Be the Statue of Liberty

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. 

Each morning, the children of these families make their way through the doors of my school, through the doors of my classroom, through the door of my heart. 

At various times, these Latinx friends have been described with demagogic, destructive and dehumanizing language. 

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, though.

Let me tell you a story. 

There is a boy in my classroom. 

His name is Hilcias.

He has the earth in his brown eyes, and the sun in his smile.

Sometimes he laughs until he cries.

Sometimes he cries until the sadness is washed from his heart.

At all times he keeps his eyes and his heart open to learn as much as he can from the people around him. 

He speaks mostly Spanish, and a little English, so at the beginning of the year we could barely communicate with each other. 

He is learning more and more English words and phrases as the school weeks pass by, and I am learning more and more Spanish words and phrases, so we are getting along just fine.

His ESOL teacher came to pick him up on the last day of school before Christmas break. 

“Bye Mr. Barton,” he said. 

“I will be back SOON.” 

He emphasized the word soon because we had just been learning about adverbs in our writer’s workshop. 

“Bye Hilcias,” I said. 

“I can’t wait to see you AGAIN.” 

We giggled.

He walked out into the hallway with his other English language learner

friends.

Soon, he did return again. 

He walked to my writing table and placed a letter in front of me. 

“This is for you,” he said.

He walked back to his table to resume his writing project.

Here 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 Mother 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. 

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.

I went back to my table to resume my work.

Here is what my letter said:

“I am thankful for you, 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 be a doctor and there is a kindness in your heart and a sharpness in your mind that will make you great at anything you do.

Finally, you make me happy. 

You make me happy because you are my student.

And always will be.

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.

Please be a Statue of Liberty that says, “Send him…to me,” instead of an angry face that screams, “Send him…away.”

I send Hilcias to you. 

Let him walk through the doors of your hearts.