I was teaching in a UK school and it was in a very rough area. There was a young girl of 11 whose parents didn’t have much, but she always looked happy.
I recall I was starting to become rather disillusioned with teaching and thought that there were better things I could be doing with my life.
One day, close to Christmas, I learned that this little girl had witnessed her father being shot and he died right there in front of her. I was mortified for her. Her mother came into school and said that because it’s so close to Christmas, she’d like to maintain the girl’s friendship groups and get her to share in the end of term fun with her peers, so she should remain in school. The school helped this happen in a very supportive way.
The girls was in my class. We’d got to the end of the activities and we were waiting, lined up, for the end of class bell. I asked what everyone was getting for Christmas.
“A BMX bike,” said one. “My mum’s getting me a Wendy house,” said another. The little girl’s hand went up in a shot and she had a gigantic smile beaming across her face and she said, full of the joys of Christmas, “I’ve asked Santa for a hoola-hoop,” she beamed. I was floored.
This is a girl that had lost her father so violently and all she wanted was a hoola hoop. I was quite distressed that she wanted so little. But then I thought about it.
All the others sounded so sure about what they were getting, about what their parents were buying them. It was clear that their belief in Santa had waned. But it was clear from her answer that her belief was still alive.
This got me thinking about my own position. That no matter what you take from a child, their heart is always open to receive. That no matter what Hell has come to them, you can always take them on their own journeys, their own discoveries. And, in true Pandora’s Box style, no matter what you remove, hope remains.
I thought to myself that as long as I can give hope, I’m making a difference to a child. Maybe I’m making them a stronger person; a better person. Maybe I’m making the world a better place through my small contributions to its future inhabitants. Maybe I’m not finished as a teacher; because there are lessons still to be learned.