S1 EP2 - Big Shaq

Black BOY

White SCHOOL

I could never be described as much of a football fan. However, it is important to understand that if I happen to be in front of a television while Arsenal are playing, absolutely everything else in the world pales into abject insignificance, and the neighbours have been known to complain about the screaming - whether in ecstasy or exasperation (even if I can’t name anyone in the squad since Henry, Seaman and Anelka). #WengerOUT

Since being here though, I’ve found it somewhat challenging to find common ground with some of the older boys as, at times, it feels like our life experiences are galaxies apart. I prefer to use football, as their attempts to find common ground with me, “innocent” as they may have been, were centred around one question - “Mr. Rivers, you see how you’re from London yeah, do you know Big Shaq fam?” (Yes. Fam was actually said).

So football has become the “go to” for conversation starters. I diligently check the weekend results before going in on a Monday, so I can pass a comment coupled with an appropriate facial expression about Man City/United, Liverpool or Chelsea (the only other teams that matter apparently). 

The boys were getting changed for PE. I decided to engage in some of the banter about Arsenal’s new-found love for a losing score line of 3-0, and how much I don’t care for Mr. Wenger. 

Out of nowhere, a boy bolts in my direction, laughing and pointing. He’s caused quite a stir - interrupting the required quiet for the strict 5 minute allocated changing time. Confused, I looked around to see who he was pointing at (incapable of believing he could ever be gesturing toward me). Before I could properly process what was happening, he had made an announcement to the room of boys. 

“Mr. Rivers, I’ve just realised who you look like!”

(insert face of intrigue and wonder)

“Daniel Sturridge.”

Alarming as this was to hear, it must be admitted that Sturridge isn’t a bad looking chap, and there was room enough in my mind to take this as some kind of compliment. The only problem is, I categorically, and absolutely look nothing like the brother. 

It has made me think about my appearance, and whether to some of these children who have never had a black member of staff stand in front of them to teach them, I just look like every other black male they’ve never seen. 

After a quick google search later on in the day to remind myself of what the guy looked like, I realised why the boy may have been so very convinced. 

There was one possible feature of resemblance. 

The hair. And whilst I thought woeful tales of “black hair” in the workplace was reserved for our black sisters, I was soon to find out that I was in danger of becoming the source of awkward intrigue.