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| South Side Chicago - May 2016 - C. Mirus |
It was pleasing. We were safe and comfortable. We knew what
we had to do and what we were expected to do. I love that about the classroom.
There is a procedure and expectation for both student and teacher alike.
Sometimes, it can run on autopilot. This was one of the moments. I was working
with a small group on a chapter of a book we were reading. I had asked a
question, and they were off to look for evidence before answering. It was a
moment of quiet, again. I was in the middle of one of the most dangerous areas
in the country, and at that moment I didn’t worry about a thing.
Then, reality made me feel actuality. During 3rd
period on that Wednesday there was a gun shot. Through the sliver of a crack I had
opened the window it leaked through. I knew it wasn’t immediately close,
perhaps 2 or more blocks away. The proximity was enough to be startled, but not
enough to be scared. I saw some student’s heads perk up. I saw some not move an
inch. The range of experience. I made eye contact with a group across the room.
I said something about a car backfiring, or maybe a fender bender in front of
the newly minted Dunkin Doughnuts one block away.
I lied. They knew I lied, but drank the lie anyways. They
laughed about someone’s crappy car losing a bumper. Someone pretended to be
driving and then bumped in the back. One boy fell off his chair, yelling “I
have no insurance!” They made a few more jokes, and I let them have the last 10
minutes to joke and talk. I needed them to have that time. Not because what we
were reading was less important, but because their childhood was important.
I let the world into my classroom one sliver of a window
break, and they handled it better than I could.
