Dr. James Whitfield

life

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 – Unscripted

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As the days of 2023 dwindle down, only 16 weeks remain in this calendar year. To those who have faithfully followed my weekly reflections, thank you for being a part of this introspective journey. For those joining for the first time, a warm welcome. Regardless of where you stand, know that your presence is valued, and I’m genuinely delighted that you’re here. My wish is that this year has unfolded just as you’d hoped it would.

The Weekly Reflection Challenge

Writing this weekly blog has brought with it a unique and beautiful challenge. I have always been a deeply reflective person. But I cannot think of a time in my life where I dedicated time at the end of each week to reflect on what that time had presented me. There have been many weeks where I’ve struggled to find a word that truly captured my thoughts and feelings. But, every time, God laid something on my heart to share.

This journey has been an unscripted one. But such is life. I have no earthly idea what I’m going to write about at the beginning of each week. I won’t lie, early on, I tried to force it. But it never fit. The things I felt I needed to talk about or wanted to talk about never seemed to be what I actually wrote about, in the end. And this has made the journey more genuine, authentic, and therapeutic for me.

Unscripted Lessons

Life’s unscripted moments often hold the most profound lessons. While plans have their place, they can sometimes pale in comparison to the grand design that the universe, or in my case, God, has in store for us. We may attempt to force our personal narratives into the script, but more often than not, they fail to fit. Life’s greatest surprises, blessings, and revelations emerge when we relinquish control and embrace the unscripted. 

Reflecting on these past weeks, I am reminded that the most impactful adventures often arise when we surrender the pen that drafts our life’s script. I’ve gazed up in awe at the grace, mercy, and provision that God has bestowed upon me.

An Unforeseen Journey

This past holiday weekend I had the opportunity to visit Seaside, Florida with my family and good friends. This trip was not something we planned, but a generous opportunity was extended by some good friends. Completely unforeseen, all of a sudden, we were loading up the Expedition, headed to the Florida panhandle. 

Though brief in duration, those three days were filled with unforgettable moments, too numerous to recount in this humble blog post. What we lacked in time, we made up for in moments.

Finding Joy Amidst the Challenges

The trip was an absolute blast, not because everything unfolded perfectly – quite the contrary. We encountered our fair share of unexpected challenges, from navigating a busted golf cart in the dark to a tangle with jellyfish, and even a near mishap with a stop sign. Yet, in these seemingly exasperating moments, we found joy in these “you’ve gotta be kidding me” moments that popped up. 

This trip served as a vivid reminder of the beauty inherent in an unscripted life. Had I known about the golf cart’s sudden breakdown on our way to dinner, I might have opted for the car and missed out on the deep belly laughs and crazy commentary that filled that peculiar ride. There’s so much more to share, but some experiences defy adequate description – you truly had to be there. What I can attest to is that, despite the chaos, it was so much fun!

Navigating the Unchartered Waters of Life

As I reflect on the past week and the broader journey of my life, I’m so grateful that I’ve not held the script in my own hands. Many of the trying moments, pains, and frustrations I’ve endured would likely have been edited out in a quest to construct a “perfect” life. In doing so, I might have overlooked the remarkable treasures hidden just beyond the curtain of despair.

I don’t possess all the answers, and I’m content with that uncertainty. My path is one of faith, a willingness to embrace challenges, and an unwavering commitment to celebrating the moments of joy that grace my journey. I will continue to navigate the uncharted territory of this unscripted life, knowing that it is in these unanticipated moments where the true essence of existence thrives. And I hope you will, too.

Weekly With Whitfield – Transition

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As we make our way from one space to the next over the course of our lives, there are always a transition periods. During those moments of transition, all too often, there’s a great swirl of emotions that churn within us. And the way we navigate those emotions is critical to the outcomes those transitional moments bring.

The Challenge of Change 

Change can be challenging. Learning new things presents new and unique opportunities. Getting to know the new faces takes a lot of energy and intentional focus. Transitioning from that which you were very familiar with to something new presents you with daily moments of learning, application, and reflection. 

And these are all wonderful things! I firmly believe that it is in these moments throughout the course of our lives that we grow the most. Comfort and familiarity seems all well and good. But it is during these transitional periods that we really find out what we’re made of.

Unexpected Transitions

Roughly two years ago I began a transition that I never anticipated. In a matter of days, my entire life was flipped upside down. All of a sudden, I was thrust into the national spotlight answering calls from The New York Times, NBC, The Washington Post, and the likes.

