Category: educational inequity

You good?

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Every once in a while, a student will go missing from school. I don’t mean in the “she was abducted” sort of way; it’s just that sometimes — there’s really no pattern to it — I will find myself marking a student absent day after day with no clear explanation. I might alert the office, so they can do a wellness check, but often before it has come to that, the student just as mysteriously re-appears.

In the old days, I might’ve interrogated such a student. Where have you been? Did you just decide to take a vacation? Do you know what an extended absence can do to your grades? your progress? your chances of graduating?

That was before I started to understand trauma — before I had seen true poverty — before I knew that sometimes a student has to stay home to care for an ailing parent or younger siblings — before I knew that not all families have vehicles or food in the fridge…. or a fridge… or any place to stay at all.

So now when a student is gone for 2 or 3 or 10 days and then suddenly reappears, you know what I say? Good to see you! I’ve been missing you! If I have a particularly close relationship with a student who has been MIA, I might ask, You good?

You never know what you’re going to hear after that — maybe a quiet Yeah, I’m good, but also maybe my [insert family member here] died, or I was in the hospital, or we moved.

If a student vulnerably shares something like that, I feel honored to be trusted with a slice of their story. And, I hope that my check-in conveys to the student that they are seen, safe, and valued.

All of this is just to say that I, myself, have been a little MIA lately. The last time I posted a blog was February 9 — five weeks ago. Now, I know you are not getting up every Monday morning and taking attendance and saying, huh, I wonder where Kristin is. And you should know that I have not been experiencing any trauma. However, I did want to check in and let you know that this soldier temporary got called back to duty — to a short stint of increased demand where I was tempted to revert to butt-kicking and name-taking and, in fact, gave it a try, only to find out what I already knew — it was not sustainable.

I have mentioned this already, of course, in the first few blog posts of the year. I wrote about the fact that we had a teacher resign over the holiday break and that I was asked to step into two of the classes he left vacant to help prepare our juniors for the coming SAT. I probably already mentioned that I was asked to do this while also filling the role of building test coordinator in charge of making sure all 9-11 grade students take the PSAT and SAT and that all 11 grade students also take the other tests required by the State of Michigan — the MSTEP (social studies and science) and the WIN Learning Assessment which measures students’ work-ready skills.

It doesn’t sound too overwhelming when I put it in a paragraph like that, and my supervisors assured me it wouldn’t be any more work at all since they had lightened my coaching load from eight teachers down to four and had provided me with the support of the person who was the building test coordinator last year.

So, I built out my calendar, as one does, scheduling blocks of time to read test manuals, attend training, observe teachers, meet with supervisors, audit rosters, create training sessions for my staff, and, oh yeah, teach two 50-minute sections of ELA every day making sure to cover curricula I’d never taught before and to develop the skills in these students that my supervisors were confident I could build before testing started on April 15.

Like any good soldier, I got my gear together, rehearsed my strategies, and relied on years and years of training exercises. I put my head down and got to it.

I had moments where I was making it happen. I was checking off boxes and getting shit done. At those times, I had a swagger in my step — the old girl still had it. Passersby might have even heard me say, I got this.

But there were moments that those closest to me saw the set of my jaw, the vacant stare in my eyes, the fatigue coming off me in near-visible rivulets. They heard an errant utterance, they saw the expression on my face belie the words coming out of my mouth, and in one way or another they asked You good, Rathje?

Because clearly, I was not, indeed, good.

And because I trusted them, I took a long look at what was going on, and, instead of soldiering on, I tried something different.

First it looked like a set jaw, a demand for change, a clenched fist decrying an unjust work load, and then, it softened into apology and the admission that soldiering was not a sustainable way of life — not for me and, really, not for anyone.

It felt a little like defeat. Like waving the white flag.

But it wasn’t that. It was truth-telling. It was self-advocacy. It was a victory.

Because when I said (this time, though I had said it before) that I needed an end date — a day to mark on the calendar when I would no longer be teaching, when I said I needed more time to complete the tasks before me, when I said I felt it was too much not just for a middle-aged gal like me but for anyone, they heard me.

I took a chance on asking for what I needed, and I got it.

So, I’m at home this weekend breathing a little more freely, even though I will still spend an hour or two today and tomorrow on managing my work responsibilities. I know that Friday is my last day in the classroom, spring break is coming, and a time of refreshing is near.

So, if I’m gonna be honest, I’ve been MIA because for a couple ticks I was slugging it out — struggling, not coming up for breath — but I’m back.

It’s good to see you. If you don’t already know, this is a space where I feel seen and safe and valued. Thank you for allowing me to trust you with a piece of my story.

