11:48
Two minutes until class is over.
About ten sixth graders
cluster around the back table,
working on an evidence paragraph.
We finish up and I send them back to their seats
to pack up for lunch.
And then it happens.
Four or five military planes
zoom over the school.
In formation.
A flyover.
This is not uncommon.
I live near an airfield.
Planes fly over our school
pretty regularly
They are always loud.
But today
the noise feels deafening.
For a minute
minor hysteria ensues.
Furniture tips over.
Kids dive under their desks.
There are screams.
Comments about World War Three.
I restore order.
Turn furniture upright.
Remind kids that
We hear flyovers
pretty regularly.
Tell my twelve-year-olds
that we are fine.
Dismiss for lunch.
M
Class jokester
Fashion statement
In one white croc
And one black Nike
lingers
uncharacteristically.
Miss, he says.
I don't like those.
With everything
that's happening
They scare me.
I think World War Three
Is coming.
Honestly
I don't know what to say.
They scare me too.
And like M
I wonder
If World War Three
Is coming.
I give him a hug.
Rub his back.
Because that is all
I know to do.
2 comments:
Heart breaking for sure that they have to live through this. I remember back in September 2001 at the start of school we had students write acrostic poems to get to know them. When I finished hanging them on the lockers I stood back and read them collectively. They were dark and full of sadness. Perhaps a session with the social worker is in order?
It's amazing to see another Ramona pop up in comments. When I saw your title, I chuckled. As a former sixth grade teacher I know they are no ordinary days in 6th grade. It speaks volumes of the trust he felt that the class jokester hung around to share his fears with you. I'm scared too.
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