Augusta Roach Washington

An old-school public school teacher in Dallas, TX, who was my 5th grade teacher (and my grandmother’s neighbor). She was mean and strict, constantly terrorizing us with her insistence on excellence, and challenging us to read everything. She was determined that her young charges at Phyllis Wheatley Elementary School would be smarter, more well-read, more erudite at our segregated school than any white student in the district. She was a force of nature, who instilled in us—even me—a love of learning, a hunger for knowledge, and a confidence that we could knock down any wall and be anything we wanted to be.

Ms. Washington lived across from my maternal grandmother, just down the street from us, and was a spy for my family, reporting on my behavior and attitude before I could walk the half block home from school. She reported me to my mother and grandmother, my Nana, the first time I had a fight at school; the one time I figured out how to climb that rope in the gym; my abysmal attempts at cursive; and my utter refusal to stop talking in class.

But she gave me a sense of what I could be. She taught me that regardless of the racism in our town, I was destined to do great things, and that no one would ever be able to take my knowledge away from me. She gifted me discipline and courage. And she is one of the reasons I became a teacher.

I wish every student—every Black child—could have a teacher like Ms. Washington. And I wish I had an opportunity to tell her how much she meant to me.