Be kind and compassionate to one another. Ephesians 4:32

Reflect and Grow

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Hey, 2026,

It’s been a minute since we’ve spoken. I know that first conversation we had might have felt a little off-putting. I’ll admit that I was coming in defensively and demanding a lot. The last few years have been quite difficult, after all. I circled back a week later, and acknowledged the fact that while I can’t control what you bring, I do have control over my responses to you. Now, a month into your tenure, I’m feeling the need for a check-in. I’ve got some feedback on how it’s going — some affirmations, for sure, but also some areas where we’d hope to see some growth moving forward.

We can start with the snow day count — well done! This performance has exceeded my expectations. Although extreme weather could be a sign of irreversible climate change, I did welcome the days to be at home, to rest a little, and to get caught up on some work.

Speaking of work, I’ve been pushing pretty hard, as you know, because I’ve been covering a teacher vacancy, but I’ve got to hand it to you — not only did you allow me to step back into the classroom to support our juniors in the run up to the SAT, you came through with another certified English Language Arts teacher who even has experience in our cultural context. You somehow provided this teacher, who will start with our sophomores on Monday, before the end of January, just as I requested. Hopefully, he will bring some normalcy to our students for the remainder of the year.

Now that I’ve started with some kudos, I must acknowledge that all has not been rosy. You did bring my family another loss — we’ve had one a year for the last three years. Granted, my sweet aunt was 96 and ready to go, but her passing still hurt.

However, that sting was much more bearable than the shock and horror at the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. It seems unconscionable that regular citizens acting out of care and concern for the foreigner and the stranger would lose their lives at the hands of government agents.

And speaking of unconscionable, I thought we’d seen all the presidential misconduct we’d ever need, but you managed to give us some more — directly from the Oval Office, again! — racist images of former world leaders distributed by the now-more-than-embarrassing leader of the free world. During the opening week of Black History Month, to boot.

Now lest I get busy casting stones without acknowledging my own shortcomings, I will admit that, I, too, have had less than stellar moments in recent days. I have forgotten my training, lost my center, and acted out of character, and not just in the confines of my own home, but in the space where I hope to have the most impact — the classroom. I showed my students a frustrated, tired, unprofessional side of me, and I’m not proud of that. So, I had to put down my shaking fist for a moment — I had to stop blaming you, 2026. I had to stop looking at the failures of ICE, Republican leaders, and even my students, who I briefly tried to blame for my poor behavior.

Look, all of us have good moments and bad moments. We are imperfect humans. I’ve had to remind myself of that this weekend when I’ve found myself bloodied by self-flagellation. None of us meets every moment with grace and maturity. The best we can do — the most we can hope for from others — is best intention, self-reflection, the admission of failure, and a commitment to do better.

What would it look like if those entrusted with making sure that all folks from other countries followed the laws for living in the United States did so with hospitality. What if their intention was to support those who legally entered our country as they navigate their adjustment to the way we do things around here. What if they participated in regular debriefing that honestly evaluated their practices, acknowledged shortcomings, and worked to improve the process in ways that positively benefitted the community?

What would happen if at their worst moments — when, say, a civilian was killed — they would admit their wrongdoing and follow the steps of accountability and restoration? What if those worst moments propelled them to changes that produced some of the best moments?

What might happen if people in positions of power didn’t demonize those who think, look, act differently, but instead worked with intention to find understanding, common ground, ways of living together in unity, despite our differences? What if we had regular community forums to instead celebrate those differences, to find solutions to problems, and to build strong relationships?

What impact might it have if a middle aged white woman went into her classroom on Monday, admitted to a roomful of teenaged students of color that she lost her shit on Friday and that it wasn’t, as she might’ve suggested, their fault, but hers. What if she used her admission of culpability to build a culture of error in that classroom — where students, too, can admit that they have been wrong, and where they can shed their shame through vulnerability, and be brave enough to try again?

What impact might it have if, instead of waving our fists at everyone else, we opened our hands and asked for forgiveness for the things we, ourselves, have done wrong? How might that change what happens this year?

Right now in Italy, young people from all over the globe are coming together in the spirit of sportsmanship to compete in the snow and on the ice. They have worked hard for years to make it to the Olympic Games and we are inspired by not only their athleticism, but their tenacity, their sacrifice, their willingness to set other things aside for this one goal — the highest level of competition with other humans from all around the world. For sixteen days we will watch people of different races, faiths, and backgrounds share space — racing side by side, watching one another’s efforts, and even congratulating those who bested them. It’s a picture of shared struggle, shared victory, shared humanity.

We can learn from them, can’t we, 2026? Can’t we learn to exist side by side with people who are very different from ourselves — can’t we find ways of working together, of inspiring one another, of celebrating together? Can we respect the humanity in front of us, even if we haven’t made it to the Olympics?

