36-35 Rooting for the Underdog

I don’t really like watching basketball. Neither does Daniel. But, Daniel and I went to watch basketball, so we could see some of my students play. And, it was depressing.

The visiting team we were playing had their side of the stands full. Full of parents, full of grandparents, full of little brothers and sisters, full of blonde-haired cheerleaders. They even had a dance team. All of them screaming and wearing team colors.  FULL. The Darby, home side had seriously 7 adult cheerers including Daniel and me. The back row had some Darby kids who didn’t want to go home and were listening to their i-pods or text messaging. It was embarrassingly empty.

We sat there rather ashamed about our side’s lack of team spirit and support. We watched game after game after game. First, 7th grade girls, 7th grade boys, 8th grade girls, 8th grade boys, 9th grade girls, 9th grade boys. Every game was the same: our team was the more athletic, but we just couldn’t get a win. We kept loosing by one point (36-35). By three points. Or, ahead the whole game only to give it up by sloppy playing at the end.

My hands got sweaty and my heart raced as each chance to win came and went. Watching “my kids” lose over and over was heartbreaking.  I felt myself wishing the other team would trip. That their fans would just stop cheering. That their cheerleaders weren’t so good. That they’d miss all their free-throws or foul out. I (unfairly) hated their all-white team, their new uniforms, their supportive families, their perfect upbringing.  I thought awful things about the other team.  I just wanted our kids to win for once. To feel what it is like to be a winner.  To be good at something. To succeed.

I think the reason I got so upset is because the basketball games weren’t really about basketball games at all—they felt like a cruel metaphor for these kids’ lives.

The school where I work has 82% of the students enrolled for free lunch (which means their families have incomes below 130 percent of the poverty level).  FYI: the state average in Arkansas is 47% free.

Poverty is a lot like slavery.

Poverty isn’t about money. It’s about power and lack of power. About those who help themselves to seconds while watching those who haven’t even had a crumb. It’s not just about getting enough money or resources, though; it’s about getting out of the vicious poverty cycle. If you are a person in poverty, life happens to you. Your only duty is to accept it over and over each day. You keep stomping in the mud making bricks to build someone else’s temple, and all you get is dirty.

I’ve heard preachers say one reason why the Israelites had to wander around the desert for 40 years is because they had to forget what it meant to be slaves and learn what it meant to be people of God—people who knew they were conquerors, not brick makers.

The story of the 12 spies being sent out is so depressing to me because if only they would have had faith in God and faith in who they were because of God, the whole nation could have seen the promised land. They could have defeated even the giant sons of Anak. But, as the Henry Ford quote goes, “Whether you think you can or can’t. You’re right.”

I’m sick of our kids being the underdogs. I’m sick of our kids working so hard only to be let down by their parents, their circumstances, their brick-making life.

And, I’m also sick of our kids thinking that working hard is worthless because their circumstances will dictate their future anyway. I wish they could see that hard work and dedication do matter. That they can somehow get out of the poverty cycle.  I’m sick of “almost” making it, “almost” winning the game, “almost” getting proficient on that test, “almost” fill-in-the-blank.

I’m sick of the score at the end of the game being 36-35.