Cada Dia
Every day.
Every day, I see things that I hate. Things that make me raw.
Don't misunderstand: Life is good. Very, very good. But there are still injustices. And in teaching, you see things every day that hurt your heart a little.
You see kids struggle to do things--simple things, like add and subtract--that you and your own children did easily. You see kids struggle to hold a pencil. You see kids who don't have pencils, who, at the age of eight, get themselves dressed and ready and walk to school, all without a parent to help. You see teens who have built walls higher than the Great Wall of China. lest they become vulnerable by letting you in, which, of course, is where you need to be in order to truly help them.
You see a beautiful little boy, hungry for a woman's love and attention, because his mom isn't around much. (You know that he has an amazing, dedicated father who is one of the best people you know. And you wonder how his dad's love and care isn't quite enough to patch the holes in the little boy's heart. And you admire the dad for all he does and you are concerned for the little guy, so you show him extra love and indeed you come to love him more because he is so damn lovable and because you hurt just a little inside when he shares his concerns with you.
You see another little boy, also beautiful, and you listen to him one day when he asks if he can come to your room for recess. You wonder why, until he explains that he wants to organize your books so that they look better. And you think that's sweet, until he also tells you that he doesn't really have any friends and no one ever lets him play kickball at recess. You die a little inside, because he is a great boy and because he struggles in school and because his family situation is tough and you know that he certainly needs friends. And you want to go to recess and clear the way for him to play and to be carefree and happy. You want to help him read better and see him be successful.
You see kids who've been kicked out of their houses because their parents can't be bothered with them. You see kids get to school early and stay late because there is no one and nothing for them at home. You see them be overachievers at school because that is where they find worth and value.
You see it, and your heart splits open, and you move forward, acting as if you are not affected, doing your job, but keeping a prayer in your heart for the kids. You are extra attentive, you think of them more, you wonder how they are when you are not around them. You know that they are not yours; often there are others in their lives who truly care and who love them, but you see their pain and you love them and they are yours, all year long, and you hope you can make their lives better.
This is what I see every day: Sweet kids who need us to love them and teach them and pat their backs and show them that it's okay. Because, somehow, it will be.
Every day, I see things that I hate. Things that make me raw.
Don't misunderstand: Life is good. Very, very good. But there are still injustices. And in teaching, you see things every day that hurt your heart a little.
You see kids struggle to do things--simple things, like add and subtract--that you and your own children did easily. You see kids struggle to hold a pencil. You see kids who don't have pencils, who, at the age of eight, get themselves dressed and ready and walk to school, all without a parent to help. You see teens who have built walls higher than the Great Wall of China. lest they become vulnerable by letting you in, which, of course, is where you need to be in order to truly help them.
You see a beautiful little boy, hungry for a woman's love and attention, because his mom isn't around much. (You know that he has an amazing, dedicated father who is one of the best people you know. And you wonder how his dad's love and care isn't quite enough to patch the holes in the little boy's heart. And you admire the dad for all he does and you are concerned for the little guy, so you show him extra love and indeed you come to love him more because he is so damn lovable and because you hurt just a little inside when he shares his concerns with you.
You see another little boy, also beautiful, and you listen to him one day when he asks if he can come to your room for recess. You wonder why, until he explains that he wants to organize your books so that they look better. And you think that's sweet, until he also tells you that he doesn't really have any friends and no one ever lets him play kickball at recess. You die a little inside, because he is a great boy and because he struggles in school and because his family situation is tough and you know that he certainly needs friends. And you want to go to recess and clear the way for him to play and to be carefree and happy. You want to help him read better and see him be successful.
You see kids who've been kicked out of their houses because their parents can't be bothered with them. You see kids get to school early and stay late because there is no one and nothing for them at home. You see them be overachievers at school because that is where they find worth and value.
You see it, and your heart splits open, and you move forward, acting as if you are not affected, doing your job, but keeping a prayer in your heart for the kids. You are extra attentive, you think of them more, you wonder how they are when you are not around them. You know that they are not yours; often there are others in their lives who truly care and who love them, but you see their pain and you love them and they are yours, all year long, and you hope you can make their lives better.
This is what I see every day: Sweet kids who need us to love them and teach them and pat their backs and show them that it's okay. Because, somehow, it will be.
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