Caring is a finite resource. I learned that from an Ojibwa second grader.
At the beginning of the school year, David (not his real name) would jerk his neck back to flick the bangs out of his light brown eyes and write, “I love Mario. I love Mario. I love Mario” to the bottom of the page, and then grin and ask, “What do you think, Mr. Todd?” Some days, the page would be filled with, “I love soccer.”
In early October, David stopped playing soccer at recess. When I asked him why, he walked away. Then he stopped writing. Each week, he became more of a ghost, refusing to communicate with me. One day after school, David broke the lock on my desk and stole my stockpile of pens. I caught him selling them, 10 for a quarter. The boy’s guardians never returned my urgent messages. Meanwhile, a dozen other students in my class were in need.
[For more on this story by Todd Finley, go to https://www.edutopia.org/artic...ary-traumatic-stress]
Comments (0)