A tough day of teaching

Yesterday I worked with fourth graders at a school on the far south side of Chicago, helping them with memoir essays they are writing about themselves. All five students in my group were writing about something sad, to say the least. The sweetest one was about how much one boy missed living in the suburbs, where he had been a straight A student and had a best friend. Two were about murders of family members. One of those, the most gut-wrenching, was by a boy who had witnessed his father kill his mother with an ax.

At first the boy was very angry in his writing, wanting to push his father out of a window and watch him die. But he didn't want to read that aloud to me. He got this look on his face like he couldn't stand to say those words. He got distracted, fighting with the other kids at the table, throwing things on the floor, threatening to beat up the girl across from him. "I know you're a girl, but I'll kick your ass like a boy." It was intense. And again, the kid was 10.

But finally I got him to skip ahead in his essay, and he read to me about how he wants to be a good kid and grow up to be a good man -- a fireman or a policeman -- and that he will respect his wife and never lay a hand on his kids. I wanted to take him in my arms and hug him tight, but that's frowned upon, I'm sure, so we high-fived over the success of getting his feelings on paper and completing the assignment. I can't imagine being 10 years old, your mother dead, your father in prison, your siblings spread out with relatives, your mind clouded by the most unforgettable, unthinkable images. The murder happened when he was 2 years old. It must be the boy's first memory.

The lovely thing about yesterday was I'd met these kids before. We realized it when I walked in their classroom. They all started calling out to their teacher, "We know her!" and "Hey! It's Miss Erin!" and my favorite "Your hair used to be black!" (which it almost was a couple months ago). Turns out, that class had come to 826CHI for a bookmaking field trip and I had been their teacher. I loved seeing them again, since Chicago is a big city and I always assume I'll never see the field trip kids after they leave. Now I am determined to find a way to stay in touch with these kids, especially that one boy. I left a message with the school's office to see if they have a mentorship program, and if I don't hear back today, I'm going to keep trying.