05/11/2022
Dear Writers,
As my hip-hop poetry students practiced walking down our imaginary runway, I kept repeating one sentence: “Look up!”
We rehearsed our fashion show for our unit about hip-hop fashion. No one in the class is a professional model. But even the most amateur model knows shoegazing has no place on the catwalk.
A typical female student’s walk looked something like this: Looking downward, they’d speedwalk with their arms either dangling or plastered at their sides, pausing briefly to pose while burying their face in their hands, giggling and blushing before dashing for the exit.
However, the male students walked with their heads up, shoulders back, and chests out. They posed confidently, casually placing their hands in their pockets while looking straight ahead before gliding off the runway. Watching their catwalks was like watching younger iterations of Miles Davis walking down a sidewalk in New York City.
We cheered and clapped for each student, even the awkward ones who looked like they wanted to melt. By the second run-through, the girls walked a little taller. Their stage presence became more pronounced.
“Now it’s your turn, Ms. Haywood!” they said. I immediately recalled a conversation I had with my father.
“You’ve got the Haywood walk,” he said.
“The Haywood walk?”
“Yeah, it’s hard to describe. But it’s a confident, straight-back walk. Your grandfather had it. Most of my uncles and aunts had it. And you have it.”
I always felt I had a confident walk. But I thought that was something I developed as a trained dancer in my youth. I had no idea it ran in the family.
As the students cheered me on, I worked that runway. The Haywood walk was in full force, and the kids loved it.
I hope to be an example of owning your space, keeping your head high, and looking up.
Love and Light,
Ebony
