In the neighborhood where I work, there aren't a lot of surprises. Not after two and a half decades. Still, every so often, East Oakland gives me pause.
A ten year old girl was stabbed to death by her mother six blocks away from my school. “I don’t understand why this happened,” said a neighbor. “Her daughter was her world.” Sometimes the world is not enough. Sometimes horrible things happen without a reason.
A number of us, upon hearing the news, made some quick internal checks. Were all of our ten year old girls present the day after the stabbing? Could it possibly be that one of our Horace Mann Jaguars was the victim of such a horrible fate? Because of the nature of the case, police did not immediately release the names of the mother and daughter.
So we waited, and held our collective breath.
When a few days had passed, with no revelations or rumors, and with our fourth grade accounted for, we stepped cautiously forward in the hope that we would not be surprised.
Still fully aware that our neighborhood had experienced this tragedy, we attempted to file it away with the rest of the East Oakland reality that often creeps into the idyllic educational setting we all attempt to construct. Not for the first time, I wondered how very different my experience at this school was from that of a teacher who dealt regularly with the PTA. Or did not have to trip over the phrase "trauma informed teaching" while going about each day. I know that things could be very different if I picked another school. I know that things could be very different if I picked another city.
Still, I persist. The community persists. Our school persists. The incremental creep of our test scores and other data continues to trend up. I know that I am filling a hole in the line. There are hundreds who could replace me, but they would have to show up for work.
Every day.
Even when the news is bad.
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