The first person to ever say to me, “My brother passed away,” was my seven-year-old student. She was in line for food at the cafeteria, and she steps hesitantly towards me to say those words. That was today.
When I let her eat with me in the classroom, she draws pictures of flowers, and then of me and her. When I ask her what helps her feel better, she says, “Just forget it?” and shrugs her shoulders. She doesn’t know how old he is, but she knows that ‘they shot him.’ I find out he was only 19, and that it was on a street corner, that looks like so many other corners. He was in a car, waiting in front of his friend’s house.
You sweet thing, you know the sheering tear of loss before any of us do.
So tell me, as though this day could not stretch out to bear more silent terror. What do you tell a group of seven-year-olds why their school is on lock-down? Yes, right in the middle of our reading time. I walked calmly towards the door to lock it, and tried to balm over the situation with, “Don’t worry.” ” You’ll be okay. “ “I’ll protect you.” ” Our classroom is the farthest from the school entrance.”
This is not okay, this is not okay, this is not okay.
November 16th, 2011 at 2:05 am
It really isn’t.