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CHAPTERONE
TIBERIUS VESEY
“Lips, teeth, tip of the tongue…”
“No! Stop. Stop. It’s not lips, teef, tip of da tung. We are learning to enunciate. It’s lips, teeth, tip of the tongue-ah. That ah at the end helps the audience understand what you are saying. We are starting over.”
I found the key on the piano. After humming it, I directed the choir to begin again.
The choir sang the vocal exercise, “Lips, teeth, tip of the tongue-ah. Lips, teeth, tip of the tongue-ah…”
“Great warm-up. Alright, let’s start with ‘Man in the Mirror’ by Michael Jackson. I shouldn’t see any more lyric sheets. You should have this memorized by now.”
* * *
“Good job today.We still need to tighten up our harmonies, so practice your part. Also, make sure you have your gold polos and black bottoms pressed. I don’t want to see any wrinkled shirts or bottoms on performance day. Have a great day.”
I’d been teaching at Richard Alexander Woodson Magnet School for three years. Teaching a children’s music class wasn’t my dream, but I was making it work.
I fell in love with music as a child and knew I wanted to make music for a living. Listening to all genres, from gospel to heavy metal, gave me a love and appreciation for music’s impact. Music made people feel. Music gave my ancestor’s a road map to freedom during slavery and soothed us during conflicts. Music sets the mood for lovemaking and heals after a breakup. Teaching the children at RAW allowed me to impart some of my music knowledge to them, hoping to inspire one of them to love music like me.
“Mr. Vesey, my momma said I ain’t got no black bottoms,” Corvell, one of my sixth-grade choir members, said.
“Ain’t got no?”
“I mean, I don’t have any pants that are black,” Corvell corrected.
“Can you tell your mother to send me a message through the parent portal? I may be able to help.”
“A’ight…”
Tenting one eyebrow, I tilted my head and looked at Corvell.
“I mean, yes, Sir. I will tell her.”
“Where is your belt, Cordell?”
“I forgot to put it on this morning,” Cordell responded.
“You need to wear a belt with your pants, man. There is nothing attractive about a man that can’t put himself together. That means clean shoes, pressed clothes, and a washed body. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“A’ight. Don’t let me catch you again without a belt on. See you tomorrow. Be the King you were born to be.”
“Be the King,” Corvell responded.
Corvell was one of the brightest students I had in my choir class. Like many other young, black, fatherless boys, he just lacked guidance. Being a fatherless young man myself, I understood. I wished there would’ve been black male teachers that took an interest in me and helped me figure out manhood. Not having that role model in my life made me want to be the role model for the boys I had the privilege of teaching.
After reorganizing the chairs in the classroom, I prepared for the kindergartners to arrive. Kindergartners were always fun because they were just learning music, and everything was new to them. I looked forward to their weekly visit.
“Good morning,” I said to the students as they entered my class. “Grab your musical instrument and find your seat.”
Their teacher, Ms. Stevenson, stopped short of entering my classroom. She did a quick perusal of the class and then turned to leave.
“Miss Stevenson,” I spoke
MADALEE STEVENSON
