Teachers Alone Can’t Fix the “Accumulated Hurt”
The issue is violence against children, particularly low income and minority children. But all violence doesn’t come at the end of a gun. Keeping public schools defunded and dysfunctional is also a form of violence. Promoting privatization and competition when kids really need resources is also cruelty. And when society’s evils are visited upon innocent children, teachers alone can’t protect them.
February 16, 2015
Public school teachers are being called upon to address all forms of violence against children, with few and fewer tools.
Steven Singer
Steven Singer
She was smiling and laughing, but her eyes were terrified.
Sitting in class among her fellow middle school students, her words were all bravado. But her gestures were wild and frightened. Tears were close.
So as the morning bell rang and the conversation continued unabated, I held myself in check. I stopped the loud rebuke forming in my teacher’s throat and just listened.
“You know that shooting at Monroeville Mall Saturday night, Mr. Singer? I was there!”
I swallowed. “My gosh, Paulette. Are you okay?”
She acts street smart and unbreakable, but I can still see the little girl in her. She’s only thirteen.
She slowed down and told us what happened; a story framed as bragging but really a desperate plea for safety and love.
She went to the mall with her mother. When they separated so she could go to the restroom, the gunfire began. She ran out and Mom was gone. She was ushered into a nearby store where the customers were kept in lockdown. She stayed there until the police cleared the mall, and it was safe to find her mother and go home.
A seventeen-year-old boy had gunned down three people. One was his target. The others were bystanders—parents who had gotten in the way. Now they were all in the hospital, two in critical condition.
And my student—my beautiful, precious, pain-in-the-butt, braggadocious, darling little child—was stuck in the mix.
I could imagine how scared she must have been separated from her mother, hiding with strangers as police swept the shops, food court, and children’s play center.
Here she was telling the class her story and getting more upset with each word.
I gave her a meaningful look and told her we’d talk more later. Then I began class.
But I kept my eye on her. Was that relief I saw as the talk turned from bullets and bloodshed to similes and metaphors? Did the flush leave her cheeks as we crafted multi-paragraph theses? I hope so.
I think I know her pretty well by now. She’s been mine for two years—in both 7th and 8th grades. I even taught her older brother when he was in middle school.
I know she’s rarely going to do her homework—and if she does, it will be finished in the last twenty minutes. I know she’d rather be out playing volleyball or cheerleading than in school writing or
