Living the Questions

Yesterday was A Day Without Immigrants. A day when immigrants -- and possibly also people who supported them -- didn't work or shop. They marched and stood with each other for things our country once valued: freedom, opportunity, and open doors with a welcome spirit.  We had a lot of students out of school, and I live in a majority Hispanic neighborhood.  Today I received a note, which I'm sharing with full permission of the sender, who typed it so it would remain anonymous.  My heart broke, and I started to tear up.  Their children are our students -- our children, our future.  They are our neighbors and our friends.  It is irresponsible and terrifying that in America, our neighbors are treated this way. None of our children should be afraid to go to school, afraid to walk outside, afraid their family will be gone when they get home. None of our families should have to worry that one of their members won't come home at night because of where ...

I teach. And I have lots of neighborhood kids around pretty regularly.  Which is fantastic, but does come with one teeny, tiny, little hazard: Lice. I despise lice.  Immediate itching begins upon the mere mention of them. They're creepy and crawly and hard to get rid of. My basic feelings are: UGH. Earlier this year, one of the lovelies I see on a regular basis was discovered with lice. The day after said child had been leaning all over me and playing with my hair.  I mean, a lot of lice. I don't think I can explain to you the depths of the lice.  As soon as I could, I was at the store with lice spray, shampoo, laundry detergent. Anything I could possibly need to rid myself of any chance of the lice, I had it. Because y'all? I have a lot of hair. And it was all up over that child as they leaned against me that day.  I tied my hair up as high as possible and washed all-of-the-things and clothes in my entire apartment that just maybe could have been c...