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Recently, after reading a story about a bike messenger in a big city to my kindergarteners, I asked the students if being a bike messenger was a job they might like. I also asked them to clarify why it would or would not be.

Earlier this year I spoke with a group of teachers who reported seeing a dramatic increase in the number of Spanish-speaking English language learners (ELLs) in their school district. Among their common concerns was a fear of not being able to effectively communicate with the students and their families. These teachers wanted to reach all their students and make them part of their class communities. And, they were very concerned with meeting the adequate yearly progress (AYP).

Teaching can be humanizing work. This is how it happens. The Rodriguez family walks down the hall and turns the corner to my room.

The first day of my second year of teaching, a third-grader walked into class, saw another student and punched him in the nose. He didn’t say anything or give any indication that he was going to do this. It just happened. After cleaning up the blood and redirecting the class, I asked the attacker why he wanted to punch someone else. “He’s Mexican,” he said. “He don’t belong in my class.”

During one particularly frenetic transition in the classroom recently, Mila bounded up to me and asked, “Mrs. B, do you think I could be a writer someday?” Without blinking, I emphatically replied, “Absolutely, I can totally see you as a writer.” She smiled and skipped over to join her friends in line to go to recess. A few minutes later, as we were walking through the halls, I overheard her say excitedly to a friend, “Mrs. B thinks I can be a writer. She told me so.” She walked out for recess practically on air.

The county career center in my school district boasts a 96-percent placement rate, even in these days of near double-digit unemployment. That’s because its graduates develop skills our community needs. Students build houses. They repair cars. They network computers. Whether their next step is college, an apprenticeship or immediate employment, most high school students who complete a tech school program exit with a head start toward security. If only that were true for all.

Adults often marvel as they watch children frolic on the playground centers. Children’s interactions appear effortless. There seem to be no barriers, no ego or self-doubt. If you want to play with someone, you simply ask him or her. It looks so uncomplicated. If a child is willing and able to partake in the fun, then there are bad guys to vanquish, princesses to be rescued and treasures to be found. A child’s imagination is the only thing placing limits on the exploration.

Rose Mary Gilliam just wants to speak her peace and find enlightenment. The 18-year-old New Orleans resident has been a volunteer in the public schools. She’s trained in non-violent protest. She talks with youngsters about making positive life choices. And this week, she’s joining a group of her peers in a reverse “freedom ride” to Washington, D.C., to join a national conversation and to protest inequities in education.

"I'm done," I could have said. "Finished." I felt I had potential as a teacher during my master’s degree coursework. "You have the building blocks to make a difference in the lives of children," one of my professors wrote on an assignment. For two years, I have used the building blocks of compassion, courage and creativity to build my classroom.

Inspired by an article about cyberbullying, I asked my fifth-graders to write podcast scripts. They wrote about teasing, cyberbullying, gossip, intention vs. consequence, advertising, digital footprints and the lack of facial cues in electronic communication. Working mostly in collaborative groups, my students recorded complete “'casts” on our informal laptop studio.