What We Do Here

What are we trying to do here? What are the most impactful lessons we can give to our students in barely lit tin rooms, in a place where they stumble into the daylight and round the corner to a child crapping on a stoop?  How do we make sure to say the one sentence, do the one experiment, make the one impression that could tip the balance of a kid’s future?

Each of us answers differently. One would argue that singing a playful song and drawing pictures brings about lighthearted joy. Others would say that lessons in the science of our bodies and the world around us teach our students to be curious about how things work and hunger for more knowledge. I might claim that teaching about self-expression and creativity is the most valuable, opening a child’s mind to worlds beyond the one we see.

Because we all disagree, our lessons have been a mix of all of the above. We’ve taught the water cycle, the five senses, exercise, international foods and greetings, how plants grow, parts of the brain, and the Olympics. The cultural and language barriers have been some of the greatest challenges. Every word we say is translated into Marathi, the local language. This leaves some room for miscommunication, but also, the open-ended questions we want to pose often get flattened by the kids’ desire to find the right answer, not just their own answer. We walk a fine line between challenging them and completely missing the mark, evidenced either by triumph or by blank expressions.

The more lessons we plan, the more my list of “if only” items grows. If only the students were split into classes by age. If only there were space to move around in the room. If only we could introduce them to basic technology. If only they had art, music, library, and gym. If only we could teach them about topics like hygiene and nutrition, without worrying that they don’t even have toothbrushes. If only they grew up having enough, of anything. But these are the lucky kids, who get to spend a whole morning in school. These kids' parents did whatever they had to do to pay for their children to get educated. 

I remind myself that no matter what lessons we teach and no matter whether they sink in, the simple fact of our presence is such a treat to the four classrooms we get to visit every day. High fives, smiles, screaming for no reason, and goofy sounds and expressions make a kid’s day. I waved at a pair of boys as we walked to class the other day, and they grinned in surprise, running away giggling.

If I had one major takeaway during City Year, it was that change comes from within: within a person, within a community. I can’t change the conditions of anyone’s life or the circumstances of a neighborhood, and even if I could, it isn’t my job. What I can do best here is open minds to discovery, to creativity, to realizing that there is more outside of what they know and see. They deeply understand family, loyalty, and camaraderie, and they have just as much raw potential to do something amazing as any kid from the Boston area. What kills me is that the next Picasso, Descartes, Jane Austen, or Ada Lovelace could be hidden among the children of these slums, of all slums, and we may never know. We may never know what the world could have become in the light of their fully nurtured brilliance.