Disciplinary problems were high, student achievement was low, and so was my patience. I knew I couldn’t do this again the following year, so I decided to change my approach.

When the RCMP Crisis Negotiation Unit visited my high school law class, I expected some interesting guest speakers. What I didn’t expect was just how profoundly they would change the way my students communicated.

Many students dread reading Shakespeare because they think his works have nothing to do with their 21st century interests.

University training prepares educators for a lot of scenarios on the job. But what it doesn’t prepare them for is the inevitable grief that comes with it.

I search, “Talking to children about racialized violence.” I know experts say children are never too young to talk about race, but none of them have a lesson plan for me.

Books used in the classroom remind us that education is most powerful when it affirms the dignity of every child. Paired with history, inquiry, and compassion, they create a foundation for inclusion that reaches far beyond the school walls.

I am a teacher in southern West Virginia, a region defined by stereotypes and hit hard by America’s opioid epidemic.

"What do you mean, we have rights as minors?” Thirty pairs of quizzical eyes met mine. Brows furrowed in confusion. “Aren’t rights made by adults, for adults?”

I avidly recall a second grade class that would excitedly huddle around my rocking chair for story time. Students scrambled around sliding chairs to the carpet where I read heartwarming and sometimes zany tales, they reminded me that story time was counted among the most meaningful and cherished moments of a child’s day. Story time is a child’s portal into endless worlds, kingdoms, and dimensions.