Dear PV,
Thank you, and goodbye.
Since first grade, I have been a student in this district. Coming from Canada at just 6 years old, I knew what made me different before I knew how to tell time. And as I look around today – at my peers, at my teachers, at my soccer team – not much has changed. There is something that makes me different, and it’s not just skin deep.
Serving as the editor in chief of this publication has been one of my greatest honors yet. I have gained invaluable skills and have learned so much from my peers and especially my adviser Mrs. Dyer, who saw me. My passion for journalism is stronger than ever, and I must thank the school for providing me with such an opportunity. And this is not the only opportunity PV has granted me.
Academically, I have thrived in this building. Beyond the ultimately trivial numbers and stats that seemingly define my capabilities as a student, I have time and time again partaken in an immersive educational experience, whether it be my senior AP Literature class or my junior AP Government class. I have felt seen, heard, and respected by my teachers. While I know this is not the case for all students, I would be lying if I said that I haven’t had a positive educational experience at PV. As far as academics go, it’s been wonderful.
But school has never just been a place of learning, has it? Within these walls, we learn our identities – we find out who we are. School is a social and cultural landscape that students must navigate, and it’s not easy for everyone.
I am Canadian. My mother is Russian, and my father is Nigerian. My sister was born in Russia in 1990. My mom, dad, and sister immigrated to Canada in 1999. I was born in 2004, and my parents and I immigrated to the United States in 2010 while my sister stayed in Canada to attend college.
But to you, all I am is Black – not much more. How do I know?
I know because I pretend I don’t hear those I consider friends lazily spit the N-word out of their mouths. I know because in a building with so few Black students, I’m still confused with Black girls whom I don’t resemble. I know because I’m met with unwanted questions about my hair, about my skin – elements of my being turned insecurities because of this environment. I know because it’s always my responsibility. I know because my friends don’t get it. I know because to you, I’m a part of a group that you view as, among other things, a monolith.
PV, I’m tired.
But I am not hopeless.
As I prepare to venture off to college this coming fall, I am ignited by the passion of fervorous students and devoted teachers. I am inspired by the efforts of the individuals who still have time left in this building. I am excited by clubs, like A Positive Place, that have provided a safe space for countless students.
And though I’ve experienced ample disillusionment as a result of some of my experiences in this building, I’m leaving this school with hope. But I’m also leaving with one request.
Seek more.
PVHS is not a microcosm of the world, of what’s really out there. The world is much more diverse and complex than the hallways of this building – just ask any minority student at PVHS.
I implore you to not just acknowledge the limitations of your perspective, but to actually do something about it. Be better, and seek more.
Thank you, and goodbye, PV.
With love,
Jayne Abraham
