Notes from public school - day 101

Notes from public school - day 101


Every day I wear an Embracelet to school.

It was made by refugees living in Minnesota, USA.

It was made out of recycled life vests that were worn by refugees during their dangerous journey across the Mediterranean Sea from North Africa to Greece.

50% of the profit from my purchase provides of it provides job opportunities for refugees who are living in the United States.

“Building Humanity” is engraved on the inside.

As I open my eyes to each new day, I think about the person who was wearing the life vest from which my Embracelet was made.

Was it a father trying to find a better life for his family?

Was it a mother holding her baby in her arms?

Was it a child like the children I teach at my elementary school?

I don’t know.

I do know this, though.

My students are interested in the things I do. (Probably more so than the things I say.)

“Why’re you wearing that bracelet, Mr. B?”

I tell them the story, because I’m a storytelling teacher at heart.

“Wow,” they say, “I wonder what it’s like...?”

And that’s exactly what I want them to do.

I want them to wonder what it’s like to be in someone else’s shoes.

Or life vests.

Some of my students don’t have to wonder, for they made their own dangerous journeys with their families across the US border from Mexico, Central America and South America.

Some of my students know what it’s like to be a refugee, trying to live each day in the middle of  adverse experiences.

I want them to know I care about them.

I want them to know I care about the world.

I want them to know I care.

That’s why I wear my Embracelet to school.

Here is a Fibonacci poem I wrote titled ‘Immigrant Hearts.’

My
Heart
Loves home
Winter snow
Spring mountain flowers
Summer salt in the deep, wide sea
Fall leaves on the colorful trees are art for my heart

With tears in eyes, my heart pulls on its brown tattered coat, black holey shoes and red wool scarf

My heart is so tired, poor, huddled, wretched, homeless and tempest-tost. It loves its memories, family, home but it is time for it to go

Too many cold, deserted eyes at checkpoints in lonely streets pointed guns at my heart; too many clouds in rainy seasons empty of rain brought pain to my heart; too many coughs from my children's chests late into night broke my heart

My heart picks up its battered suitcase, with tape all around its ends, lest it break open and spill out my father's favorite shirt, a love letter, a picture of my beautiful children, all I have in the world, onto the ground

Deep in the hull of a ship tossing on stormy seas; high on the roof of a train winding down a long, steep hill; barefoot on a dusty road

Silent, back to back, knee to knee, with poor women and little children…immigrant hearts

With each step along the way our hearts whisper, "Thank you"
With each mile we long for, "I care"
We hope for kindness
Immigrants
Moving
Our
Hearts