When I was eleven, I shattered my grandmother's favorite possession due to a combination of curiosity, disobedience, and smooth palms that, unlike my grandmother's coarse, calloused hands, had never seen a day of hard work. In seconds, I destroyed something she had protected a lifetime: a waterglobe with a unicorn in the middle, the only reminder she had of her own grandmother. She forgave me, of course, as grandmothers do, but I remember this day distinctly, not only for the pain I caused the person I loved most, but also because it was the first time I had actively reflected on what it meant for something to be broken.

Broken, as defined by Merriam Webster, means separated into pieces or not working properly, and it is the perfect term to attribute to my grandmother's unicorn waterglobe, smashed into dozens of pieces on a shiny hardwood floor. However, the reason I have become increasingly passionate about education is because the word broken is oftentimes used to negatively label misunderstood, underrepresented groups of people, schools, and school systems that have deteriorated due to systemic racism and unequal opportunities in communities largely composed of the impoverished and, therefore, the powerless.

Today, I reflect on how much that term has been (over)used to describe many facets of my own life. I come from a "broken" home, headed by a single mother with a nonexistent father: the stereotypical plight of the black American family. Nevertheless, I challenge people to beware the "broken" narrative. We are trained only to see what is missing, not to see what is present. My mother is a nonnative English speaker who, after she divorced my father, learned English and worked diligently to give her children everything she did not have, even when it did not seem like much. My "broken" school district in Prince George's County Maryland prepared me to take college classes at the University of Pittsburgh while still in high school, encouraged my love of writing, and fostered a desire to travel which resulted in me teaching in three countries abroad (although getting on a plane is unimaginable for most in my hometown). My "broken" community showed me to serve others, worked together to support me financially through my studies, and taught me the importance of my own narrative. I am here to redefine "broken."

I have been an English teacher, a district-level teacher educator, and a school district's family-community liaison. I have worked in traditional public schools, boys' correctional facilities, and international schools in four countries. Mainly, what I have found is that there is power, and beauty, in the "broken" narrative; there is so much more substance and grit and growth that we simply do not discuss.

When I was twelve, my grandmother's waterglobe was fixed, the pieces slowly, painfully glued together again by an old man with delicate, patient hands-- my grandfather. Although it never held water again, it was just as beautiful as the original, if not more so. Some schools, like that waterglobe, just need delicate, patient hands.

My hands are ready.

Personal research interests: Neighborhood inclusiveness in children's literature; the evaluation of Indian Tribal Schools (in India); school choice in the U.S. and its impact on Native American students
Professional research interests: Formative assessment cycles in mathematics instruction