Not On Our Watch

When I was a little boy, I was fascinated by fire engines. I loved to visit fire stations, and they loved to have me. The firefighters would welcome me, allow me to climb up into the front, sit in the cab of the hook and ladder, and generally have fun in and around their vehicles. 

My fondness for firefighters evolved into a more mature understanding of their work as I grew up. Yes, they drive in beautiful, shiny vehicles equipped with flashing lights and sirens. And as an aside, I would love to have a car with flashing lights and sirens. To this day, I go to the window when I hear a siren to see the vehicle. But back to our firefighters. 

They run in when others are running out. It is their job to sit and wait for an emergency. Certainly, they do preventative work, but the actual substance of their world is to wait for our worlds to turn sideways. And when that happens, they jump into their shiny vehicles, equipped with flashing lights and sirens, to come to help us. 

When I lived in Chicago, I got used to the sight of firefighters sitting in chairs in the warm summer months outside of their firehouses. Something was reassuring about their camaraderie, seeing them connect with each other in moments when they were not needed. Seeing the garage doors open and their vehicles behind them made me feel safe. 

And then came 9/11. And on that terrible day in America's history, there were New York City's, and Washington DC's, and Shanksville's Bravest men and women running towards danger. Running towards the danger. Many, many firefighters lost their lives that day. Many more who survived are scarred for life by what they experienced, saw, and did on that day. 

To be clear, I am in no way comparing what educators do to what firefighters do. It didn't take long for me to realize that I did not have what it took to be a firefighter. But right now, educators are dealing with a very, very troubling reality. The reality that Frank Bruni of the New York Times noted in his most recent column is that: "...we humans seem more partial than ever to convenient fantasy over thorny truth." 

Books are being banned. Curriculum is being censored. Someone shattered the front door of the Pride Center in Burlington. 

We are public schools - we open our doors to every student exactly the way they are. In all my years in education, there are few absolutes, but one of them is this: our students will not learn to their fullest potential if they do not feel safe, welcome, and included when they come to school. I know that for a fact. 

You are struggling with your gender identity? You are welcome in our school. 

You are worried that you are attracted to someone of the same gender as you? You are welcome in our school. 

You are concerned about the impact of slavery and racism in our world? You are welcome in our school. 

You are unsure of where you stand on all these issues? You are welcome in our school. 

All we ask is that you be open to learning and growing. Open to the possibility of being wrong. Open to the notion that someone's life experience can change your perspective. Open to wrestling with the "thorny truth." Isn't that what democracy is all about? 

That takes courage. That takes humility. That takes patience. That takes grace. 

This is what educators do. They open their doors to all, welcoming all to their classrooms. Working diligently, tirelessly, and often on their own time to meet the needs of all the students that are in our buildings. 

We are not firefighters. We have the utmost gratitude for them. They rush into danger when others are running out. 

We are educators. We open our doors, our arms, and our hearts to every single student. Exactly the way they are. 

We are the guardians of this public, sacred trust. For those who wish to challenge this, we say, not on our watch. 

Photo courtesy of www.etsy.com