On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. Do you ever wonder what your kid's teacher is thinking? This week we're hearing from Arizona educators for the latest collection in our SOAPBOX series, where listeners tell their own true stories. This time the theme is The Classroom, and next up is Lisa Scinto.
Scinto worked as an engineer for a decade, taught science for four years, and served as an high school principal for 17 years. Her recently completed memoir "Sentenced to Death at 13: A Migration from Jim Crow to Aerospace," chronicles her family's journey from cotton to aerospace.
Observations of a high school principal
After decades in public education, I have a lot of memories. But one sticks with me. It was one of my final assignments as principal of an inner-city high school in Phoenix.
I came to work early on a Monday morning to find one of my students waiting on the steps. She told me she hadn’t eaten since Friday. It was a winter day, and the temperature was around 30 degrees, yet she was wearing shorts. She’d been on the streets all weekend. Her parents had kicked her out.
I'm African-American, but most of my career has been in affluent, suburban schools. This was not by design; that’s who hired me.
That last job was different. I was principal of a large urban school in a part of town known to have high police call rates and low incomes.
Over 75% of the students lived below the poverty line. Many were undocumented. A significant number resided in group homes or foster care. Some were homeless. This school was just 13 miles from my last job, at a wealthy district where a family spent $25,000 on a "Sweet 16" party.
Just 13 miles away, we had to give students city bus passes to get to and from school. The tickets were $1; many families could not afford it.
When I first started working at the urban school, I was shocked by the contrast between the education these two groups of students, rich and poor, were receiving. Don't get me wrong, many teachers are paragons of virtue — no matter where they teach. Regardless of the school’s demographics, there are saints in the classroom working from sun-up to sundown, driven to make those few hours with their students the best of their day. They are child advocates; this is their calling.
I’ve also seen teachers who clearly didn’t want to be in the classroom. That’s a big part of the challenge.
I loved all of my students. I feel I made a difference in the lives of both rich and poor children. But having grown up in the inner city of Detroit, I felt a connection with the urban students.
The kids at my urban Phoenix school were lovely. The school had a large refugee population, and students often wore their native dress to school. Walking on campus was like being at the United Nations. These students were grateful to be in our country and very eager to learn. However, the quality of the education American children receive is often based on ZIP code.
When wealthy students struggle academically, there are support systems within the school and resources in the family to provide assistance. Poor Americans, refugees and students of color are often brilliant and try very hard, but the system is stacked against them.
Another lesson I learned at my last job: There is a difference between having a tight budget and living in true poverty. Often these students had nothing. They went home to empty refrigerators, apartments with no furniture and utilities that had been cut off. I’ve seen 16-year-old kids who have never seen a dentist or who struggled with life-threatening diseases without medical care. They had no money or insurance. I’ve seen children come out of the park to go to school because they were homeless.
We are the wealthiest civilization that has ever existed. We have to do better. Our future depends on it.