White Educators: We Must Do Better
Last night sleep eluded me for far too long. The events of the past few days - two police shootings and then police officers being shot in Dallas - have rattled me yet again. You see, I am the mother of an almost-thirteen- year-old black son. My son arrived eleven years ago, on July 16, 2005. He was almost two years old, in foster care. He has taught me more about patience, love, and the resilience of the human spirit than any other human being on this planet. He has a huge heart, which is evident watching his endless patience with younger children. It is evident in his stories from school as he looks out for anyone who is misunderstood or teased. My son is also extremely anxious - this comes out in fingernails bitten to the quick, endless chatter, and quick darting movements - an ever-vigilant awareness of everything around him and laser-like focus that jumps from one thing to the next and the next. Over the years, I have witnessed firs...