In an instant, I went from someone who was very “don’t make the 6 o’clock news” to “let’s use the news to highlight what’s happening here and bring awareness” – something I was unfamiliar with and, if I’m honest, rather uncomfortable with. But, seeing as though I grew up in an environment where I was forced to fight through various things that came my way, I knew only one course of action…TO FIGHT.

As I transitioned to a new world of media engagements and advocacy I felt discombobulated. This space looked and felt quite different than showing up at school each day surrounded by the staff and students I adored. I felt empty and alone. I felt disconnected and depressed. This transition was not something I’d planned for, nor desired, yet here I was.

Embrace the Unknown

Over time I would find my footing. What helped the most was looking into the eyes of the people who love me most, my family. Over time I would come to reframe the situation. This transition would not be something happening to me. Rather, I would turn this on its head and take what was meant for my detriment into something positive for my family and the greater global community. 

I put my head down and started on projects I’d once considered, but never did. One of those projects was writing a book and, boy, do I have a doozy in the works to shine a light on what so many educators across the country are facing. I won’t share too much now but I can’t wait until it’s time to send that out into the world. 

Family Support

Most importantly, though, I looked at this as an opportunity to be there for my family in a way that I’d never been able to over the course of my career. Those who know me, know – I only know one way to be a teacher/coach/administer – and that’s FULL FORCE! I give my all to every school I’ve had the pleasure of serving. And, while I have the most amazing and understanding family support system, I know that, oftentimes, they took what was left of me after many of those long, challenging days serving in public schools.

Personal Growth

Slowly, I got out of bed a bit quicker, I calmed my bitterness and frustration, and I leaned into being ON for my family. That’s not to say that disappointment, frustration, bitterness, and anger did not rear their ugly heads over time. They did. If I told you the amount of times I heard people say I’d never work in public education in the metroplex again. If I heard it once, I heard it a hundred times. And I’m talking from folks in pretty high-up places in various districts across the DFW. And every time it had nothing to do with who I was. No, that was intact, well known, and even desired by many of these people. Yet the lack of intestinal fortitude kept many from taking a leap of faith for fear of a small group of hateful, bigoted, intolerant people. It’s been both an eye-opening and disappointing realization that some who claim to be in this work for kids and educators are really more interested in political positioning and harmful games.

Overcoming Adversity

But I would not let this consume me. In reality, I dodged a bullet with those who were afraid of the “bogeyman backlash”, as I sure did not want to end up in a situation where I was serving for a leader who lacked courage, integrity, and conviction. So I embraced the transition and chose to make the most of the challenges presented to me. I poured into my family, advocacy work that took me to the halls of Congress, and partnering with educators, higher education institutions and other organizations across the country. When you’re from where I’m from you’ve learned to make magic out of mess. 

New Beginnings

A few weeks ago, I turned the page on that chapter of life – a chapter that has been more like an entire crazy book. And now I’ve transitioned to a new, beautiful chapter… back in a beautiful school, doing what I love. This transition comes with a new role, a role that entails leading a small, but mighty, district made up of roughly 400 students K-12. It’s such a special place – the acres of tall, big trees, the winding creek, and, most importantly, THE PEOPLE. Everyone has been so warm and welcoming. They’ve made this transition smoother than I ever could’ve imagined. I’m forever grateful that God made this possible. What some meant for harm, He turned to good. 

So as you make the twists and turns of the various transition points in life, give yourself the grace to feel, learn, and grow. As tough as the terrain may be at the moment, always know that you don’t have to walk that rocky road alone. Be still and reflect on ways to reframe and reload to propel yourself forward towards brighter days. I’m rooting for you in all your days ahead.

Weekly With Whitfield – I’m Back

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On March 18th, 1995, a 16 year-old basketball junkie, would hear two words that sent him through the roof with excitement.

On October 6th, 1993, his favorite player walked away from the game of basketball in the prime of his career. Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player to ever grace the hardwood – I said it – announced his retirement from the NBA.

That kid was me. My mother and I had just watched his Chicago Bulls secure a three-peat just months earlier and all was well in the world. And I was completely devastated. But while my childhood hero was no longer in the game, my love for the game continued to grow. I was determined, like so many kids of that day, to be “Like Mike” (sorry, not sorry, for that jingle ringing in your head the rest of the day).