Let’s try for more of that, shall we? I know we’ve got it in us.

if it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Romans 12:18

Hold on…

Featured ~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

I am not sure I made my expectations clear. When I wrote my letter to 2026 last week, I thought I spelled out the fact that I was looking for something different than years past — something better — but perhaps I was not specific enough.

When I asked for no falls, no cancer or chronic illness diagnoses, I guess I should have specified that aging family members experiencing strokes was also off the table. Maybe when I asked for grace for those who are already suffering, I should’ve included a request that they have access to the meds and the care that they need.

Now, I will acknowledge that while I haven’t received the snow (or snow day) that would’ve been not only acceptable but welcome, I was not disappointed in the unseasonably warm temps we experienced this past week.

However, my staffing vacancy has not been resolved unless you count the fact that I am — while also attending to my myriad other responsibilities — cleaning up the former teacher’s grade book, giving assignments, communicating with students, and preparing for the more formal transition when we will indeed have a highly qualified replacement, before the end of January, even. However, I probably should have made it clear that I was thinking that replacement wouldn’t have the exact same name and birthdate as me.

And, when I asked for sanity in the political realm, perhaps I should have started by defining some terms. By sanity, I mean “reasonable and sensible behavior or thinking.” Since all of the words in that definition are abstract let me provide a concrete example. A reasonable way to arrest an unarmed protestor who is driving a car is perhaps to, I don’t know, aim your gun at their tires to stop them rather than, say, at their head. And perhaps a way to stay out of wars is to speak respectably to the leaders of other nations, inviting them to civil conversations, and not, say, threatening to “do it the hard way.”

I was encouraged by crowds gathering in Minneapolis, Minnesota to mourn the loss of life of a civilian who was committing no crimes and then almost immediately discouraged by a subsequent shooting of similarly innocent civilians in Portland, Oregon.

This violence stems, of course, from racist and xenophobic rhetoric (which I also asked for an end to) that comes straight out of the Oval Office, where the president has, for example, called Somalian immigrants “garbage” and has said that ICE agents, those responsible for these and nine other shootings since September, “acted in self-defense,” which you’d be hard pressed to agree with if you examined the collection of videos that have been compiled.

All of this can be downright discouraging less than two weeks into a year that many of us were hoping would be different — and by that I mean the good kind of different, not the insane kind of different.

Ugh! I can’t stay in this angry space for the whole year! I can’t keep seeing headlines, shaking my head, and sputtering!. Instead, I am going to willfully point out some bright spots from the past seven days so that I can keep myself grounded in hope, in the belief in human decency and resiliency. For that, I have to turn my eyes away from national headlines and take a look at the spaces where I spend most of my time.

I will start by sharing the fact that I work with an amazing staff — there is some kind of magic that brings a team together to work in an under-resourced environment serving students who are significantly below grade level. Every person on the team wants to be there — and, we quickly (as you’ve seen) weed out those who are not on board. Because of that, staff meetings are often enjoyable, even fun — a gathering of like-minded folks who want to be together, who support and celebrate one another.

Next, I must mention our resilient students. All of our 10th and 11th grade students had a substitute science teacher for about eight weeks this fall. This same group — which now has a very capable science teacher who has quickly re-established a culture of learning — this very same group of students just found out that they no longer have an English Language Arts teacher, at least temporarily, and how did they respond? They listened to the administrator who delivered the news, they gathered evidence of assignments they had completed, they cooperated with school staff, and they opted in to the temporary plan, and trusted those who said a permanent plan was on the way.

Some of these same students and others — the athletes in our building — worked with the athletic director this week to hand deliver printed invitations to the Friday night basketball game to school staff members. Not only that — the following day they delivered team jerseys to each staff member, took photos with them, and invited them to wear the jersey to the game.

The hype continued to build throughout the week, and many staff wore the jerseys to school and showed up on a Friday at 5:30, after a very long week, to cheer on their students, first at the ladies’ game and then the men’s game. The AD and students had created a VIP section decorated with photos of every staff member in the building posing with a student. Colleagues chatted and laughed together as they watched the games, cheering loudly for every steal, every change in possession, every landed shot, and especially that one sweet moment when a 6’5″ senior who we’ve all watched grow up from a timid impulsive freshmen to the guy who waited for just the opportunity, saw his moment, and slam-dunked like a pro! The crowed (especially the VIP section) went wild!!

Throughout the evening, students boldly grabbed the mic to shout out their teachers, and then, between the games, the whole group — athletes and staff — took to the floor for a photo op. Smiles everywhere!

It’s still January. Nothing has really changed, but all is not tragic.

