“[Kaitlin] is an extraordinarily resourceful, competent woman, who not only uses her cognitive and interpersonal tools to handle any stressors, but also has been able to move forward, making admirable progress professionally and personally from her experience,” one wrote. “She is fully ready to resume her active teaching duties . . . It would also greatly benefit the children in her class to have her return. After what Ms. Roig and the children experienced on Dec. 14th, she is obviously a very important person in their and their families’ lives.”
I appreciated the vote of confidence, but it came too late for me. By the time the evaluations had been completed and the recommendation letters written, school was almost over. Rather than working together to come up with even a compromise, to do whatever was best for sixteen first-graders, the dispute had become a battle of wills and, in my mind, everyone lost. Especially my kids.
My heart broke when I read the cards and letters they sent.
Miss Roig, I love you. You are the best teacher in the world. I wish you came back on Monday.
Miss Roig, I miss you. A lot! When are you going to come back?
Miss Roig, I love you and we want you back, so, so much!
Newtown was suffering from gaping psychological wounds that would likely take years to heal, and all of us were still in the early stages of our recovery. We were living the “disaster after the disaster,” where nothing was normal and no one knew how to dig out from under the collective sadness and anger and disappointment that blanketed our community. The initial sense of togetherness was cracking, as was to be expected, and everyone was coping with their grief in different ways. Discontent always lay just under the surface and sometimes those simmering feelings of helplessness and inadequacy to make things better led to conflicts with each other.
My spirit was wounded by the superintendent’s attack on my character and, in spite of myself, I felt anger and resentment toward her.
Then, one night, as I was searching for inspiration in the words of great orators, I found a quote by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that,” he said. “Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” His words really resounded with me. If Dr. King could choose optimism over adversity after all the disappointments and setbacks that he faced in his lifetime, then who was I to carry bitterness and blame?
I thought about my conflict with the superintendent differently after that. I couldn’t help but wonder if both of us had taken some of our pent-up feelings of anger and frustration over the tragedy out on each other. The intensity of my indignation subsided and I tried to see things from her perspective. Perhaps, in her mind, she was doing what she had to do. How many people have had to live through what we just did? Who knew the right way to cope with the fallout from the kind of trauma most people never experience? I’m sure she spent every day like the rest of us did—just trying to get through it. Perhaps she was disappointed after not being reinstated and I had been an easy target for her anger. Perhaps we were both being willful because it was easier than facing what we were really feeling: powerlessness.
Whatever it was, what became clear to me was that I didn’t have room in my heart for darkness or hate. I needed to choose light. And love.
My Kids
On a perfect, sunny Saturday afternoon in June, I was reunited with my first-graders at a reunion party my room moms put together at one of their homes. Driving there, I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t wait to see my little angels again. Snips and snails and puppy-dog tails. Sugar and spice and everything nice. That’s what my kids were made of. I longed to see their bright eyes, hear their tinkling giggles.
Arriving at the party, I felt as if I was reentering the world we’d lost the previous December, a world I had longed to return to but feared it no longer existed. As Nick and I walked to the backyard, where all of my students were waiting for me, there it was again, right in front of me. I watched in awe as my sweet first-graders, all of them dressed in bright summer colors, ran barefoot through the grass and splashed in the kiddie pool. They looked so carefree. Every night, I’d prayed for them to be able to be happy-go-lucky kids again. Prayers answered, I thought, walking toward them.
They squealed when they saw me, stopped whatever they were doing, and ran to us. “Miss Roig!” “Miss Roig is here!” “Miss Roig, I’m so happy you’re okay!” Oh, those beautiful toothless smiles! Those funny little cowlicks! Those little fingers painted in varying shades of girlish pink. Stretching and straining their little arms, and clamoring to get as close as they could, my students surrounded me for a big, group hug. How do I describe what I felt? The last time we were huddled so closely together was in the classroom bathroom. For the briefest moment, my mind went back there, and I worried that some of them were thinking the same thing. But we aren’t in that tiny bathroom, I told myself. We are here, in this safe place, and blessed to be all together again. This is a time for rejoicing. There is no place, on this beautiful day, with these precious children, for looking back. We needed to allow ourselves this moment, however brief, to bask in feelings of gratitude that we were together again. Today, we would be “our class,” just the way we were before everything changed. “Hello, my Fantastic Friends!” I said, spreading my arms as far as they would reach around my kids. “I’m so happy to see you!”
For the rest of the afternoon, we had a party. We pushed one another on the swings and played dodge ball and catch until we were too tired to move. We snacked on chips and pretzels and Popsicles and fruit and juice. I brought the Crumbs cupcakes for dessert. I’d started a tradition of bringing the gourmet cupcakes to class for special occasions, and my students loved them.
