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When the news about the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School broke on Friday, we quickly issued some advice for teachers heading back to school on Monday.

Years ago I worked with a child named Justin. A bright, happy child, Justin was a wonderful artist. He loved to create, exploring shapes and colors with crayons and markers and paints. One day, when he was 4 years old, we were coloring together in his big notebook. We had been at it for some time when I picked up a purple crayon and began to add purple to the dazzling array of colors on our page. Almost as soon as I’d begun, Justin dropped his crayon and stared at me.

When Maggie receives two pairs of shoes for her birthday, she must learn to walk between two cultures.

One of the simplest ways to foster compassion and understanding in our classrooms is to give students opportunities to share stories about their lives. By communicating and listening, students can break down stereotypes and see each other as real people. This can be done through curriculum-related projects such as personal narrative and poetry or as part of a daily class meeting.

When I announced the annual personal narrative assignment, my students groaned. Every year I get the same response. Most of my students would rather write fantasy or even research papers than compose a story about something real, but the state standard in Oregon requires the narrative.

Ms. Simmons had two first-grade boys by the arms. “Fighting in the bathroom,” she said. “Send them home.” It’s the second week of day camp hosted at our school. The policy is strict: Two strikes and you’re out. On the one hand, it makes sense. It’s summer camp. Camp should be safe and enjoyable for all children. It’s hard to feel comfortable when you’re worried there might be a fight. There’s no mandate for children to be here. It’s optional and a privilege.

Students’ names are an important reflection of identity and culture, as educators, we must put in the time to honor those names and pronunciation.

I was apprehensive about beginning a unit on the concept of home in my high school art class. I’m still getting to know my students and was wary of delving in to such a personal topic without knowing what it might bring up for them. I want a curriculum centered on students’ lives, but also like to have an idea of what to expect.

I noticed a trend several years ago. A sixth-grader tagged along with me into the school. She wanted to use a computer. “My printer is broken,” she explained. “Can I come in with you and print my assignment?” A few days later, it happened again. Only this time, another student needed to edit an essay on a word-processor.

Jenny started the year desperate to make friends. She was new, immature for her age and starting seventh grade. Because of a learning disability, Jenny was reading and writing at a second-grade level. She tried to hide that from friends. But in the cover-up effort, she often badmouthed her classmates and created drama.