Monday, November 22, 2010


It is disgusting. I NEVER feel sorry for myself or entitled to things. I used to read Holocaust literature per chance I ever began to waiver from the previous statement. My favorite:

Passion of Ravensbrück (English)

He steps out from the others.
He stands in the square silence.
The prison garb, the convict's skull
blink like a projection.

He is horribly alone.
His pores are visible.
Everything about him is so gigantic,
everything is so tiny.

And this is all.
The rest -
the rest was simply
that he forgot to cry out
before he collapsed.

Now, all I have to do is look around my classroom for a similar experience. One of my student's knuckles were bloody the other day. "Did you punch something, (student name)?" I asked lightheartedly, trying to engage a typically quiet student in conversation."Yes, my dad" they responded. "He hit my mom in front of me."

My group home students... I watched one get berated with all kinds of profanity and tackled to the cement by a group home leader. They limped around school the next day and I called to report excessive force. Another had a 2" by 2" chunk of hair ripped out of their head.

"Ms. Hering, you my mom?" "Ms. Hering, can I go home with you?"

"You know, I'm never at my house and I don't even have a T.V. Trust me, it's no fun there."

Gang hazing means one of my student's arms are entirely yellow with infection and covered in gashes and cuts. It doesn't make me sad that they sit there suffering silently. I merely marvel at the ignorance and acceptance of the situation.

One of my projects - a 19-year-old Algebra 1 student - came to class completely defiant. Slowly they began to work in class and became one of my best: finishing work early, helping others, leading games, and even bringing me candy on Halloween :]

Two weeks later they jumped a faculty member after school. One of my friends actually. I took pictures of my colleague's face for the police and took them to the hospital. And my project went to jail.

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