I have thought of a particular Wednesday lately. To be perfectly honest, I have struggled to put it into words, unsure of how to adequately express myself. Instead, I wrote down notes from the day until I could lace them all together. And after yesterday's historical event, I felt even more inclined to share.
The day in which I am referring is Wednesday November 9th, 2016. It was a regular Wednesday school wise with our usual reading and writing day regimen. But it would become one of the most difficult teaching days of my life. But as I drove to the school on this particular Wednesday, my stomach was in knots. When I heard the results of the election, I immediately thought of each of my students. I took several big yoga breaths in the parking lot, in 2-4-3 out 2-3-4...put on my brave face and remembered that I was there that day for one overarching purpose. It was the same purpose as everyday. I was there to be the advocate of my students.
I was teaching Kindergarten that day in the United States. My classroom appeared like so many across America. I had several immigrant and minority groups represented, academic levels, various disabiltiies and students from mixed families. We had spent the last months trying to strengthen literacy skills in the English language. "They're in kindergarten. No one is even going to mention last night's news," I told myself.
The bell rang, I opened my classroom door and was greeted by my smiling little ones, just like a regular day. I smiled back, feeling relived to be with such a positive bunch on a day that seemed so surreal. A few minutes later, a parent came to the door. A parent whose eyes were swollen and whose tears still ran down her cheeks. Her little girl stood beside tears rolling down her eyes, too.
"Sorry, Mrs. Beaumont, it's been a very bad night for us. Sorry we are late."
"Oh, not a problem. I understand."
"My mommy has been crying all night AND I lost my shoe," her daughter announced as she stomped into the classroom.
The day rolled on business as usual. But things seemed different. Aside from a little girl sporadically exclaiming during carpet time that "Donald Duck" is the new president, more serious questions were asked completely out of the blue,
"But, Mrs. Beaumont, it's okay if my skin is darker than his? Right?"
And the lunchroom seemed to be bursting with emotion from young and older grade levels alike. I ate with my students each day and I did on that Wednesday, too. There was a flurry of election driven comments, sporadically directed to me, or overheard,
"She's crying because she's scared they are actually going to build the wall now."
"I saw my older sister crying in the bathroom."
"She said I'm going back to Mexico."
"We are so worried for our friends."
"His family packed up their house to leave."
"I think my teacher voted for Trump. I guess she doesn't want me here."
And most heart-wrenching kindergartener question, considering it was the day after the election,
"Is it true the bad guy is really winning?"
You see, it has become the trend to assume those who had concerned feeling about the election results were in fact, "immature" or even "sore losers" if any sense of worry was expressed. But I saw something different. The "result" was so much more than who won the election. The result was also a slew of very personal thoughts and feelings. These children were questioning and feeling actual worry and fear. And that fear was driven by the adult chatter in the election. The chatter was too loud, too harsh and too worrisome to these little ones. These "little ones" are not "sore losers" after all, but little ones who did not have a say on a ballot. But had become victims of news coverage, overheard debates and even hate.
It has made me cringe in the past several weeks to hear comments such as, "Move on," "Be positive," "What's done is done," "We already have our rights and freedoms, there's nothing to worry about," when they are actual children and families still living in fear because they may not have the same freedoms as others in their midst.
I am inheritantly a peacemaker. It's part of my being and always has been. But, I could not see how simply forgetting the impact and moving on would bring peace to my students. Ignoring student feelings or wishing they would go away is not being "neutral" as a teacher. It's being completely non-complacent. In hindsight, to declare that the media coverage was false, irrelevant and scrutinizing completely ignores the minority groups who were left feeling traumatized. In that case, yes, what's done is done. I desperately wanted my students to believe that they are more than what they've been hearing. They are important and valued because they are all different. And the fact that they were actually hearing voices telling them the opposite, actually made me angry.
I left the lunchroom and when back to my class, looking for a quiet refuge to collect my thoughts. And as I sought that refuge, I had an epiphany. And I had work to do. I realized that I could not control what they had heard. I could not control the worry, fear and anxiety they were feeling outside my classroom and had been building up in their society for years. But I could do everything in my power to create an environment that was safe in my classroom. I was still their advocate. So, When they entered my class, I wanted them to enter a haven.
And all of a sudden, those little things that I did out of habit became so meaningful. Bending down to greet the students every morning at the door, complimenting kindness and compassion, actively celebrating small successes, the warm twinking strands of Christmas lights hanging across the wall, the sparkling larger-than-life paper flowers, the little mittens I brought waiting for them by the door, the specific snacks they loved in the cupboard. Each were doing their own little part to create a haven.
Wednesday November 9th, 2016 was a turning point for me as a teacher and actual as an advocate. I quickly shifted my day plan to include how they can "make someone's day," never stop believing in their own abilities and that they have a voice. I finally began to recognize and fully grasp the deep responsibility a teacher holds everyday, but especially on days, weeks, years that are difficult for a young person to understand and to make sense of. So, even though at the end of the school day, I felt like curling up in my bed, I stayed into the evening continuing to prep for that haven I sought.
Towards the end of the session, we were back on the carpet, studying the elements of our children's book that day. A very small little boy, again completely unprompted, had something to say. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and spoke in a soft voice and broken English.
He said, "Mrs. Beaumont, I'm going to be president one day."
