Depending on my mood, I never really blast my music in my car (unless it’s Beyonce or Tupac, of course). Well, yesterday, as I was on my way to work, I suddenly had the urge to listen to some 90s ratchet music; more specifically, Uncle Luke. *Puts head down in shame*. Let me tell you, it usually takes Pandora a while to play the perfect music for my mood. Yesterday, Pandora had me down to a science. “Daisy Dukes” was the first song in the playlist. My goodness, did I ever twerk so hard while driving! Lol. Sometimes, you really just need that one song to set the mood off right.
How people assume teachers dance.
How I actually dance. Lol.
As a new educator, I’m slowly learning that stereotypes are meant to be dismantled. When I became a teacher, I thought that I was going to be forever confined to orthopedic shoes and classical music. I love all genres of music, but I thought that my Snoop Dogg and Uncle Luke days were behind me once that teaching credential was cleared. It sounds silly, but I every time I teach, I always have students ask me, “Are YOU the sub?! You’re young.” Even when I’m around people my age, I get asked, “YOU’RE a teacher?” as if I don’t belong anywhere near a textbook. It’s not that I look like a video vixen; the general consensus is that teachers are middle-aged or old celibate people who despise tattoos and dropping it like it’s hot. It’s like yesterday, I had an epiphany. I’m not turning down my damn music just because my musical tastes don’t fit in my occupation’s catalogue.
My s/o and I were talking last night about this subject. I was telling him that I wanted to update my wardrobe because I wanted to them to reflect me as a teacher, bartender, and professional. He pointed out that I didn’t need to get multiple styles to fit each job. My common sense already tells me that I’m not going to walk into the classroom looking like I just left the bar, and vice versa. But my style is personal to me, no matter what I’m doing. Same goes for my music. Obviously, I’m not going to be in the classroom waiting for the bell to ring while crip-walking to Westside Connection. There’s a time and place.