Notes from Public School - Day 80

Migration is beautiful.

I believe this with all of my heart.

Here is a small story I wrote for the SC Appleseed Legal Justice Center (one of the organization I stand with and fight beside) to show you what I mean.

I think of Hilcias each and every day.

His life makes it’s way into many stories I write.

I hope you love him (and all of my little ones from Mexico, Central America and South America) as much as I do.

They have changed my life.

They are changing the world.

For the good.

For everyone.

Hilcias the Brave

I teach 4th grade in a unique school in Greenville, South Carolina. 13 Latino kids, 4 Black kids and 2 White kids make up my homeroom so we are like a box of Crayola crayons. Beautiful.

The neighborhoods around my school are filled with families from Mexico, Central America and South America. The children of these families make their way through the doors of my school and through the doors of my classroom each morning.  They make their way through the door of my heart.

Most of the families in these neighborhoods are struggling to put roofs over their heads, food on their tables, and clothes on their backs. They often hear people use words that describes them rudely and cruelly. I know from my life with them just how wrong these words are. Those who use these words look right past the warm, creative, loving people they are.

They don't see them at all.

I see them.

When I walk into my classroom, I see kids like Hilcias. His skin is brown, the color of the soil of Honduras from where he came. His heart language is Spanish. He is learning English, but sometimes he looks at me like a little boy lost in the woods when I speak to him in English at my normal pace. He is very much a real, flesh-and-blood nine year old kid. Sometimes he laughs until he cries, and sometimes he cries until he washes the sadness from his heart, but always he is eager to learn. 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.

On the last day of school before Christmas  break, Hilcias came up to me in the hall. "Bye Mr. Barton," he said with his wide, warm 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 both giggled.

After the Christmas  break, Hilcias walked to my table at the front of the classroom and placed a letter in front of me. "This is for you," he said quietly, and he walked back to his table to resume his work.

I opened the letter and began to read:

"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 looked up from the letter to Hilcias. I thought about how his mother brought him and his younger brother to the United States from Honduras, hoping to make a better life for them. I thought about the day I was scheduled to meet her at a parent-teacher conference. On that day, the front office called to let me know that one of our translators wanted to speak with me. I walked up to the office and the translator was visibly shaken. She told me that Hilcias’ mom couldn't come to the conference because she was scheduled to appear before a court for a hearing about her immigration status.

“She was so upset, so distraught when I spoke with her,” said the translator. “She is really afraid.”

I watched Hilcias working, concentrating, trying to do his best.  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, and I walked back to my table.

It was attached to a stethoscope that I’d gotten for him.

"I am thankful for Hilcias. Here are some reasons why,” I wrote.

“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."

There is a thought within physics that the very smallest thing in the universe is not a particle but a vibrating string. 

One of my dreams is to write about people like Hilcias, his mother, and so many of my students and their families in ways that might help others hear that string-- the music that is their lives. 

Maybe, then, others will not look past them. 

Perhaps then they will truly see the hopeful, thoughtful face and hear the soft, kind voice of Hilcias.

Perhaps he will walk through the doors of their hearts, too.