Wanna Be a Baller

Over the span of those two years I watched my game grow in ways I’d never imagined. I was putting in work. Everywhere I went, I had a basketball in my hand. If there was a good run going on somewhere, I was there.

I wore out the VHS tapes – Come Fly With Me, Michael Jordan’s Playground, Air Time, Above & Beyond! I’d watch a little bit, press pause, go out in the yard and try to emulate those moves, then come back in and watch some more; then do it all again…for hours.

When I wasn’t watching those tapes I was doing various leaping exercises. I was a small, scrawny runt, but I wanted to fly. I wanted to know the air up there. One of the things I did was alternating one legged jumps, working on my form, scraping my hand against the roof shingles. I was gauging how high based on where the scrape was. I had to get about half way up my arm before I could even consider attempting to dunk a basketball. 

I’d also wear ankle weights everywhere I walked. I remember when I’d take them off to hoop I felt like I was free. I was flying. And, while I was just a mighty 5’7”, pretty quickly those scrapes began to get higher and higher on my arm. And I did a horrible job of hiding them. So much so that one of my school counselors called me in for a well-check to make sure I was ok. When I explained to her how I’d come by those scapes she was a bit perplexed. I just smiled and said “come watch me play basketball. I’ll show you what I’ve been up to.”

It was over the course of this time that a spark was lit inside my soul. I know that, for some, this may sound silly. How on earth does a game have such an impact on one’s life? Well, for me it was much more than a game – it was a way out. And with each passing day I poured everything I had into being the best basketball player I could be.

I was still an average student in the classroom. But I was never one to speak up in class. If I could sit in your class and just get by without saying a word, I was good. My teachers and many of my peers I went to high school with didn’t hear me say too much. I was fairly quiet and a bit shy.

But when I stepped foot on that court it all changed. In an instant I transformed into something different. I like to call it passion. But I will be totally honest, that “passion” got me in plenty of trouble, as I was competitive as hell. I was driven to win and had a desire to completely destroy the person in front of me. By no means did I get the better of everyone that I faced. While I definitely tried, me getting the better of someone is not what I’m getting at here. 

The transformation that took place on that court came from an extreme confidence. Over the course of a couple years I’d gone from a relatively non-athletic, scrawny kid, to a dude that was dunking on guys that were over a foot taller than me. And that confidence and ability to do some pretty athletic things came from hard work, dedication, a desire to change my circumstances, and the devastation that came with Michael Jordan being away from the game.

While he may have stepped away, he never really did in my world, as I had him on repeat every single day. But then, on that day in March of 1995, something hit me differently when I heard wind of those two magical words “I’m Back” – the fax heard round the world. 

Transformation

Over the course of two years my whole world changed. In the midst of the chaos that surrounded me, I found a way to focus on where I wanted to be. I set goals. I was disciplined in my approach – no days off. And I was determined to use that round, orange ball to find a way out.

I never made the NBA, as I dreamed. But I did go on to fulfill a goal of playing collegiate basketball – something I always promised my mother I would do. 

But, as I reflect on those times – all the sweat, pain, soreness, mental and physical exhaustion, fighting poverty…you name it – I see how God was using basketball as a conduit to prepare me for the uncertain seasons of life. It’s why basketball has always been more than a game to me. God used a game to prepare me for the many “I’m Back” moments that would undoubtedly unfold on the other side of the mountain.

I’m Back

It has been a long road over the course of the last two years. I’ve been attacked by folks with nefarious agendas. We’ve received hate mail and death threats. I’ve been told by many folks who I’d held in high esteem that I’d never work in public education again in this area due to the media firestorm that accompanied my trials. Believe me, the book is coming. It has been one heck of a ride.

But I’ve also received support and encouragement from so many, near and far. I’ve connected with wonderful educators and advocates across the country along this journey. I’ve partnered with national organizations who are committed to supporting educators in their work. I’ve had the opportunity to testify before the House Subcommittee on Civil Rights and Civil Liberties with regard to classroom censorship. I’ve spoken to thousands of people in various keynotes, workshops, and panels. I’ve worked with preservice teachers to help prepare them for the climate they’re jumping into.

I reached back to the lessons learned by that young boy. I didn’t wallow in pity of devastation. While I was hurting and definitely had my share of challenging days, the strength of my faith refused to allow the obstacles to block my purpose. I got straight to work. I honed my craft, stayed true to my beliefs, and since Wednesday of this week…I’M BACK!!!