The Journey to Privilege

 What Is Privilege?

Today I sat in my classroom, processing the reality that I am losing one of my favorite students—not because of a lack of ability, but because of circumstances beyond her control. In that moment, I realized how much I misunderstood the idea of privilege before I began teaching in my current position.

Privilege is not simply about what is given to you. It is about the opportunities you are afforded—or, in many cases, the obstacles you are never forced to overcome.

For most of my life, I never believed I lived with privilege. Yet as I reflect honestly, I recognize that as a tall, white, middle-class male, I grew up with conditions that many of my students simply do not have. More importantly, I did not carry the additional burdens that shape so many of their daily realities.

I never worried about food scarcity in my home. I did not have to step into the role of a parent—cooking, cleaning, or caring for siblings because adults were working long hours. I did not come home to an empty house without supervision, surrounded by peers in the same situation. I never had to fear running out of money without a safety net, or whether the heat would stay on during the winter. I did not share a room with multiple family members, lose sleep due to overcrowding, or struggle to find a quiet, safe place to rest and recharge.

I grew up in a two-parent home with a long-term, healthy relationship. I had a father who spent time with me and told me he loved me. He taught me how to work hard, how to respect others, and how to love well. I had a mother who talked with me about life—about purpose, responsibility, and how to pursue success. Both of my parents were college graduates who understood how that system worked and could guide me through it.

Today, during our post-secondary education unit—where we explore options after high school—I was struck by how little exposure many of my students have to these pathways. The conversations I naturally have with my own sons, who are in college, are conversations my students often have no one to provide. What feels ordinary to me is entirely unfamiliar to them.

That realization leads me to a question that matters deeply to me as an educator and as a citizen:

What is our responsibility, as a society, to ensure that every individual has a genuine opportunity to do their best?

I want my own boys to be successful in life. But I also teach remarkable students—students with extraordinary potential—who have been afforded far fewer opportunities and who carry far more obstacles. If we truly believe in human potential, then we must also accept that some students require more time, more support, and more resources to access that potential.

This is what I have learned about equity.

Equity is not favoritism. It is not a free handout. It is the intentional work of removing barriers so that all people have a real chance to reach what they are capable of becoming. It recognizes that starting lines are not the same—and that treating everyone “the same” in unequal conditions only preserves inequality.

As a man of faith, I believe we are all created in God’s image. That belief carries responsibility. If every person has inherent worth, then every person deserves access to opportunity, dignity, and the tools needed to pursue their purpose. Helping individuals overcome obstacles is not charity—it is justice. It is equity.

Privilege, I have learned, is not about what you possess.

It is about what you were never required to fight through.

And equity is our collective commitment to make sure that where a student begins does not determine how far they are allowed to go.