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I work as an instructional coach at a large, diverse and underperforming urban public elementary school. Our students are at-risk. Families are struggling with stress and trauma. Teachers work mightily to close the achievement gap. So as I left a third-grade classroom the other day after a check-in with the teacher, I wasn’t surprised when she said, “Wait, can I ask you one more thing?”

When I entered the classroom to interpret for the middle school parent and teacher conference, the student shouted that I wasn’t necessary. The teacher had called for my services because for two semesters she had been telling the mother that her son was flunking. And for two semesters, the mother had grinned ecstatically and said, “Thank you”—her only English words. The son had “interpreted” to his mother that he was on the honor roll.

How does a school community deal with the violent loss of a student? Unfortunately, this is a question my school has had to answer too often. Still, no matter how many times I’ve been through it, trying to understand my own pain while holding space for my students to feel theirs is something that pushes me beyond my capacity as a teacher.

Students and educators in Jefferson County, Colorado, are pushing back against their school board’s proposal to whitewash U.S. history.

For many educators, the 50th anniversary of Dr. King’s assassination prompted reflection on how he and the causes he championed continue to shape our lives.

Every morning at 7:15, the doors of our school open wide to a line of bus riders ready to come inside. "Hello, Jaheem. Hi, Kiara. Hey, Imani. Hope you're having a good day, Omar," I call out as the students walk past me to the cafeteria for breakfast. I stand at the doors for a moment and watch the big, yellow buses puff their diesel exhaust and chug their way to the garage until it's time for their afternoon run. Is there a more universal symbol for public schools than a big, yellow school bus?