When I taught in Houston’s East End and Acres Homes, my students carried way more than backpacks into the classroom. Some carried the stress of poverty, living in unsafe communities or unsafe homes where there was physical violence, or the need to work long hours after school was over to help their family make ends meet. Others carried the weight of learning disabilities, feeling “different” or “unlovable”, or physical or mental illness. But they showed up every day, and we figured it out together.
My kids were smart, funny, and tough. They dreamed big. They wanted more for themselves. But if I’m honest, I know now that some of them could have been living through exploitation or even trafficking, and I wouldn’t have known it. Not because I didn’t care. I cared so much it kept me up at night. (Continue Reading)
