When I was 11, I learned about Nefertiti. I
remember, because it blew my socks off. I believed what I saw. I believed what
I read. I believed what I was told. Learning that Nefertiti existed was the
first time in my life I heard about the possibility of women being anything but
mothers and aunts and grandparents and babysitters and grocery store clerks and
post office staffers.
I figured it was just the way things were. The way life worked.
People, boys and girls, people of color versus European American individuals. We look around are told things and we just drink it in. Until we don't.
Before I was 11, I went to our town school. It didn't have a great reputation. The teachers had enormous classes, Wayback then.
And it was considered competitive to toss your kid into first grade when they were five. Instead of six. Getting ahead, you know. Sink or swim. Toughen them up for a tough world.
When I talked to my teachers about how, after the quiz they would give you by calling you up to their desk to the little chair next to them, asking you questions, about math or anything else, I went up to the teacher after and told her that I couldn't figure out what to do. That right after the quiz, I didn't remember a thing. Ever again. It pissed her off. She told me to go sit down.
By six grade I was flunking out. I still got put in the A classes, because I was white. Because my family was upper-middle-class. That's just how it worked. You're relegated to the D class if you were a person of color, or not exceptional in terms of Academic achievement. The good old days.
I pretty much flunked out of sixth grade. My teacher was an older woman, my age now. Her ankles were swollen, she wore those old lady shoes that tied up in the front, she was stiff, and unhappy. Miss Sparrow.
It's possible I was the bane of her existence. I'm not sure. But I was a big pain to her.
I could hardly learn anything.
Math was a complete disaster.
I was shy, and very articulate. In those days, they thought that if yo were white and your family had some money and you articulate, then you should be excelling in all your classes. Some wisdom.
On the last day of school in sixth grade, and she called me over to her, and told her I was going to be a big failure. I guess she was pretty frustrated and upset. You would've thought she should be in a good mood, summer coming. I'm sure she was burnt out,and her pay sucked. I figured she was right.
Somehow between my parents and grandparents, I was sent to a private day school. It saved me. It saved me almost as much as the boarding school I was sent to after that.
At this private day school, the teachers were relatively happy. They certainly loved what they were teaching. And you had different teachers in different buildings for each class. It gave you a chance.
And they stayed after school all the time, or worked with you during recess all the time, to help you out. I mean, they were supposed to, but they were very very kind to me.
Our history teacher was a small woman with short blond hair, who adored the sun. She was so tan all the time, not from tanning places because they didn't have those then, but just from being outside anytime she could.
I think she died of skin cancer.
She was a stern and no nonsense excellent teacher and she loved what she taught.
And somehow she conveyed to me this infectious adoration of history. It was the first time school was anything wondrous at all. Even though I had been a voracious reader since I was young.
And then we bumped into Nefertiti. I'm sure that the illustrations we had were the same as this one. We learned about her life, how long ago she lived, things that she purportedly did.
And it just cracked my entire universe open. Because until then, I knew you could be a woman and be powerful. Influential. But you always needed to use your sexuality. That it went much better if you were white. And skinny. And used your sexuality.
Those are all the things I understood.
But nothing about the history of Nefertiti talked much about her using her sexuality.
And yes, the sculpture of her is exquisite. So beautiful. The correct little nose and the perfect eyes and cheekbones and the perfect everything.
But there she was, so long ago, making decisions. Being a leader. Till that day I never had a clue that women ever did stuff like that.
Which, of course, is why we have international women's day. And month. Because if we don't have black history month or international women's day, all the stuff slowly get swept under the rug
. Especially in the way that humans and exorbitantly swing back-and-forth between being more liberal and more conservative. The more conservative the current culture is, The more history gets rewritten from the standpoint of the big powerful man father figure, and everyone else subordinates.
Slowly we begin to lose history of anything else. When I was a young adult, I thought that you thought for these rights, and then they stayed cemented in place. Now I understand. These are all things we are going to have to fight for, forever.
The cultural myth and archetype of the big white guy. Which is the reason that God is always thought of as the big white guy.
I went around in a fog for weeks, maybe months. My mind had to slowly sift through everything that needed to change, with this new information.
Learning that the entire universe and life as I knew it was different. But there were more possibilities.
Anything was possible. I mean, really, she was from Egypt. It took me a few more years to realize that her skin was a little bit dark! That was even more exciting. Because from the time I can remember, I was excited about possibility. For everyone. Every species.
My day-to-day life stayed pretty much the same, after the discovery of Nefertiti. My solace came from my brothers, my German Shepherd dogs, and the woods. The fields. The living things.
