strangers helping strangers store their belongings.  A lady gives up her aisle seat to switch with a father in another row so that he can sit with his precious family. 

As I settle in my seat, I notice the family with all the young children heading my way. I hear murmurs from those around me. As for me, I’m really pulling for them to be in my area. Y’all know I’m all about the kids. They end up seated across the aisle from me, two rows back. You can tell it’s already been a long day for them in preparation for this early afternoon flight. But we all settle in and off we go.

In flight, the man behind me is sawing logs (snoring) and the kids are having a blast, much to the displeasure of many around them. I give huge props to the parents – they tried every trick in the book. 

Community in the Skies: A Microcosm of Society

During the flight I thought about all the stories that were unfolding, simultaneously, throughout that plane. Everyone with their unique life journey, together on this shorter journey through the air. The conversations are rich, even amongst strangers.

While I know that this plan is definitely not a utopia, I believe that most of us are all just trying to navigate life as best we can, from moment to moment, to get to our destination. There are no questions regarding political affiliation or religious preference when the need arose for help with storing luggage. We’re all riding the same plane. It didn’t matter how you got there or what you were getting picked up in, here we are, together for this brief moment in time. People from all walks of life joined this small community. All carrying literal and figurative luggage with us on our trip.

The plane is a microcosm of our communities in our daily lives. We’re all going through something on our way to various destinations and checkpoints along the way. The luggage we carry with us throughout our distinct journeys can be heavy, at times. Our lives can be filled with anxiety as we wait in the TSA checkpoints along the way. At some point, we will encounter people from various walks of life. And we encounter and endure a great many things that may bring us displeasure or discomfort.

Unity in a Divided World

But what I’ve seen to be true over the course of my life is that, the majority of us, simply want what’s best for our families and each other. Trust me, I’m very aware of the forces that exist that seek to steer us from this reality. Whether it’s extremely biased news sources, social media algorithms that force-feed us specific information to keep us in silos, or perhaps just some members of our families or friend group who are dead set on buying into the most far-fetched conspiracies. We’re inundated with things that tell us that we’re so very divided; that we don’t care for each other and, if we do care for each other that, somehow, that means we’re weak.

In reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth. No matter your politics, religion, social status or classification, I want good for you. And I know that you want good for me. A better you, and a better life for your family, makes us all better. A better me creates better outcomes for my family and, thus, the spokes of my family wheel touches those around them, creating a better world. And that is what life is all about – working together to create a better life.

The Challenge: Embracing Unity and Empathy for a Better Tomorrow

As I reflect on this, the Mayan greeting, ‘In Lak’ech’, comes to mind – I am you, and you are me.

No matter what we may be led to believe by the media, politicians, and the likes, I know this to be true. 

Don’t believe me? I have a challenge for you. 

Find time to visit with someone in your community from a different walk of life and commit to listening intently without jumping in with your two cents. Ask them about anything related to daily life and their hopes for the future of our country and world, and just listen. 

Then, try to get in touch with your elected politician to have that same conversation. Should you get through to actually have that conversation, I think you will be strikingly surprised by the difference in these conversations. *Regardless of political affiliation

My hypothesis: 

One conversation will be authentic, real and, most likely, strike an emotionally connective response. 

The other will be generic, simply-worded talking points that may, too, draw an emotional response. 

One of the emotional responses will be rooted in care and connectedness. The other will likely be rooted in othering and fear. 

Keep on keeping on. This thing called life is a team game. We will rise together or we will crumble under the weight of divisive rhetoric, which leads to othering, hate, and intolerance.

In Lak’ech, my friends. In Lak’ech.

I’ll leave you to your experiment and look forward to hearing how it turns out.

 

Weekly With Whitfield – Paris

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I’ll be real with y’all – I’ve never understood people’s obsession with their pets. I had two puppies over the course of my crazy childhood. And, much like a tragic plot twist of a play, they’re were ripped from me before I ever really got a chance to feel the power of their presence.

Losing them just brought on more hurt. And I had enough of that, already. So, from an early age, I threw in the towel on pet ownership.Then I met Kerrie back in 2003.

I know what you’re saying…“wait, Kerrie’s you’re wife, not a pet”…hang in there with me, y’all!In her I knew I had found someone who I could spend my life with. The feeling was instantaneous. But there was one very big issue. I was very allergic to cats. And she had two of them. You’ve gotta be kidding me, I thought!

Whether it was just placebo or the fact that Kerrie didn’t play around with having cat dander everywhere, something worked. Over time I’d come to embrace Panther and Precious as my fur babies, and loved them so much, but it still wasn’t that particular obsession I’m taking about.

Panther and Precious passed on after two good, long lives spoiled by the best cat mom ever and we would go on to adopt two more, Toby and Tyson, as kittens. Without question, a deep love formed for them both, but not that “talk to em like they a real human” type of love, ya know?

An Unexpected Birthday Surprise

Then, just after Thanksgiving last year, we travelled out to east Texas to celebrate a rad little two year old (love you, Jaggy). It was a cold and rainy day, but all was bright inside as we celebrated his birthday. Towards the end of the party, in walked someone with this little kitten who’d lost her way from the rest of litter. She couldn’t have been more than a week or two old. Enter, Kerrie. Within minutes it was decided (against my vehement denial) that we’d inherited one more kitten.

In a matter of hours, as we traversed the highway back home with this kitten in Kerrie’s lap, something felt different about this pet. But I was still kind of in my feelings about not wanting ANOTHER cat.

Kerrie woke up many times throughout that first night to feed her. The next morning she whispered “honey, we don’t have to keep her if you don’t want. We can find her a good home.” In an instant I responded, “no ma’am. She is home.” I could go on and on about all the adventures with the little girl we affectionately named “Paris” (Paris, TX, ya dig?).

Who Rescued Whom?

But, most importantly, I just want to say to all the obsessive, over-the-top, pet lovers out there – I GET IT, now. You’ll have to check her out over on Instagram (Paris_Kitty_Whitfield), where you can get a glimpse of what the journey with her has been like. She’s brought so much joy to our lives.

Some would say we saved her but, truthfully, she’s the one that did the saving. I can’t imagine life without my girl!