In a small building on the border of Detroit and Dearborn is a little community that is somehow choosing to keep going. Communities like this exist everywhere, despite corruption, despite tragedy, despite illness, despite loss. Folks who would have every reason to throw their hands in the air and say, “that’s a wrap” are getting out of bed, combing their hair, and showing up for another day, and sometimes, that day, against all odds, turns into a celebration. Even now. Even in places like Minneapolis and Portland.

No matter how politely we ask, we have little control over what 2026 brings, however, we can choose to search out these spaces and these moments. We must, also, call out corruption, gather to protest, and work for the change we wish to see in the world; in order to do all that, we’ve got to hold on to hope.

I am confident that I will see the goodness of God in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13

What is Needed

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Often in this space, I write about the students at my small charter high school in Detroit. From time to time, I share their needs and invite you to partner with me in meeting them. One time I mentioned the need for athletic shoes, and a handful of you helped me purchase about twenty (yes, 20!) pairs for our track athletes! Other times, I’ve asked for support at Christmas, and some of you have sent items from an Amazon wish list, purchased gift cards, or simply sent cash. It’s not always the same people — some of you are local to me, some are friends from way in the past, and some of you I’ve never even met — but when I ask, the needs of my students always get met.

This past week, not having the time or inspiration for a complete blog post, I just flung out a request via social media. I said we had 8-10 families with extraordinary hardship that we’d like to send on their holiday break with grocery and gas gift cards. I’ve been coordinating efforts like these for five years or more, and my school community has come to count on the fact that “I’ve got a lot of great friends.” However, every time I ask, I momentarily wonder if the magic will continue — will people see my request? will they want to contribute? Then I usually remind myself that “before I am asking, He is answering,” and trust that God will provide.

This week was no different. That Facebook ask was just a week ago and we have plenty of donated cash and gift cards to support ten families in ways that they are not expecting — what a fun day our principal will have later this week, handing fat envelopes over to families who have no idea they are coming! I can’t know the impact your gifts will have!

So, first, let me say thank you to those who stop by to read my posts about education, my health, politics (gasp), and the things I am learning, but also to those who choose to contribute to students they have never met. I am astounded by your generosity that keeps showing up at just the right time. Even sometimes when I haven’t asked, a need is just around the corner, and you have met it in advance. Thank you for your heart, for your thoughtfulness, for your care.

Now, let me tell what I learned this week about what kids really need.

A few weeks ago, a teacher who is somewhat new to our district, a woman who just has a way of connecting with kids — the kind of teacher who kids show up to school for, the rare one who can get a whole room to lean in and listen as she walks step by step through a procedure, the kind who can glance up from a demonstration and silence a chatterbox without saying a word — this teacher mentioned to me that she’d like to put on a Christmas event for our students, did I think that would be ok?

I, thinking of our students’ physical needs, immediately (and wrongly) assumed that she wanted to coordinate the giving effort I have just described, and I directed her to speak with our principal. I thought it would be a great idea to pass the baton. LOL. It took me a couple of weeks to realize that what she was planning was very different than what I was assuming. She had a vision for a night of games and fun for a select group of students — a meal, prizes, and gaiety. No presents, nope. Instead, these students would “pay” the entry fee of a donated hat or mittens for someone less fortunate than themselves.

You heard me. She wanted our students — all of whom qualify for free breakfast and lunch — to make a sacrifice to be there. And not just anyone could attend. It was invitation only — kids who consistently come to school, kids who lean into learning, kids who lead, kids who volunteer, kids who do the right thing.

This was so far off my radar that I couldn’t picture the impact until I actually showed up.

The teacher asked her church to donate a meal, and churches being what they are, they had a crew walking in with wings, fries, mac and cheese, and green beans in chafing dishes that they placed over sterno pots.

She asked our staff to donate water, cookies, and prizes for the games — each category filled a table.

“What can I bring,” I asked around Tuesday when most of the above had already been donated.

“I have hot chocolate. Would you bring toppings?”

“Toppings? Like whipped cream?” I asked.

“Yeah, and I like mini chocolate chips, and sprinkles, and marshmallows…you know, to make a self-serve hot chocolate bar.”

“Ok, I can do that.” I said.

Since I was headed to the grocery anyway to pick up gift cards with the cash that some of you had sent me, it was easy to throw a few more things into the cart.

“Oh,” she said, “one more thing. Would you go around to the classes on Friday and hand out tickets to the ones who can attend?”

“Sure. Whatever you need,” I said — before I realized that this would mean handing them out in front of kids who were not invited. This was a struggle for me — little miss equity this and access that — but, I did it. It was uncomfortable saying, “I’m sorry, you are not on the list. This is an invitation-only event,” but I had to trust my colleague’s vision.