But school had become something hopeful. Brimming with possibility. Somehow, even though I couldn't see the evidence of it before me, I had this absolute sense that there was great possibility for each of us. Which meant that there was great possibility for me, as well.
I figured it was just the way things were. The way life worked.
People, boys and girls, people of color versus European American individuals. We look around are told things and we just drink it in. Until we don't.
Before I was 11, I went to our town school. It didn't have a great reputation. The teachers had enormous classes, Wayback then.
And it was considered competitive to toss your kid into first grade when they were five. Instead of six. Getting ahead, you know. Sink or swim. Toughen them up for a tough world.
When I talked to my teachers about how, after the quiz they would give you by calling you up to their desk to the little chair next to them, asking you questions, about math or anything else, I went up to the teacher after and told her that I couldn't figure out what to do. That right after the quiz, I didn't remember a thing. Ever again. It pissed her off. She told me to go sit down.
By six grade I was flunking out. I still got put in the A classes, because I was white. Because my family was upper-middle-class. That's just how it worked. You're relegated to the D class if you were a person of color, or not exceptional in terms of Academic achievement. The good old days.
I pretty much flunked out of sixth grade. My teacher was an older woman, my age now. Her ankles were swollen, she wore those old lady shoes that tied up in the front, she was stiff, and unhappy. Miss Sparrow.
It's possible I was the bane of her existence. I'm not sure. But I was a big pain to her.
I could hardly learn anything.
Math was a complete disaster.
I was shy, and very articulate. In those days, they thought that if yo were white and your family had some money and you articulate, then you should be excelling in all your classes. Some wisdom.
On the last day of school in sixth grade, and she called me over to her, and told her I was going to be a big failure. I guess she was pretty frustrated and upset. You would've thought she should be in a good mood, summer coming. I'm sure she was burnt out,and her pay sucked. I figured she was right.
Somehow between my parents and grandparents, I was sent to a private day school. It saved me. It saved me almost as much as the boarding school I was sent to after that.
At this private day school, the teachers were relatively happy. They certainly loved what they were teaching. And you had different teachers in different buildings for each class. It gave you a chance.
And they stayed after school all the time, or worked with you during recess all the time, to help you out. I mean, they were supposed to, but they were very very kind to me.
Our history teacher was a small woman with short blond hair, who adored the sun. She was so tan all the time, not from tanning places because they didn't have those then, but just from being outside anytime she could.
I think she died of skin cancer.
She was a stern and no nonsense excellent teacher and she loved what she taught.
And somehow she conveyed to me this infectious adoration of history. It was the first time school was anything wondrous at all. Even though I had been a voracious reader since I was young.
And then we bumped into Nefertiti. I'm sure that the illustrations we had were the same as this one. We learned about her life, how long ago she lived, things that she purportedly did.
And it just cracked my entire universe open. Because until then, I knew you could be a woman and be powerful. Influential. But you always needed to use your sexuality. That it went much better if you were white. And skinny. And used your sexuality.
Those are all the things I understood.
But nothing about the history of Nefertiti talked much about her using her sexuality.
And yes, the sculpture of her is exquisite. So beautiful. The correct little nose and the perfect eyes and cheekbones and the perfect everything.
But there she was, so long ago, making decisions. Being a leader. Till that day I never had a clue that women ever did stuff like that.
Which, of course, is why we have international women's day. And month. Because if we don't have black history month or international women's day, all the stuff slowly get swept under the rug
. Especially in the way that humans and exorbitantly swing back-and-forth between being more liberal and more conservative. The more conservative the current culture is, The more history gets rewritten from the standpoint of the big powerful man father figure, and everyone else subordinates.
Slowly we begin to lose history of anything else. When I was a young adult, I thought that you thought for these rights, and then they stayed cemented in place. Now I understand. These are all things we are going to have to fight for, forever.
The cultural myth and archetype of the big white guy. Which is the reason that God is always thought of as the big white guy.
I went around in a fog for weeks, maybe months. My mind had to slowly sift through everything that needed to change, with this new information.
Learning that the entire universe and life as I knew it was different. But there were more possibilities.
Anything was possible. I mean, really, she was from Egypt. It took me a few more years to realize that her skin was a little bit dark! That was even more exciting. Because from the time I can remember, I was excited about possibility. For everyone. Every species.
My day-to-day life stayed pretty much the same, after the discovery of Nefertiti. My solace came from my brothers, my German Shepherd dogs, and the woods. The fields. The living things.
But school had become something hopeful. Brimming with possibility. Somehow, even though I couldn't see the evidence of it before me, I had this absolute sense that there was great possibility for each of us. Which meant that there was great possibility for me, as well.
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