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Secular students are forming clubs for mutual support—they’ll need teacher-allies.

I asked a small group of second-graders what they would like to find inside their mailboxes. That was after we read a story about a goose who opened her mailbox and found a kite. I expected to hear answers of things: video games, toys or basketballs. But the first student who raised her hand looked at me with sincere, big brown eyes and said, "I'd like to find a letter from my dad." In my classroom, my kids say the profoundest things.

Whether close to home or far away, hands-on experience brings history to life.

A few years ago, I was called to translate by a social worker at a primary school. A teacher had complained that one of her students never looked her in the eye when spoken to and was painfully shy. The child never participated in class unless it was obligatory and only under duress. She was frequently absent, particularly on days when she had to make a presentation before the class. However, the student was very bright, with excellent grades and careful, neat work. The social worker wanted me to contact the parents and arrange a meeting to discuss a special education placement.

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.

The importance of relationships and community are woven into this school’s culture. How do they do it?

Watching a television program featuring deaf and hard of hearing characters changed this teacher’s perspective. She wants to pass it on to her students.

Recent comments about the “controversy” over the causes of the Civil War highlight the challenges of teaching American history in 2017.

Students from both sides of Chicago's school-funding divide are coming together to demand equality. In the process, they're crossing barriers of race and social class.

In New Orleans it’s called “mess.” That cancerous, manipulative drama that teenage girls get wrapped up in every year. We dealt with our share of it this year at my school, most of it within the seventh grade. It came to a head with two strong-willed young ladies yelling from behind their desks, exchanging threats and insults.