School was dismissed at 3:30 and a crew of students moved to the gym to set up. They were in charge of decorating and setting up the space for the meal, the games, the celebration. While they were doing that, I retreated to my office to finish an administrative task. When I arrived shortly after 5:00, students clad in Christmas pajamas were personalizing their hot chocolate, greeting their friends, chatting at tables, and listening to Christmas music. You might expect this at any Christmas party, but in this community’s world of scarcity, it felt different.

Teens who are normally just trying to get through the day — to get a ride to school, to find something to eat, to stay warm, to manage all the expectations of all the people around them — were free just to be.

And then, the silly Christmas games began!

Asked to find a partner and line up in the gym, students who typically display reluctance to engage, jumped out of their seats, grabbed hands, and ran to the designated location. They tossed miniature Christmas ornaments into cups, they played a version of Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes, and they raced to steal Christmas bows that were stuck to each other’s shirts (the one who ends up with the most wins)!

They laughed. They played. For a few moments on a Friday evening, they were allowed to be kids.

Students who typically have to put up a hard exterior — who have to save face — in this small group of students felt safe enough to put their guard down and be silly.

And that my friends was exactly what our students needed. They needed a safe space, they needed to feel like contributors, they needed the extravagance of a meal prepared just for them, of a hot chocolate bar, of games with prizes, of a fun Friday night with their friends. I sat and took it in — smiling, laughing, snapping photos — and realizing that I need to broaden my view of what is essential.

Friends, I am likely going to keep asking for contributions, so thank you in advance for tolerating my boldness and joining when you choose, but I am also going to open my eyes to what else my students need. I’m going to look for more opportunities to acknowledge all of Maslow’s hierarchy (not just the the foundation) because the sense of connection, of respect, of fulfillment are just as essential to developing teens as food, as transportation, as shelter, as safety.

Hats off to my colleague for leveraging her community to meet these needs. In doing so, she also challenged me.

God will meet all your needs. Philippians 4:19

Typical, 2025 version

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

It’s been a pretty typical week for 2025– a virtual genocide continues in Gaza (albeit with talks of a coming ceasefire and hostage release, all of which we’ve heard before), the US government is shut down, four people were killed in a church shooting an hour away, and Jane Goodall — a universal treasure– passed away. Oh, and I’ve spent the week trying to provide an equitable educational opportunity to six sections of high school science students.

Here’s what’s going on — I am the instructional coordinator in a small charter school on the border of Detroit and Dearborn. You could drive right by us and not know we are there. We operate out of a run-down former Catholic elementary school which we rent for a rumored gasp-worthy sum from the Archdiocese of Detroit. The parking lot of this building, which our busses have to traverse twice a day, is literally crumbling under our feet/wheels. To come onto the property each day, I have to ignore the willful negligence that would allow a literal lake to form in the center of the asphalt, but I digress.

We aren’t glamorous is my point. The building is too hot in the fall and spring because we have no air conditioning and too hot in the winter because of the antiquated boiler system we use to heat it. Windows need repair, and the gym, which we use as cafeteria, gym, and auditorium, is way too small to host any kind of athletic competition. If you could, based on facilities, choose to teach anywhere else, you probably would. Or, if you could choose to teach students who read at grade level or who have involved parents or who come to school prepared to learn every day, you would probably choose to do that.

But we aren’t that school.

Nevertheless, we have almost 300 students who deserve a high quality education. And we can’t provide that — we can’t get them up to their current grade level, we can’t adequately prepare them for postsecondary education or the work world, we can’t give them an opportunity to change their circumstances — without well-trained teachers, and I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there isn’t a surplus of those lying around.

This is my 6th year at my school, and every single year we’ve had at least one, if not two or three, classes covered by long term substitute teachers or, more recently, online alternatives, and that’s not because we aren’t doing everything we can to find teachers — we are!

So here’s what happens — each spring we post all of our openings, then we interview all summer, we make offers to the most qualified people, we believe we are fully staffed for the fall, then days before school starts, we realize that one or more of our teachers has changed their mind and moved on — maybe for more pay, maybe for a different environment, maybe for a promotion. The reason doesn’t matter. We suddenly find ourselves with a hole to fill.

Now, because this is our reality, we do always staff 2-3 permanent building substitutes. These folks are salaried employees who come into the building every day. They are typically not certified teachers or subject matter experts, but they are committed members of our team who know and love our students. We also have a creative leadership team that has found myriad work-arounds over the years.

