The moments I live for. . .(or at least go to work for)--

We had a lockdown drill at school today--between classes--the worst kind. I urgently ordered kids into my classroom, random kids mostly, not my students except for one or two. Locked the door, turned off the lights, shooed the kids into the back corner where they couldn't be seen by an intruder through the classroom window. I had to herd Josh, a big black guy who happens to be my student, back into the corner, urging him to scrunch in next to another African American whom I had never seen before. Josh was somewhat resistant, not taking the drill too seriously, but I persisted in pushing him in closer to the other students, insisting that I stand in front of him to protect him. It was a whispered interlocution as I maintained my protective position, and he incredulously whispered, "she's half my size." In the midst of this interchange, I declared that any intruder would shoot me first, and I heard the unknown black student whisper, "he'll shoot me because I'm black." Those whispered words, probably unheard by most of the students huddled in the corner, reverberated in my head. We spent the next few moments in complete silence waiting for the all-clear. When the principal gave the word that the drill was over and students should proceed to their second period class, I asked to speak to that student. "Yes, Ma'm," was his reply. I asked his name--Zion--and told him mine, letting him know that I was glad to meet him. And then I looked him in the eye and told him never to put himself down because of who he is. I told him that his life was just as precious and valuable as anyone else's in the building, and that any perpetrator would have to come through me to get to him. A polite, "Yes, Ma'm," was his reply, and off he went to class. A precious moment with a precious young man. I hope that the knowledge that a teacher valued his life and would try to protect him becomes a positive part of his development as a human being. And that's why I go to work every day.