They're Still My Kids

It never gets easier to hear about the students and their difficult lives. When I first started teaching, I had never lived or worked in an area where kids had to sleep in the bathtub or the closet because the "gangs was shooting." I never knew kids who had seen their cousin shot and killed or their dad stabbed to death. There were a couple of kids who i forced to memorize my phone number and promise to call me if they were in situations that were physically dangerous.

I've been extremely fortunate to reconnect with some of my old students recently and some, like this kid, have been incredibly encouraging. But others worry me, just like they did when they were in third grade.

One of them has dropped out of school at 15 and has gotten into drugs. No surprise, really, seeing that his mom has had a drug problem for decades. One of them messaged me on facebook and sounded incredibly depressed and discouraged "I don't think there's any way for you to help me but things are really really hard." Another, out of high school, has a brother with a drug problem who is threatening to kill her. Repeatedly. He put a loaded gun to her head and she passed out from fear. She called the police later and says they wouldn't come.

Many, many more of them have to deal with violence and poverty and hunger and drugs and racism and so so much that they shouldn't have to deal with. I'm so angry at what these kids (some of whom are now adults) have to put up with. I'm not even sure who to be angry at. Their families? It's not like their parents had it any better or knew how to become parents when they were teenagers. Society? Yeah, racism is alive and well, but I don't have many productive ideas on how to combat it. I get tired even thinking this far and just feel angry with this unfocused anger.

They deserve better. And they're still my kids, and I'm still heartbroken about this.

Four years ago: Social Skills

Comments

painting techniques said…

I like your blog! Indeed, there are a lot of things in this life we could all learn from...Daniel

1:14 AM

A Loss

(I have been putting off finishing this blog post for months. You'll see why) Today, I was cleaning a bookshelf and I found the journal from one of my third-grade students, who I call Fred in my book , in 2001. I still had it because he didn't come to the last day of school to get his stuff this year and I guess it got put in a pile and somehow I've kept it with me. He didn't come to the last day of school, probably because his family was a mess: dad in prison, mom in an abusive relationship, all the kids (understandably) acting out violently. Fred was expelled from our school in second grade for hitting a teacher. Then he was expelled from the other school, I don't know why, at the end of second grade. He came back on the condition from the administration that he be in my class because I had him as a student in first grade and he listened to me and worked well with me. We had a really good relationship, although Fred was definitely not easy to have in class.

A New Prison, Part Two

Second very long part of the prison visit report. After we got all the paperwork filled out and went through the metal detector, we got visitation slips with the name of the inmate, and made our way over to the other building for visitation. This is not maximum security so thankfully you can just sit next to the inmates, and not be separated by glass or have to use a telephone to talk. First, you get a gate unlocked and go into a holding pen that is of course in direct sunlight (or rain if it's that season) and surrounded by fences topped with razor wire. You wait there until the gate at the other end is unlocked. This holding pen was a little bigger and less claustrophobic than the other prison (I do not have any claustrophobia and I came very close to a panic attack once at the other place) and they opened the other gate more quickly. Then you walk, again in blazing sunlight (or rain) to the visitation building. This one was less of a walk than the other prison but I still

A New Prison, Part 1

My former student, friend, and co-author was moved to a new prison during COVID. We (myself, Mitali, and his Abuela) have visited a couple of times via the video visit functionality they set up, but we've also been trying to visit in person, ever since in-person visits were allowed again. After four of them being canceled (sometimes we were told why, sometimes not), we finally got a visit. I was super nervous about this visit. (I felt better when Mitali mentioned that she was also, because she is an inherently positive and optimistic person!) I am not proud of this, but there was a large part of me that was hoping that the visit would be canceled, just like the previous four were. I felt a little better when someone I know messaged me privately to tell me that they had had very good experiences visiting a family member in that prison. But I still didn't sleep well at all that night, worrying about the guards, the many things that could go wrong, and the projected 111-degree hea

Bronwyn Harris, Author

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