This year’s shortages were looming all summer — we found and hired multiple math and science teachers only to have each of them move on before the first day of school, so in the final hours we made a plan. Our Geometry and Algebra II courses would be staffed by a returning qualified educator. Our financial literacy course would be taught by a permanent employee who also runs his own business. Algebra I, Principles of Physics, and Chemistry would be covered by a company called Elevate K-12. This company hires certified teachers who live in other locations to zoom into our classrooms and provide high quality instruction. For these classes, we provide an in-person facilitator — a member of our team who knows the students and manages all on-location needs such as attendance, providing physical materials, and managing any student behavior issues. This is our second year using Elevate, and although last year’s start was bumpy, I must say that we have found our rhythm.

With all of those classes covered, we still had three sections of Biology and three sections of Earth Science to cover with days remaining before students would arrive. With no applicants in the hiring stream, we turned to an agency that provides long-term subs to area schools. (You read that right — the teacher shortage is so profound that agencies exist solely to provide long-term substitutes.) That agency sent us two people to interview. We chose the one who had some experience in a high school science classroom, and she started right away.

She did a good job of getting to know the people, finding her way around the building, fostering relationships with our students, and showing up for work everyday…until she didn’t.

And now we are looking again.

The students have not had a teacher now for seven school days. They have had members of our team covering, and I have been providing assignments (without instruction) and grading papers. Even if I could stay in the classroom every day, I don’t know enough about population dynamics or the chemical composition of the sun to guide these young minds through their learning. And I can’t stay in the classroom anyway — I have a whole job of coaching and supporting the other teachers in the building in their quest to meet the needs of our students who have profound knowledge gaps and who nevertheless have dreams and goals and deserve every opportunity to make them happen.

No, we need to find someone qualified to teach these classes.

My principal sent me a calendar invite to join her for an interview on Thursday — someone the agency sent to take over these courses. He was a career scientist — full of content knowledge. However, although he’d done some one-on-one tutoring over the years, he’d never been in a classroom, never kept a grade book, never presented with a slide deck. We’re starting week six of classes on Monday and we need someone to jump in there, hit the ground running, and salvage what is left of this semester for these kids.

So we’re still looking, and I’m still giving assignments and grading and encouraging students and their substitutes to stay the course. This is where we are, and this is what we have.

Meanwhile, a few states away, grown men who have their education can’t agree on how to fund the government while they are simultaneously allowing millions to be spent rounding up undocumented immigrants.

I wonder if they care that 411,549 teaching positions in the US remain unfilled or filled by folks not fully certified. I wonder if they care about the students impacted by those vacancies, many of whom are from low-income homes that struggle to meet their everyday needs for food, housing, and transportation. I wonder if they think about that when they are deadlocked on their decision over spending for healthcare that will most certainly impact these same families.

I wonder who we have become and how this has become just another typical week.

Do you wonder, too?

Seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Isaiah 1:17

If you or someone you know (certified or not) has a background in science and a heart for kids, click on this link and tell them I sent you. (We have openings at our elementary school, too.)

Back to School: Before and After

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

I write a post like this almost every year — scroll back, you’ll see! Each fall, I can’t stop myself! I’m still filled with the child-like wonder and excitement of going back to school. I mean, yeah, I had outfits picked out, bought a new pair of school shoes (okay, two pair!) and kept them fresh for day one (and two!). I had my classic teacher terror nightmare — only this year it wasn’t me showing up naked, late, and unprepared, it was my teaching cohort! And I’m here to tell you that the stress was not less!

I get so excited about the return to school because it holds so much possibility — imagine the potential for transformation!! And in any story of transformation you need the “before” pic. Let me see if I can paint it for you.

The students first showed up on the Thursday before Labor Day. I can spot the freshman from a mile away. They shyly and awkwardly accompany their parents and older or younger siblings. They stand quietly as their people sign them in, looking around to see who else is there, who is looking at them, who is judging them, who can see their insecurity.

Sophomores roll up with slightly more confidence, sometimes with a parent tagging along ten paces behind. These students steal glances, seeing what looks familiar — teachers, friends, anything.

Juniors have just a hint of swagger — they know the drill — they know who’s who, what’s what, and where’s where. They quickly run through the requisite stops — schedule pick-up, bus sign up, sports physical — then find their friends to take laps inside the building, check out new students, get into a little harmless mischief, or do a little peacocking.

Seniors? You can’t tell them nothin’. They have their hair done, are wearing a dope ‘fit, and have texted their friends to arrive at the same time. They run this place — they are beaming and bouncing. This is their year and they know it.

And that’s all on the Thursday before school even starts — before the three-day weekend, before reality hits, before they have to arrive on time, sit in an assigned seat, do the coursework, take notes, stand in lines, or listen intently.