I hated to see the day end. But as the party wound down, my students sat in a circle around me and presented me with a beautifully wrapped box. I slowly pulled the wrapping off the gift to reveal the most beautiful handmade platter with thumbprints painted like bumblebees. Beneath each of the thumbprints was a student’s name. The back of the platter was inscribed: “Ms. Roig. 2013. You have left an imprint on our lives.”
I was so touched. I couldn’t imagine they would ever understand just how deep an impression they had left on my life. I always felt a sense of loss when my first-graders moved on, but leaving these students was going to be especially hard. We had been through something together that no one else could possibly understand, and through that, we had forged an unbreakable bond.
As I told them in the classroom bathroom that day, “I love you all very much.” And I truly did.
My Friends, the Authors
Before I left the party with my class, they had one more surprise. Our dream after the tragedy had been to write that book together, the one my former professor offered to help with, the happy keepsake that we could take out at any time to remember one another and smile. I’d given up on the idea after everything that happened with the superintendent, but my students hadn’t. They presented me with a beautiful bound book. They chose the topic themselves and each contributed to it. Our room moms helped them to put it all together. The book cover has a classic white cover with black lettering and is professionally bound. It has sixteen pages, one for each student, and is titled, All of the Things We Love About Miss Roig, along with the following message to my 2012 first-grade class:
Dear Fantastic Friends! After the tragedy, I promised you that we would publish a book about whatever topic you chose. Here is your book. This is your idea and these are your words, and I am bursting with pride to be able to share them here. You should be so proud! You are now published authors!
It is with great pride that I deliver on my promise to my students and share here their words:
ALL OF THE THINGS WE LOVE ABOUT MISS ROIG
By: Miss Roig’s 2012–2013 First-Grade Class
This year Miss Roig taught me to read chapter books.
This year Miss Roig taught me where t
o put capital letters and punctuation.
Miss Roig loves me because she kept me safe. I love Miss Roig because she kept me safe.
What I will miss most about Miss Roig is that she’s a wonderful person and that she inspires me.
I love Miss Roig because she has great hair.
I love Miss Roig because she is a hero and kind. This year Miss Roig taught me that even though bad things happen, it will be okay.
Miss Roig loves me because I am a good student.
This year Miss Roig taught me how to read. And now I love to read!
This year Miss Roig taught me tricky word tricks in reading.
What I will miss most about Miss Roig is . . . I don’t want to do “miss.” It makes me sad.
What I will never forget about Miss Roig is that she is very nice and sweet.
What I will miss most about Miss Roig is that she made me feel loved. I love Miss Roig because she is nice and protective. This year Miss Roig taught me how to spell “bed” using my hands.
What I will never forget about Miss Roig is that she likes books that won the Caldecott awards. And almost every day she wore a fleece jacket.
She really cares about us. Because of all of the things she did.
I really want Miss Roig back from vacation.
What I will never forget about Miss Roig is that she taught us poems.
The sixteenth page is blank.
My student had missed me so much that she’d been too upset to write, her father told me.
When I saw her at the party, she ran to me and hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe. She just needed to know that I was okay and hadn’t abandoned her.
What I will never forget about that little girl is the look in her eyes. It was pure joy.
CHOOSING YOUR PATH
“What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”
—JANE GOODALL
Classes 4 Classes
I am an ordinary person who persevered after what, had I decided, could have been an insurmountable tragedy. And, through that, I realized that some of our most powerful lessons come from being faced with adversity. If only we’re open to receiving those lessons. We have so much more power over our lives than we think we do. We all suffer at times. We all experience disappointments and sadness and hard times. We all have tragedies in our lives. It is how we decide to handle our trials that distinguish us. Anne Frank wisely wrote, “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”
During my time away from my students, I devoted all of my time to Classes 4 Classes. It was my way of doing something to help improve the world. I couldn’t just wait for things to happen. Because one of the most profound lessons I learned from Sandy Hook is that the next moment can sweep you away.
I was born with extra empathy. When someone is suffering, I feel it. When someone hurts, I hurt, too. When someone has a need, I want to help fulfill it. I remember as a child going to New York City and walking by homeless people and wanting to do something to make each of their lives better. The feeling didn’t pass when I did. It stayed with me long after I got home. Sometimes for weeks afterward I’d lay awake in my comfortable bed, wondering why they didn’t have the same comforts that others did, worrying about whether they had dinner or a place to sleep that night. Empathy drove me. I think that’s why all of my students were so connected to me. They felt how much I cared, and knew that I’d do anything I could to help them, which is why, after the tragedy, I’d fought so hard for their protection and their peace of mind.
