Articles

During my first year as a second-grade teacher, I struggled with classroom management. I am a soft-spoken person by nature and habit. I didn't have the experience to help me set up great rules and procedures for my students. My classroom was noisy and chaotic. I think you could hear us all around the school.

Greg arrived at my art room after school to pick up a bulky project. He seemed down. “Is everything ok?” I asked.

I hate sheet protectors. Those shiny, clear plastic sheaths have no place in my classroom. When my new ninth-graders hand in their summer reading logs each September, the first thing I do is remove and return all the sheet protectors. They make it impossible for me to maintain my neat stacks of student work. They don’t quite fit into the file folders I use to transport those stacks home to grade them. I have to remove them before I can write any feedback.

As a child I asked my father whether there was someone like Martin Luther King Jr. who had fought for Latino rights. “Yes,” he said, and told me that his name was César Chávez. My father, a former farmworker who had toiled in the agricultural fields from childhood until adulthood, taught me about César Chávez, Dolores Huerta and the farmworker struggle.

In an ideal world, our students would be safe to openly be who they are at all times. Since the world we live in is far from ideal, we must support our students’ rights to privacy and trust them to make the decision to reveal their sexuality when they feel the time is right.

Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 is my favorite book to teach. It’s the reason I became a high school English teacher. Years ago when my teacher handed me that book, I was both engrossed and frightened to learn of a dystopian world in which books were not only illegal, they were burned.

Today, thousands of people will stand against bullying and wear a blue T-shirt in a worldwide event to raise awareness about bullying. It is known as Blue Shirt Day or World Day of Bullying Prevention.

When I was a kid, I attended two different elementary schools in the same town. They were very different. One was large, suburban and within walking distance to downtown. The other was very small, outside the city limits in an agricultural area and had a significant number of Spanish-speaking students.

Each March 7, Stephanie and her husband John will invite immediate family members to the house to celebrate their son, Alexander, now 3. And every year, she’ll ask people not to bring gifts, but she knows the grandparents will not listen. She will serve cake. Friends will send cards and messages of congratulations. Pictures will be taken and loaded into photo albums.

My parents stopped patronizing our local cinema when I was a child because they were livid when the theater owner demanded to see a copy of my birth certificate as proof that I could pay the child admission price. The boycott lasted six years. Although it satisfied my mother’s desire to “not give that theater” her money, the theater’s business didn’t crumble. I am not sure it prevented the theater’s management from treating another young girl the same way.