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Teaching can be humanizing work. This is how it happens. The Rodriguez family walks down the hall and turns the corner to my room.

An elementary school principal highlights what can happen when educators give students opportunities to talk about their cultures and to learn about the cultures of other students.

Most students have heard Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. They also know of Rosa Parks’ refusal to move to the back of the bus. Unfortunately for many students, knowledge of the civil rights movement stops there.

During Ramadan, some Muslim students in this educator's school spent time in the media center during lunchtime, but most suffered in the cafeteria. She and her staff worked to change that.

When students express outrage over the “rape culture” in another country, the teacher brings the discussion closer to home for further exploration.

Growing up, I remember the children in “special ed” seemed to live in an alternate universe within our school. Regardless of the distinctions in their challenges, they all were placed together in one class, shuttled around as one throng, rarely included in the activities the rest of us took for granted.

A student pleads with me at the beginning of class to bring an electronic reader to class? “I’m almost finished reading my book and I want to finish it, but it’s on my (electronic reader name), the students says. “Please? I’m at a really good part.” At first, this appears to be every language arts teacher’s dream; students begging to continue reading things they’ve read on their own time for fun. But, then come the problems.

I needed to expose my preservice teachers to a real, lasting experience with diversity. I had one day. Growing up in South Dakota, where 86 percent of the population is white, my students come to college with few experiences interacting with culturally diverse students. The reality is that classrooms today are becoming increasingly diverse.

After teaching a particularly grueling class, I looked forward to the solace of my 55-minute planning period. I started to organize the black hole that is my desk and found a folded piece of notebook paper with my name, Ms. Samsa, hastily scrawled onto it.

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.