For me, doing for others is organic. It’s in my DNA. It’s what gets me out of bed in the morning and gives my life meaning. Growing up, my parents emphasized the importance of caring about others, of getting to know people, listening to their stories, understanding their dreams and their heartaches. My dad, who was always helping someone, modeled for me that you do by doing for someone else. Without my classroom to go to, I needed to find a new place to direct my energies, to fulfill my purpose, to give, and Classes 4 Classes seemed like a natural fit. In just three months, our team had been able to develop the concept into a trial website with working parts. I saw it as the perfect companion to the social curriculums that most elementary schools encourage, and I knew teachers would embrace it as a significant aid in administering those social curriculums into their academically packed programs, which was always a challenge.
Teaching students a social curriculum is making sure they are socially aware. Aware of what connects us and what makes us unique and being accepting of both. Understanding when someone is happy or proud, or sad or upset, and knowing the appropriate response to each. It is about teaching children practical lessons. For instance, if they see another child playing alone on the playground, being able to empathize enough to go up to that child and ask, “Hey! Would you like to play with me?”
The social curriculum I followed was a version of what is called Responsive Classroom, which is based on the premise that children learn best when they have academic as well as solid social and emotional skills. I took training in Responsive Classroom practices and I know how fundamentally important it was in turning out well-rounded students.
The problem most teachers face is finding the time and the means to incorporate social lessons into rigorous academic schedules. Finding innovative ways to educate children how to be good people, as well as academically informed, takes tremendous imagination and commitment from a teacher.
In the model I used, each day began with the morning meeting, those few minutes each day that kicked off with the song “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’,” after which my students hurry to complete their morning work, then gather in the meeting area, where we would sit together (crisscross applesauce, hands in a bowl) to greet one another, share stories, and discuss what the day would bring. The morning meeting helped to establish an environment where everyone felt connected and treated one another with respect and kindness. That sense of camaraderie set the tone for the rest of the day.
A second component was teaching my first-graders how to properly communicate with one another: How do we politely say “Good morning”? What is the appropriate tone to take if someone is upset? What words do you use when someone has hurt your feelings?
The last piece was setting up a support system. I was the central support figure, intervening when students didn’t see eye to eye, or scaffolding a lesson for those who were struggling, but the students were also expected to support one another. If they saw a friend making a bad choice, for instance, they were encouraged to remind that friend of what a better choice might be. If they saw one child hurting another, their job was to inform the teacher about what was happening.
Teaching social skills is like any other aspect of getting children to learn. On the early elementary school level, students need repeated exposure to the subject matter before they are able to grasp it, whether the subject is English or empathy. It may seem basic, but someone has to teach us our ABCs before we can learn to read and write, and we have to learn to count to twenty before we can graduate to mathematics. It’s no different when teaching children good social skills. They need to learn the nuts and bolts of being socially skilled. For instance, how to be kind, how to share, how to be a good friend. They learn by doing, and that doesn’t happen overnight.
The challenge for elementary school teachers is being able to incorporate those kinds of lessons into a seven-hour school day, while still teaching the required eight academic courses. It’s a daunting proposition, and one that many educators find frustrating and nearly impossible to pull off. And the problem always is, even when you do manage to fit in social instruction, how can you be sure that telling children how to be kind and caring has resonated with them? You really can’t. I was always looking for practical ways for my students to experience those lessons, rather than just t
ake them from me. Classes 4 Classes was a way to do that.
The best tangible evidence I saw of a social curriculum really working was the glow on my students’ faces when they helped the class from Tennessee get the whiteboard. They had really embraced the meaning of being kind and charitable. Through that simple exercise, they really got what it felt like to give without expecting anything in return, and it felt good. They learned about kindness and empathy, caring not by simply talking about it but by living it. Even after being faced with such a terrible tragedy, they had chosen love. I couldn’t imagine a more valuable life lesson. That small gesture of one class helping another was a step toward making the world a better place. My students were the best example of such valuable lessons. Giving always makes us feel better. Action inspires. And now I had a way (and plenty of time!) to share those lessons with a much larger audience.
Classes 4 Classes would live on a website, which meant its reach was endless. It was an accessible social networking tool with the ability to connect classrooms across the country to care for one another. I knew it would resonate with teachers and their kids. Who wouldn’t want to take part in such an optimistic and life-affirming project? I was certain that if I could just get the word out, the response would be the beginning of a movement.
Choosing Hope: Moving Forward from Life's Darkest Hours Page 12