But all that has begun now, too. We have finished a week of students being in the building, running to get to class before the bell, asking permission to use the bathroom, looking for a snack, trying to hide their phones, getting caught with their phones, turning over their phones, and waiting to get their phones back at the end of the day.

They came in on Tuesday, and we were ready for them.

Our teachers had on shirts emblazoned with our Activate Excellence motto, arriving early to put finishing touches on their rooms and man their stations in the gym for arrival. We had some teachers collecting phones, some handing out schedules, and some stationed as greeters. There were hugs and fist bumps and hand shakes with our returning students, so it wasn’t difficult to pick out those who are new to our building — freshmen, of course, but also quite a few transfers.

In Detroit, a district with over 50,000 students, most high schools have enrollments of over 700, and some have over 1000. Our charter high school is small — under 300 students — so we often get students who found those larger contexts to be untenable. Maybe they were overwhelmed. Maybe they didn’t find a connection or friend group. Maybe they got into a fight and are now dealing with the aftermath. Whatever the reason, we often end up with a unique collection of students who for whatever reason couldn’t or didn’t want to make it happen somewhere else.

We’re a charter school — so students choose to come to us. Granted, sometimes that choice is because they have run out of other options, but I like to think they choose us because we are a small community. Everyone knows everyone else — no one goes unseen. If you came to school without a jacket, someone saw that. If you look particularly down or quiet on a given day, a person noticed. You’re hungry? You know who to ask for a snack. You don’t have a ride home? Chances are you have a connection with a staff member who will help you figure it out.

Changed your hair? We saw it.

Grew up over the summer? We know.

Your ability to manage conflict is improving? We give you kudos.

Let me give you a glimpse at an “after” pic.

For the past four years, we have had a student in the building who was classified as “homeless” and qualified for resources under the federal McKinney-Vento Act. Last June, this student graduated despite having transportation challenges, learning difficulties, and very little family support. Staff at the school made it possible for him to attend prom and participate in all senior activities, and the young man was repeatedly overwhelmed with gratitude. When he walked into our decision day celebration in early May, he hugged several of us and wiped away tears. When he arrived at prom, he approached staff members, tearfully repeating, “I can’t believe this is actually happening!” and when he showed up for graduation, he could barely find words. He savored every moment, and his classmates and teachers saw it for what it was — the realization of a dream.

On that day, he didn’t know what his summer or future would look like. Because of his situation, he was having difficulty getting access to the documents that would make him work eligible, but late in summer we received word that he had what he needed and had found employment in a hospital. This past week, he reached out to one of our staff members and said he was working a lot of overtime and was looking for an affordable apartment.

The staff member reported this in our group chat, and I must say that in the middle of a school day at the end of the first week of school, when everyone is getting tired and ready to go home for the weekend, that little notification reminded us all what a special place we work in.

Just four years ago, this young man was one of our awkward freshmen — he missed a lot of school days, and we noticed. He often came unprepared to learn, and we said something. He had the support of a friend who got him to the building every day, but he came late and left early. It was frustrating, to be sure, but we found ways to work with him. He had the support of the social worker, the principal, the resource room teacher, and literally every single adult in the building. It was not uncommon to see him checking in with one of our custodians who might as well be everyone’s momma.

And now he’s a high school graduate, he’s got a job, and he’s looking for an apartment. If that’s not a transformation, I don’t know what one is.

I guess that’s why I get excited every September — that’s why I can’t stop writing about it. Every day is a miracle waiting to happen. I can’t believe I get to do this. Just like my student, “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

[We] will see the goodness of God in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13

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Rested and Ready for a new Rhythm

Featured ~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

I wrapped up school year 2024-2025 –watched another group of seniors cross the stage into adulthood, entered final grades, and cleaned up my classroom.

Next, I joined my husband in clearing the clutter in our home.

Then we left town for two short treks — one to play with our granddaughters in Ohio and another to lie on the beach of Lake Huron. We crossed the miles listening to podcasts and chatting about everything from family to politics to music to our future. With our grand girls we lazed in the pool, played Uno and Skip-Bo, and were entertained by intricately choreographed dances. Near the beach, we ate well, slept long, took leisurely walks, and lost track of time.

They were luxurious and welcome — these two little trips back to back — and now we are re-entering real life. Since we’ve returned home we’ve been in the business of unpacking, doing laundry, tending to yard work, and taking stock of the new rhythms we are noticing since a) my husband transitioned from an almost four-decade-long career in church work to a private counseling practice and as b) I am making the shift from classroom teacher to full-time instructional coordinator. Some of the work each of us does in our new roles is similar to what we have done in the past, however, the routines and workloads are quite different. While he has been adapting to his new rhythm for over eighteen months, my real shift begins this week as I embrace the responsibilities of my new role.

How will it be the same? How will it be different?

