Hicias

I am a 4th grade teacher at a Title I elementary school in Greenville, South Carolina. The neighborhoods around my school are filled with families from Mexico, Central America and South America. The children of these families make their way each morning through the doors of my school, through the doors of my classroom, and through the door of my heart. At various times and from various people during the past election cycle, these Latino friends were described with demagogic, destructive and dehumanizing language. I know from my life with them that this language does not tell the real story, does not paint the true picture, of the committed, compassionate and creative people they are to me and to our community.

Let me tell you a story. There was a boy in my classroom. His name was Hilcias. He had the earth in his brown eyes, the sun in his smile, and was a flesh and blood, heart full and playful nine year old kid.

Sometimes he laughed until he cried, and sometimes he cried until he washed the sadness from his heart, but at all times he kept those eyes and that heart open to learn as much as he could from the people and the places around him.

He spoke Spanish mostly, and English a little, so at the beginning of the year we could barely communicate with each other. He learned more and more English words and phrases as the school weeks passed by, and I learned more and more Spanish words and phrases, so we got along just fine.

His English to Speakers of Other Languages teacher came to pick him up on the last day of school before Christmas break. “Bye Mr. Barton,” he said with a smile. “I will be back SOON.” He emphasized the word soon because we had just been talking about adverbs during our writer’s workshop. “Bye Hilcias,” I said with my own smile. “I can’t wait to see you AGAIN.” We giggled and he walked out into the hallway with other English language learners.

Soon he returned again. He walked to my table and placed a letter in front of me. “This is for you,” he said, and he walked back to his table to resume his writing project.

This is what his letter said -

“I am thankful for Mr. Barton. Here are some reasons why.

First you teach me how to do fiction or nonfiction stories.

Second you help me know how can I be good at writing.

Finally you make me happy when you pik me to be the student of the day.”


I lifted my eyes to Hilcias. I thought about his Mamí bringing him and his younger brother to the United States from Mexico, hoping to make a better life for them. I thought about how thankful I am to be his teacher, to work with him every day, to help him be all that he can be and do all that he can do in the world. I thought about how wonderful he is.

I picked up my pen and wrote a letter back to him. I walked over to his table and placed it in front of him. “This is for you,” I said, and I walked back to my table to resume my work.

This is what my letter said -

“I am thankful for Hilcias. Here are some reasons why.

First you teach me how to be a better teacher because you are a great student.

Second you told me you want to become a doctor and there is a kindness in your heart and a sharpness in your mind that will make you great at anything you choose to do.

Finally you make me happy. You make me happy you are my student. You make me happy you are you.”


Whenever you hear the words “immigrant,” “illegal,” or “wall,” I hope you see the hopeful, thoughtful face and hear the kind, soft voice of Hilcias, as I do. Let’s be Statues of Liberty that say, “Send these…to me,” instead of angry faces that scream, “Send these…away.”

I send Hilcias to you.

Let him walk through the doors of your hearts.