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Every city, town and hamlet has them: monuments commemorating pivotal events; memorials to heroes; parks, schools and public buildings named in honor of someone whose legacy is worth preserving.

This week, another barrier to women’s equality fell. The tony Augusta National Golf Club, home to the Masters Tournament, extended membership to two women, former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice and South Carolina financier Darla Moore. Club Chairman Billy Payne declared it “a joyous occasion,” yet I don’t feel the urge to jump for joy.

After the Southern Poverty Law Center responded to a plea for help from students in Savannah, Tenn., we’re happy to report that students successfully wore pro-LGBT slogans at school last week without resistance and with mostly positive responses from classmates.

Educators are natural cheerleaders, fierce protectors, and they rally when needed. That’s why we turned to the Teaching Tolerance community of educators for advice to offer first-year teachers. More than 100 of you responded, rallying around all the newbies. The advice ranged from practical (get rest, get a flu shot, get organized) to pensive (trust your instincts, remember each student has dignity).

Today, the Dignity in Schools Campaign (DSC), together with the Opportunity to Learn Campaign, launches Solutions Not Suspensions, a national campaign calling for a moratorium on out-of-school suspensions. Teaching Tolerance supports this initiative.

A couple of years ago, I had a run-in with a parent. He had developed the habit of coming into school before the end of the day, standing outside the door of our classroom and motioning impatiently for his son, Victor, to hurry up. When I requested that he wait outside the building for his son to be dismissed, he became irate, yelled at me and angrily pulled his son out of class.

I’m constantly struck by the memory of my first time in a jail. It was during a tour as a part of SPLC’s efforts to monitor the conditions of detention facilities. I recall being shocked at how young some of the people looked. When I stepped into the first cellblock, I muttered a prayer. In front of me stood rows and rows of black men. I was sick to my stomach; so many of them looked like they could be my cousins, uncles and other loved ones.

Through Big Brothers, Big Sisters, I’ve been working with a little girl from the neighborhood where I used to teach. I think very highly of this group and have only had good experiences with them. However, at a recent area-wide picnic, I noticed something disturbing. Most (not all, but the vast majority) of the children being mentored were African American or Latino. Most of the adult mentors were white or Asian. Again, this was not without exception, but was apparent.

“I'm just not good at math,” my daughter grumbled under her breath. I was surprised. Where did she get that idea, I wondered. As far as I can remember she has loved numbers and was quick to pick up math concepts. However, I began to see her confidence slowly wither and her frustration rise. It started in the 2nd grade. And, now, she sat at the kitchen table with pencil in hand, ready to give up, convinced she just couldn't do it anymore.