Week Eleven

Last Monday, I came to school earlier than normal because the teacher I share a room with was home sick. He had called for a sub...I wanted to support this sub because our seniors can be a little ruthless to people who have not earned their trust.

As I turned down the hall that leads to my classroom, I saw two of my female students crying. I asked, "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" They replied, "We're fine." Obviously, they were not fine, but I could tell that they didn't want to confide in me at that time.

When I opened my classroom door, I noticed a weird tension and more absences than I expected. Something was wrong. For the next ten minutes, I sat at my desk, working and helping the sub with some classroom management stuff.

I was surprised when I saw our principal, Peter, walk into the classroom with a grim look. He told the class that he needed to make an announcement. As he spoke, the class and I starred at him in silence. I can't remember exactly what he said or the phrases that he used, but he told us that Sarah's older brother, Eduardo, was shot and killed. Sarah was supposed to be in the 3rd period class that I was looking at as Peter shared this devastating news, and I watched her classmates' hearts drop as they heard about yet another violent death in Oakland.

After he left, the class stayed silent for what seemed like an hour. Time moved slowly as Sarah's friends and classmates wrestled with the heavy news. I saw a few students start to cry, a few students shake their heads in what seemed like a mixture of disbelief, anger, and frustration, and a few students visibly harden.

My eyes watered and my heart broke as I witnessed this abrupt transformation. When one of my students fought to make eye contact with me, I realized that I needed to leave the room. I felt sick and upset because I had nothing to offer that student in order to make her feel better. I felt powerless, and I didn't want my students to see me like that; I wanted to be strong for them. So, I rushed about of the room and composed myself.

When I reentered the classroom, it was still silent. The air was thick...

The rest of the week was awful. The entire school community was deeply affected. Eduardo had graduated from our school a few years ago. Therefore, many of the teachers and staff knew him very well. Sadness lingered around every corner. So many tears spent over such a senseless death...

Even though I didn't know Eduardo, I know his sister and all of her friends. I struggled to process his death and the effect it had on my students as I watched my students skillfully cope.

I held myself together until Wednesday. That day was the most challenging because of Roger. Roger is in my 5th period writing class. He is usually playful and sporadic and totally random. He usually has too much energy for the classroom space to contain, which translates to him getting up and moving around the classroom at completely inappropriate times, tapping beats on his desk with his fingers, talking randomly, and asking what seem like irrelevant questions -- all habits that usually annoy me AND make me giggle.

This was not the Roger that came to class on Wednesday. The grief-stricken, confused, and angry Roger sat still, refused to make eye contact, and remained silent the entire class period. I desperately wanted him to talk out of turn, to laugh, to do something crazy -- but he didn't. He wasn't himself. He wasn't there.

After school that day, I broke down. I allowed the violence that my students have to deal with too often consume me.

Currently, I am still healing. I am coping with the feeling of powerlessness. I hate (yes, hate) that I cannot fix the pain that my students are feeling and the violence to which most of my students (and this community, more generally) is jaded.

All of the good that this week had to offer was washed away by the bad and the ugly and the tragedy of Oakland.