Just as we were moving from morning work to writing workshop, and students were milling around their cubbies, getting the materials they needed, I noticed Camila sitting at her table with her head in her arms, as still as the petals of a daisy on a summer afternoon.
“Brisya,” I asked, “Would you tap Camila on the shoulder and see if she is asleep?”
Sometimes students fall asleep in class. It’s not because they’re lazy. It’s not because they’re bored. It’s because they didn’t get enough sleep the night before the new school day.
“My baby sister was up all night crying because she’s sick,” said one of my sleepy students one day. “I was up with her because I share a room with all of my brothers and sisters.”
“I have to get up at 4:30 a.m.” said another student on another day. “My mamí has to take me to the babysitters house so she can go to work early.”
I’ve learned to give them a wet paper towel, let them stand up and move around, and help them stay awake so they can learn all they can learn for the day.
On that day, though, Camila wasn’t asleep.
Brisya tapped her on the shoulder, moved her close to her ear and whispered, “Are you okay?”
Camila raised her head.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“No,” she whimpered.
“What’s wrong?” Brisya asked as she put her arm around Camila’s shoulder.
“I’m thinking about talking to my papí on the phone last night,” Camila whispered. “He got arrested.”
As a teacher, what can you do in that moment
except put your own arm around that student’s shoulder and say, “I’m here, too. Estoy aquí, tambien.”
That’s what I did.
And an astonishing thing happened.
Tiraji, who sits right in front of her, put his hand on her shoulder and gently said, “I know how you feel. My dad’s in jail. I never get to see him.”
Then Mauro, who sits one table over from her, rose, walked over, stood beside her and gently said, “My dad’s been in jail, too. Boy was I scared.”
The whole class gathered around her as if to say, “We’re right beside you. We’re right here.”
I didn’t teach as much as I could’ve taught about writing in that 40 minute block of time.
But I learned as much as I’ve ever learned about gentleness and solidarity in those heavy, tender moments.
All in a day in public school.
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