Articles

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.

Today I went to an individualized educational plan (IEP) meeting for one of my middle school students. The parent reported that her son “is constantly being bullied at school." She said he is being harassed by other students because of his disability. It happens before and after school. Once, students stole his hat and put it in the trash. Another time, they took his water bottle and put sand in it.

The Anoka-Hennepin school district, Minnesota’s largest, has been in the national spotlight since last year. That’s when several students who were gay or perceived to be gay committed suicide. According to friends and family, the students had one thing in common: They had been bullied at school.

The undercurrent affects my classroom. I can feel its tug and see its effects but can rarely locate the source or the exact flow. Cruel taunts and gossip are the culprits behind my students’ tears, stony faces—their anger and their fear. The ferociousness of the few vicious communications I have been privy to as a high school teacher caught me off guard. High school can be a shark tank and the blood flows with every passing class period, thanks in part to the popularity of online social media. I feel helpless to save the victims because I don’t even know who they are half the time.

Three girls take part in a common kindergarten classroom interaction—planning what they’ll play during morning recess. Recess is a time when children participate in unrestricted free play with their peers. The games to be played–and the players—are constantly on the minds of the 5- and 6-year-olds, especially during cleanup. One of the girls in the group offers the following suggestion, “How about only people wearing skirts are cats?”