When It Comes to School Boards and Home

"Wait—did I say that out loud?"—some thoughts on school and the Imago Dei. Also, a Husker reference.

In case Green Day or Earth, Wind, and Fire haven’t told you—It’s September. 

For me, September usually reminds me of a couple of things:

1. The kids, my husband, and I are squarely into a routine that involves breaking textbook spines, signing up for all extracurriculars, and remembering school pick-up times and when we leave for school and work. Oh, lots of complaining over what apps I need to download and what that school email said.
   

2. But also: the incoming breeze and college football.

The general theme here, of course, is school (I would regale you more about Dylan Raiola’s story and the ever-present hope of Husker football, but I’m pretty sure I would lose all of you…)

I’ve always loved school—you never needed to tell me twice when to buy school supplies, buy an extra notebook, or just have a bouquet of sharpened pencils (name that movie). School was also where I found myself the most at home. I was allowed to daydream. I was allowed to learn and problem-solve. I was allowed to ask questions.

I was allowed to grow.

And maybe, for some of you, school wasn’t this place. But it was for me, a little girl who grew up not knowing a lick of English.

Now, I’m on the other side of the school equation with 3 children in public school.

It wasn’t until recently I learned more about the history of where I live and how it affects something as simple as school choice. I often tell people that I grew up in this bastion of civil rights where schools were well-funded, student bodies were diverse, and I had a myriad of options just waiting for me. MLK Jr. would have been proud of my school system (GO SPARTANS).

And yet, while I lived in that glorious bubble, I’m not so naïve to think it remained. Because I think when we don’t know our own origin stories, we’re bound to forget them. We’re also bound to take them for granted. When we take stories, HISTORY, for granted, we lose a large part of our humanity and see how God made us in each specific way.

Recently, I’ve been wrestling with my apparent lack of answers when it comes to politics. If you had known me during my senior year of high school, this fact would now have been appalling.

Clearly, high school senior Neidy knew what was best (HA!). I took it as a sense of pride when my economics teacher, a very kind, EXTRAORDINARILY patient and soft-spoken Black man, looked me in the eyes, smiled, and said, “Oh, honey—I would never vote for you.” 

My snark was evident in the smirk I gave him back at 17. But oh, he was right. I would never vote for me now. I mean, yikes.

And truly, that’s what made school a safe place for me to grow. It was the place where I could make loud judgments without being judged in return. It was a place where I could ask questions in safety and grow. Grow so that I would one day ask, “Huh—why does the racial makeup of my city not reflect or even include my family’s?” These observations would then lead me to ask more and more questions as to where would be the place where I would want my children to grow up as biracial kids who seem to feel a little out of place.

That’s why, at the beginning of every school year, I remind my kids of our family motto.

“There’s two S’s in Hess—they mean we Serve and Stand up because HE loved us first.” It was cute when they were a bit younger, but now that my 12-year-old is beginning not just to be taller than me but actually TOWER over me, it means something more. He’s beginning to see the distinctions in the cafeteria table where the brown kids sit apart from the paler ones. His friends don’t look like him, and his peers question why his hair defies gravity.

Because when we’re unlike one another, we point it out. And it feels weird—but you just can’t name it. How do I help my child so they don’t lose sight of how perfectly and intentionally they were made?

When Zach and I looked at school districts when we decided to move back to Nebraska, we noticed something awful. The “better” school districts didn’t include children who looked like ours. I probably don’t need to tell you about the gnashing of teeth in our household when we swallowed that hard pill.

With all of my thoughts swirling around in terms of faith, schooling, where we go to school, who we are—

Where you go to school matters. And the school boards that lead them? Well, they set that precedent. 

Anyway, that’s where I am. I don’t have any political candidates in my yard other than a school board candidate who came to my house to say hi. She asked the names of my kids and why I moved here. I was honest. No snark needed—just a lot of questions.

What our school districts look like matters. Every September, I’m reminded of this fact. I can’t forget our history because doing so would mean forgetting who I am.

---

When it comes to pencils
May we write what's on
Our hearts 
to grow our minds

When it comes to books
May we read stories
To fill our souls
and feed our thoughts

When it comes to routines
May we follow paths
To give us strength and
Soothe our decision-making

Each school year
gives us the chance
to grow 
and l e a r n 

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Speaking of school, I’m SO excited to share my friend’s important new book!

Marie is more than just a historian who showcases her cute bunnies alongside books she writes or reviews—she’s an activist. 

She’s a storyteller who reminds us all why God created us with beautiful histories and backgrounds and why we need to tell these stories over and over again. 

We shouldn’t forget that God made us a specific way, and we ought to stand up for our humanity when it’s questioned—because it’s God-given.

The illustrations in this book, alongside the story, are so beautiful. My kids will read this biography alongside Sylvia Mendez and Ruby Bridges. Not so long ago, my own children wouldn’t have been welcomed—but now they can pull up seats to the long table. 

So buy Mamie Takes a Stand!

You can request it at your local library or your local school’s library! I can assure you that a child will pick it up and be reminded that, at one point, another child fought for their place at school. Every child should be reminded that there’s a safe place to learn and grow.

And, of course, a playlist:

• Here’s a playlist for the grown-ups still growing up and (older) kids who have a lot of questions.