Ms. Lentz Writes

This week's readings deeply resonated with me, from both a pedagogical and personal perspective. Garcia and O'Donnell-Allen's reflection on curating your own curriculum stuck with me the most. Since I was a child, my intention has always been to end up as a museum curator. Even now that I am in the classroom, my passion still lies in museum work and still intend for curating to be my long-term career. I was so impacted by Garcia and O'Donnell-Allen's observation that teachers are curators as well because they were able to articulate a connection I have seen between the two fields for so long. I became a teacher before a curator for a multitude of reasons, but the primary one being I knew my experience in the classroom would help me exponentially in my museum work. My reasoning, though less articulate, was based in the idea that "the word "curate" originates from the Latin word curare, which means "to care," (page 89). Curators care about...

I was not familiar with the "Jeffersonian Dismissal" until engaging with chapter three of Kay's book Not Light, But Fire , but when I read about it this week, I immediately thought back to Gay's "Still Processing" excerpt from last week. Kay informs readers the "Jeffersonian Dismissal" is from Jefferson's Notes of the State of Virginia , specifically the quote, "Misery is often the parent of the most affecting touches in poetry - among the Blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no Poetry," (147). After presenting this quote, Kay states "Jefferson renders [blacks] flat characters, defined entirely by their struggles," in his attempt to deem blacks inferior (78). It was the latter part of that claim that stuck out to me and joined the resounding chorus of Gay's claim that the media consistently attempts "to conflate blackness and suffering. Suffering and blackness. Blackness and Suffering," (220). I've had G...

Ah, the Fourth of July! As a child, I considered the Fourth my favorite holiday. Not because I was saturated in American pride, but because it meant going to a friend's lake house and spending the weekend swimming, fishing, and roasting marshmallows - a nine-year-old's dream! Now, this isn't to say I wasn't proud to be an American, it just means I was more concerned with how I'd be celebrating our freedom rather than the freedom itself. American pride was actually ingrained in my psyche very early on in life. My mom was firefighter, and we spent much of our time down at the fire station - a concrete, greasy building brimming with American flags and paraphernalia. While I spent my time there playing on the fire trucks with a fellow daughter, Analiese, the adults spent their time talking and, well, fighting fires. In fact, the lake house we would spend the Fourth at belonged to Analiese's family. It wasn't until I was older and had educated myself on the cur...