Your Firsthand Experience with Poverty
Tell Me About . . .
You Will Go to College!
My dad sat me down, and with his thick Spanish
accent and a determined look, said, “Pérsida, to
what college you go?” It wasn’t really a question.
He was daring me to say anything other than the
name of a respectable university. He said that
to all seven of his kids. As a result, even though
we were dirt poor, we now boast two PhDs, two
master’s degrees, one theology degree, one bachelor’s degree, and one high school diploma. (The
high school diploma was earned by the daughter
with special needs. Even she was given no
choice.) If I could say anything to educators that
could make a lasting difference in the lives of the
children they serve, it’s this: Parents are the silver
bullet. No amount of poverty can compete with
an informed and determined parent. Starting in
kindergarten, make sure your students’ parents
know that the expectations they convey about
schooling will likely determine their children’s
future.
—Pérsida Himmele, associate professor,
Millersville University, Millersville, Pennsylvania
My Father’s Teachers Failed Him
I grew up in a three-room house with no
bathroom and no running water, in the rural
Appalachian foothills. My parents were high
school dropouts; both were blue collar and hard
working. They wanted better for me. I knew the
importance of education early. Reading was held
in high regard by my dad, who was smart but
illiterate. I had to read necessary items for him. I
went to college to become a teacher because my
father’s teachers had failed him. When I started
college, my mom earned her GED and went to
college with me. She’s a teacher now, too, for the
same reason. We both despise teachers who fail
their students because we know the impact bad
teachers have on students.
Between Two Worlds
I grew up in the kind of dysfunctional poverty
and chaos that led to 40 different moves by
the time I started high school. Although my
parents said that they wanted their children to
be successful academically, in reality the very
notion of that success was a threat to the insular
family system they had created. I modeled myself
after the only heroes and heroines I knew—
teachers. Becoming a teacher meant that I left
behind that world of poverty and dysfunction,
but it also meant that I had to leave behind my
family; I no longer belonged in their world. At
the same time, my experiences set me apart from
many of my middle-class colleagues. Living in
the “doorway between two worlds,” as a poem I
once read states, is the double-edged sword that
makes me an effective teacher of students who
live in poverty.
I sometimes hear my colleagues complain
that they have tried so hard to reach a student
in poverty, offering him or her the proverbial
brass ring, only to have that student return to his
or her former life and ways. I want to tell them
that they don’t understand what they are asking
of this student. They don’t understand how
powerful the need for belonging is. We don’t get
to choose our students’ paths, only point out the
limitless horizons and hope that one day they
will find their place.
—Amy Miller, teacher,
Fisher Elementary School,
—Amanda Gillespie,
science curriculum specialist,
I Lacked the Words
Growing up in Chicago’s North Lawndale and
attending Chicago Public Schools insulated
me from the realities of my real poverty. But
in middle school, I found I did not have the
vocabulary to express my ideas, and I struggled
mightily to learn new concepts from print. By
my sophomore year at Farragut High School,
I seriously considered dropping out because I
did not have the words to think. Miraculously,
