On this January 6, this day of Epiphany, I want to share a story I wrote for the SC Appleseed Legal Justice Center.
It’s about an epiphany, a moment in which I suddenly saw and understood in a very clear way.
I teach my students to mind their LC’s, which means to look closely and listen carefully.
Hilcias helped me mind my LC’s, for sure.
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 is a boy in my classroom.
His name is Hilcias.
He has the earth in his brown eyes, the sun in his smile, and 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 at all times he keeps those eyes and that heart open to learn as much as he can from the people and the places around him.
He speaks Spanish mostly, and English a little, 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 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 daily 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 did return 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.
“I am thankful for Mr. Barton,” said the letter.
“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 una vida mejor, 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 for 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.
“I am thankful for Hilcias,” said my letter.
“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.
Thank 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 all of us to be Statues of Liberty for Hilcias that say, “Send these…to me,” instead of angry faces that scream, “Send these…away.”
Let Hilcias walk over a bridge to your heart.
(PS Hilcias was deported with his Mom and brother later that year.
It broke my heart.
I tried everything in my power to help his family stay in South Carolina.
On his last day of school, I gave him a stethoscope.
Somewhere along the US Mexico border, there is a little boy with a stethoscope around his neck who wants to change our world.
He already changed mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment