This summer, I had the privilege of teaching journalism to a girl I doubt I will ever forget. I was struck by her confidence and vibrant personality. But she refused to do her work. It was not until she broke down and told me her biggest struggles that I understood why. As a high school senior, she was reading and writing at a 9th grade level. Somewhere down the road something went very wrong with her education. I think it began at home.

Watching Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire, I am reminded of my student, who, like Precious, is struggling with sub-par literacy. For Precious, literacy is a literal escape; without it, she can’t advocate for herself. Once the world of literacy opened up to her, she finds her voice, first writing in her journal and then speaking out against her abusers. Like my student, Precious’ education did not begin at home—like it should have. Clearly, Precious' abusive mother didn’t care about her daughter’s education: “School won’t help you none,” she tells her, “you need to go down to the welfare.” I wonder if her character’s contempt for school stemmed from her own illiteracy.

In real life, that wouldn’t be so far-fetched. According to the REACH Education Foundation, a parent's literacy level is one of the most significant predictors of a child's future literacy. Bottom line: The children of illiterate parents are much more likely to drop out of school. It is at home where children learn their first words, are exposed to their first books and learn the alphabet. Those early years are crucial for the growth and development of children’s reading and writing skills. A study conducted by the National Assessment of Adult Literacy, which is part of the United States Education Department, showed that there is a direct correlation between children’s exposure to literature by their parents and their future academic success.

The statistics are staggering: In 2004, the Children’s Defense Fund reported that 7 out of 10 fourth graders cannot read at grade level. According to a study conducted by the National Dyslexia Association, in low-income urban schools, the illiteracy rate for fourth graders is at almost 70 percent. With patience and the right tools, it is easy to teach a child how to read and write. However, if neglected and ignored, it is very possible that a child can slip through the cracks and somehow make it their senior year in high school and not be confident in their abilities. Fortunately, just like Precious, I know that my student will not stop pursuing her education. Despite struggling to get through her work this summer, she stuck with it and never gave up. Granted, there were days when she would get too frustrated to even do her work. On the other hand, there were days when we would stay late into the evening and work on her story. At the end of the summer, we produced a magazine, and she was so proud to see her story in it.

—EBONI FARMER

I don't think I've ever actually heard Rihanna.

Sure, she's a singer--someone who makes their living hocking their vocal chords---yea, OK, fine, whatever. But unlike MJ or Elvis or Whitney, I can't call up Rihanna's voice in my head and imagine what she'd sound like ordering greasy Chinese at 2 a.m., cussing out the cable guy after waiting for six hours, or maybe reciting Shakespeare. So as I watched the snippet of the pop star's 20/20 interview with ABC's Diane Sawyer, which airs in its entirety this Friday at 10 p.m., I was surprised to actually hear her voice, her real voice. The one Robyn uses when she's not Rihanna and the one we've been waiting to hear since both women (the real one and the one we've imagined) were attacked by her ex-boyfriend Chris Brown--a chatty Cathy if there ever was one.

The voice I listened to this morning was more powerful than the one we've all heard ululating about umbrellas. It cracked from time to time--especially when Rihanna said Chris' name as if he were the Lord Voldemort of domestic violence--but it was clear, crisp and confident, too. Instead of being rehearsed, her answers were real. "I didn't want people to think I fell in love with that person. That's embarrassing," she told Sawyer. "It's completely normal to go back. You start lying to yourself the minute the physical wounds go away," she continued, sounding not like a girl or a victim.

Then toward the end of the teaser video Robyn and Rihanna seemed to merge--a real woman giving some bad-ass advice. "I will say that to any young girl going through domestic violence, don't react off of love. Eff love."

--HELENA "I am strong" ANDREWS

A recent Clutch post, "ANTM Jumps on the Blackface Bandwagon," scrutinized Top Model's decision to stage a blackface photoshoot, especially in light of the recent outrage over the use of the controversial "art form" in French Vogue.

 Every year, people dress up like the current president for Halloween.  Often, in ways that are less than flattering.  And in today’s political climate, it is easy to attribute many criticisms of the president to festering racial anxiety, if not outright racism.

 So, in addition to predicting that I’ll see three to five sets of the Real Housewives of Atlanta on Saturday night (note: whoever gets assigned to be NeNe should take that as a somber sign of her status in the group), I’m bracing myself for one or two blackface Baracks.  And I’m trying to decide now – because I do my best thinking when I’m not in a ridiculous costume – how I’ll react.

 One point of view among the many expressed in the fashion-industry blackface debates is that blackface must include an element of animosity, or at least disrespect, to deserve our attention or anger.  I agree.  And while the fashion spreads on Vogue and the ANTM shoot may be in a grey area, I think an accurate impersonation of the President by someone who sincerely supports and/or admires him should be safe.

 So, while it’s an imperfect test,  I’ve decided that I’ll refrain from hurling candy corn at follow partygoers who paint their faces to resemble the Commander in Chief, so long as two criteria are met:

 1) The paint used to portray the President’s skin tone is the right color (suggesting that the person in costume actually wants to look like Obama, not just a caricature of a black person.  I suppose this would technically make it brown-face, biracial-face, or heavy-dose-of-bronzer face, rather than blackface); and

 2) The Barack-impersonator can swear and attest that he a) voted for Obama b) believes Obama was born in the United States c) does not believe he has lost “[his] America” as a result of Obama’s election and is not interested getting said America “back,” and d) has never been inclined to carry a loaded gun to a town hall meeting protesting healthcare reform.

 If the person fails the test, I’ll kindly suggest that he wash his face and replace his costume with this (actually, kind of witty) expression of disagreement with the President’s politics.   

 And save the racism charges for the guy wearing this one.

 Happy Halloween.

Yes, Chris, we know. We know you’re sorry. We know you regret the events surrounding “that” night. We know Rihanna was the love of your life. We know you like to wear distractingly large bowties. And now, thanks to your Twitter page, we really know how much you miss her. Twitter is indeed the premier outlet for self-promotion, dialogue with fans and other celebrities, and even a destination for random thoughts, but there are some feelings that just don’t need to be shared with 97,000+ strangers – oops – I mean followers.

For example, Brown posting a link to a Youtube video of he and ex-girlfriend Rihanna at the peak of their coupledom, placed over a sappy, melodramatic love ballad is one of those things that would be better left un-tweeted. Following that tweet with one that says, “FOR THE FELLAS: showing emotion doesn't make u weak... BEING HONEST MAKES U STRONG,” is also a no-no. Sure, being honest can be a testament to one’s strength, but sharing intimate thoughts about one of the most controversial relationships of the decade makes you silly.

I don’t get celebrities. They claim to want private lives and ask that personal matters remain personal, but are quick to put their own business in the streets and get mad when celebrity bloggers, well…blog about it. Why make yourself a target? But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Brown wasn’t using Twitter as his own confessional. Maybe he was using it to garner sympathy (which equals record sales) and attention for his new singles (one of which, “Crawl,” begs a woman to come back to him). Either way, it’s an over share, and quite frankly, I’m over it. *Un-follow*

In case you’re interested, here’s his new video for “I Can Transform Ya.”

—JADA F. SMITH