In college, I volunteered in a fifth grade classroom in East Harlem, teaching conflict resolution. We did a “stand up/sit down” ice breaker: We sat in a circle and someone stood in the middle and said something about himself or herself. Anyone who agreed or had the same experience stood up.
The students were blown away that their teacher listened to rap, that other kids had parents who were divorced, or were afraid that their siblings would join gangs.
The conversation that I remember most visibly was this one:
Me: Was there anything that surprised you?
Child One: I was surprised that the adults (the female teacher and the three female volunteers) stood up when someone said “I’m afraid to walk alone at night.” Because you are ADULTS and we are supposed to walk with ADULTS to be safe. If the adults don’t feel safe, how are we safe?
Me: Well, there is safety in number–
Child Two: It’s because of RAPE.
Child Three: Don’t SAY that.
They then went on to discuss everything else they were afraid of or things that had made them afraid (ghosts, spirits as completely distinct from ghosts, a brother getting killed, seeing someone kill himself). These weren’t kids who were isolated from legitimately frightening things, and now, hopefully, all of those kids are teenagers. I’m not sorry we were honest with them, but I’m sad we had to be.
I don’t think it’s sad. Oh, I guess the loss of their innocence so early on is a bit sad – but maybe it’s for the better. It’s certainly better than being in a bubble for way too long.
I meant that the reality was sad.