I hugged a child today. I am a teacher. I am not supposed to hug children, but I did it. I did it in the hallway, in front of the surveillance cameras. There is evidence. But I went ahead and did it.
She stood in front of me with tears in her eyes explaining to me why she didn’t get her homework finished. I hear a lot of homework excuses. I am usually ready for them, hardened and unmoving, but her face, the defeat and anguish in her eyes gave me pause. She stood in front of me beaten, and frightened, and hurt. She didn’t do her homework last night. She couldn’t. Her cousin died of a heroin overdose. Last night. My student, my young adult student, my junior year student, stood in front of me with tears in her eyes as vulnerable as a first grader and told me she didn’t do her homework because her cousin overdosed on heroin.
I hugged a child today, and I don’t care that I’m not supposed to.