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For me, the main activity of the first few days of 2011 has been the big “P.” Purge. Purge. Purge. Together, with my two children, we tossed “Baby Einstein” videotapes, Elmo board books and clothing for babies and for toddlers, into giant boxes destined for Goodwill. We filled an entire mini-van. And, I now feel lighter. A good cleansing can be so refreshing.

By the 171st day of school, even a dedicated and enthusiastic teacher like me is pretty sure I am immune to being moved or motivated in any sort of way. I am mechanically and somewhat maniacally moving toward the soul nurturing, patience restoring and creativity refueling station we know as “summer vacation.” My fuse is short. I have an overwhelming need for order, structure and control in the classroom. Final exams, deadlines for grades and year-end papers are due.

A teacher notes that a student looks uncharacteristically pale and avoids eye contact with her classmates. When asked privately if she’s OK, the girl bursts into tears, sharing a weekend-long saga of harsh criticism delivered via emails, chats and texts.

Every now and again, a student will say something that leaves me speechless and desperate for the correct response. I can feel in my bones that the moment is about to become pivotal. One of these moments came while we were reading Katherine Paterson’s novel The Great Gilly Hopkins, in which the main character deals with her racism. We were in the process of analyzing her character, her motivations and her racist attitudes, and I could tell that my sixth-graders didn’t really understand the theme of racism, so I needed to step away from the novel for a moment and put the history in context for them.

In the Dreamtime, all the animal tribes in the outback decided to go on a walkabout. Red Kangaroo, always the most social, had arranged the entire thing. "It will be a wonderful time for all of us to get to know each

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At the end of the school day, many kids carry responsibilities far beyond homework.

Teaching Tolerance’s director reflects on what to tell children about the most recent wave of bomb threats against Jewish spaces.

After a candid classroom discussion, this high school teacher marvels at the questions and concerns that educators like herself must confront at school.

I don’t remember exactly what instigated it, but something had made Cashanda mad. She positioned herself—and her desk—right smack in front of the board. She was defiant. Her physical placement made it impossible to continue my lesson.