When I was a young woman attempting to find my purpose in life I entered college hoping to encounter the foundations of a possible career. I changed my majors so many times that I finally settled on unspecified arts and sciences for a time while I enrolled in one differing course after another hoping that a spark of interest would lead me to the career that I would follow. 

My first experiences in the Department of Education were far from inspiring. A general music class convinced me that I was way out of my league if I was ever asked to head a class in the basics of singing and playing instruments. An introductory class in the science of education lead by a brilliant professor piqued my interest enough that I made my major official and embarked on a series of courses where I learned how complex excellent teaching would actually be. Along the way I finally decided to take a required course called ‘Multiculturalism in the Classroom.” I would lie if I did not admit that this sounded like a fluff piece that would give me an easy A without much effort. Boy, was I wrong!

The professor was a young Black man, the first nonwhite teacher I had ever had. Before college was a student in the mid- nineteen fifties until nineteen sixty six. Living in the segregated south my only interaction with the Black people in my city was in passing until my senior year of high school when a talented Black student came to our campus. Since I had no classes with him I generally only knew of him. I knew immediately when I saw a Black man leading the multicultural class that it would be much more interesting that I had imagined, and it was.

Our professor was a gifted speaker and he made every topic enchanting. He challenged us and showed us a world that we had never known. He even poked fun at himself by telling a story of his own innocence about the people of the world. He recounted a time when he did enough research to determine what part of Africa had been his ancestral home. With great excitement he even learned what the historic garb was for that region. He purchased clothing that he believed would put him in good standing with the people that he would meet in the land where his ancestors once lived. Dressed in what he hoped would instantly impress the people he would encounter he stepped off of the plane to the amusement of those who were meeting him. They were decked out in western clothing and he instantly realized that he had insulted them by stereotyping who they were. 

This same man required us to choose an older part of the city of Houston to learn the history and evolution of the area. Because my grandparents had settled in the east end when they arrived from the Slovakian area of Austria Hungary I chose that part of town to study. The paper that I wrote was massive in its analysis of the demographics and economic aspects of how things came to be. I learned that Harrisburg was initially the capital of the Republic of Texas and that most of the land was dedicated to farming. After the devastating hurricane of 1900 in Galveston enterprising entrepreneurs decided to dig a waterway from the Gulf of Mexico to the east end of Houston. That big ditch eventually became one of the busiest ports in the United States. It was no doubt one of the reasons that my grandfather decided to move to Houston just before World War I broke out.

I found out that the movers and shakers of Houston aggressively advertised, sometimes falsely, to draw immigrants from around the world. There was a need for workers to build the infrastructure that would one day make Houston the fourth largest city with the most diverse population in the United States.

I treasured everything that I learned in the multicultural class long before DEI was even a thing. The professor opened my eyes and my mind so that I would forevermore meet my students and their parents with great respect. What I learned there was a key to my success as a teacher. It made me incredibly aware of the dangers of stereotyping and prejudice. I learned how to meet my students and their families just as they were. I realized how all of us have the same hopes and dreams for ourselves and our children. I saw that we each celebrate our backgrounds and our cultures and that there is much beauty in allowing each person to have the freedom to live as they wish rather than according to some dictate that forces them to change. Embracing multiculturalism not only helped me grow in the classroom but it became the strength of our great city. 

We are many nations, many cultures in Houston, Texas. We know many languages and take pride in our respective histories. Each individual has something special to offer the world and teaching became a way for me to help each of my students to find themselves just as I had done in the long ago. 

I will forever be grateful to the incredible man who lifted the scales from my eyes. He did not use propaganda to get me there nor did he pit one race or culture with another. He simply showed me how to value everyone that I would meet in the adventure called my life. He was perhaps one of the most consequential people in my life who helped me to fully understand that diversity, equity and inclusion do not hurt anyone but instead they help everyone.