My classroom

By Ileana Escalante


My classroom smells sweet and feels cozy and welcoming. My plants glow, greeting me with winks of green and, when I’m lucky, a few flowers.

My classroom trembles with “good vibes” and warm thoughts and this insatiable desire to help everyone. It roars with you-can-do-it’s and you-are-amazing’s.

The sun through my windows speaks promises of blue skies and better days. It brightens my walls and my words and my hours.

My students sit down and breathe and hopefully feel like they belong. They grab a marker and an old sock and spread words on those desks, knowledge... they got this.

Sometimes they dance and laugh and remind me why I teach. Sometimes they cry and trust and open up their hearts, longing for a helping hand. They like to be hugged and greeted and seen. They like to be reminded they matter.

In my classroom, they do.

I memorize their eyes faster than I memorize their names. Sometimes, when I kneel by their desk, they memorize mine. They know I care.

Sometimes my classroom looks messy with some papers on the floor and forgotten water bottles. Those times, I yell at the kids and we take out the broom and we clean and we remember that we’re in this together. Those times, I also remember why I teach.

There are times when we eat in my classroom. We make tortillas and honor our culture and the millions of wrinkled hands that have taught us how to make them. Then we sprinkle some cheese on them and chew, to the rhythm of bachata and cumbia and merengue, together.

My classroom makes me feel alive...