School Me: Lessons I Didn't Want to Learn

Waiting to see

The first year I was at my current school, I had a student who had witnessed her parents' murders. She and one of her sisters hid under a bed, peeking out as her mother, father and another sister were shot to death. This happened in Mexico and I never quite got all the details; perhaps drugs were involved, but I guess that really doesn't matter to a 10 year-old hiding under a bed. She and her sister ended up here in California, living with a family member who was already struggling to support her own children.

My second year, a 6th grader ended up in my class after her mother was killed in front of her. She stood just feet away, on a cell phone calling 911, while her mother was stabbed more than 30 times by a jealous ex-boyfriend. I've been fortunate enough to have never experienced something like that. But I think of similar scenes played out on TV police dramas, and how much blood there is everywhere. Unimaginable.

Third year, third death. Just a few weeks before the end of school, and a couple of days before his 14th birthday, an 8th grade student of mine held his dying father in his arms after someone drove by the front of their house and shot him. Sounds gang-related to me, but again, that matters very little to the now fatherless boy.

Now here we are, eight months into another school year. And I am waiting. Waiting to see if another one of my students will watch a parent die a violent death. I'm hoping the chain gets broken this year.