A Safe Place

Four days a week, as the final bell rings in my classroom, I don't watch my room clear out, but instead wait as about 15-20 screaming, wild children pile in. I am a Power Hour teacher, which means after school I watch a group of 7th graders complete their homework (or more likely avoid completing their homework) from 3:00-4:00. As other teachers walk out to the parking lot and head home, I attempt to placate children who have already been sitting at desks for over six hours that day. It is by far the most exhausting hour of my day. I won't lie and tell you I do it for some noble reason or I want to be there for the kids. I honestly signed up for the extra money (I have student loans, you know), but I do like the idea that I get to make connections with kids I would otherwise never see. I become the person who asks each day what homework they have, holding them accountable.

On my one day a week that I don't work at Power Hour, I am usually at a meeting. Department meetings, professional development, or staff meetings make up my Tuesdays. But on one day a month--one lone and glorious day--I have neither meetings nor Power Hour on my calendar. In theory, I should be able to walk out the door at 3:00 with no obligations and a free afternoon.

I never, ever have.

That is because on those days, I always find stragglers in my room. Two girls will shyly wander in and ask if they can avoid the crowds downstairs and help me with something. I give them simple cleaning tasks and they giggle and talk about middle school gossip and make grand plans to hook me up with every male teacher in the building. Then, a boy comes in and asks if I can help him with his grade. What starts as reading tutoring soon turns into conversations about his basketball team and help with his math homework and then predictions about who will win the NBA playoffs this year. Another boy asks to use my phone and then waits for his mom while charging his Chromebook using my outlet. This is one example of the pattern that happens every month.

I could shut them out. I could say, "No, I have to get home" or "You should be downstairs with everyone else." I never do. This is because I understand the value of a safe place. A place away from social drama of school. A place that feels like home. I remember sneaking down the hallway after lunch almost every day to "work on the yearbook" where I mostly just messed around with a few other students and talked. Those were some of my favorite moments of the day. So many students find their own places. I see students getting "help with math" every day in a classroom down the hall. I watch students linger in the band room as they pick up their instruments. Some students sign up for science fair just to have a place to go each day.

My classroom is a space of learning. This, of course, is its primary purpose. But if it can also be a shelter for the wanderers, I think that's a pretty awesome purpose too.