Coffee: Organic Honduran, Trader Joe’s brand
Last night I talked to a teacher. She said: “Where’s the storm?” She was talking about rain but I figured she might have meant the Teachers’ March. Yesterday, thousands of NC teachers marched on Raleigh. They’re underpayed, undervalued, underfunded, full of fire; I can attest to all that, I used to be one.
Last night’s teacher was also a waitress. She also ran two small businesses and when we asked about the rally – if she was there – she looked ashamed to say she wasn’t. She was happier to recommend a Red Oak that I drank greedily. I thought about her from the beginning to the end of the pint. She was younger than me. She was all smiles. She probably worked harder than I’ve ever worked. Her blood and soul was marching without her.
There’s a particular privilege in having the resources to fight. Without those resources, the world doesn’t see you, but you’re no less worthy of respect. I hope last night’s teacher goes to sleep knowing her own power. I imagine that’s exactly what she’ll do.
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
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“I am indebted to my father for living, but to my teacher for living well.” – Alexander the Great