What won’t change is my morning commute — I will still drive 30 minutes east from Ypsilanti to the edge of Detroit. I will park my car in the same spot, work with many of the same colleagues and students, and follow the same daily bell schedule and school year calendar. I will also continue to serve on our school’s leadership team, meeting at least weekly to plan initiatives and events, troubleshoot current issues, and collaborate toward best practices for our building.

However, many things will change — I will no longer have my own classroom. I will no longer have my own students or a grade book or lesson plans or the responsibility for all that happens inside a teacher’s classroom through the course of the day — behavior management, attendance, organizing materials, and managing the constant flow of information.

I will have plenty of new responsibilities on my plate. In addition to coaching the instructional moves of a handful of teachers like I did last year, I will also be partnering with those teachers to unpack curriculum, analyze assessments, and plan instruction. Further, I will be our building’s testing coordinator, responsible for all things PSAT/SAT, ACT Workkeys, and MSTEP.

All of this, of course, is in the interest of our students. I came to this position because I recognize the systemic inequities in American education that have benefitted some students (mostly white and affluent) and have disadvantaged others (mostly low-income and/or students of color). I wanted to lend my years of experience and expertise in service of closing the gap that continues to widen; I wanted to provide a high level of instruction and rigor for students who have, through no fault of their own, fallen multiple grade levels behind their peers who live sometimes just a few miles away.Over the past five years, I feel I have had limited success. I have, within my classroom, provided glimpses of rigor, moments of engagement, and small gains for individual students.

However, individual teachers in isolation cannot overcome centuries — literal centuries! — of harm. They do make a difference, of course, but for the sweeping change that is needed, we need a broader — a more systemic — solution.

I joined the team at my school in August of 2020. Covid had sent all of our students home the previous March, and because of the disproportionate impact on low income communities of color, particularly Detroit, our district provided instruction virtually for the entire 2020-2021 school year. The administrative team was making it up as they went along, and I — a teacher returning to the high school classroom after a six year hiatus — was enthusiastic about giving it my best. I popped into Zoom rooms, chatting with any students who would talk to me, leading lessons, and providing office hours every afternoon. We didn’t close any systemic gaps that year; we merely did what we could to slow the ever-widening distance between our students’ academic progress and that of those in neighboring districts.

The following year (2021-2022) , fully masked, we returned to in-person learning, bouncing back to virtual instruction several times throughout the year. It actually took us that year and the next (2022-2023) to re-establish routines within the building. We were on pretty solid footing as we started school year 2023-2024, but some mid-year leadership changes kept us from moving too far forward.

The standardized test scores told the story — about a tenth of our students were proficient in English Language Arts and none — 0% — were proficient in math. Our staff took in those realities as our newly appointed principal delivered them before the return of students in the fall of 2024. She gave us the hard truth and then cast a vision for us — we, the staff and our students, would activate excellence. We could no longer allow this to be the reality for the students in our building — things were going to change.

And, over the year I did see evidence of shift — in attitude, in practice, in thinking. However in order to overcome systemic inequities of the proportions that I have witnessed, we need a reimagining of what school likes like in our context. The principal sets the tone, and she has. The leadership team has come alongside our principal, supporting her vision, agreeing with the need, and implementing strategies. Staff members have also caught the vision, to a degree, but the kind of transformation that is needed is going to take the whole team — every teacher, every paraprofessional, every custodian, every social worker — to activate excellence, consistently and continuously, day in and day out.

Certainly in my own classroom, I have strived to provide excellent instruction, to have high expectations, and to inspire my students toward greatness, but I will admit that my efforts have sometimes been inconsistent. I have grown tired, and I have from time to time been merely mediocre. However, as I step into this role, I have been given an opportunity to activate excellence beyond my classroom — taking care to do my very best with the responsibilities I have been given, and to bring other staff members along with me.

I will push my team of teachers — some of whom are experienced, some who are brand new — toward excellence. Together, we will grow this year, beginning by building relationships, but then quickly moving into strategies, into accountability, into doing whatever it takes to activate excellence for our students — to give them the tools they need to move forward into their futures.

It’s a big job, but I’m rested, I have the vision, and I’ve been equipped. May God grant me the strength to persevere, the compassion to both see and inspire my team, and the heart to sustain my insufferable belief in restoration.

He is faithful, and He will do it. I Thessalonians 5:24

“Money” Moments

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Eight days. That’s it. Eight more days with this group of seniors, and then, I might possibly be done with my years as a classroom teacher.

I’ve known this was coming. Last summer I took the role of Instructional Coach at the same school where I’ve been teaching since 2020. I interviewed, accepted the position, and came to terms with the fact that I would not be in the ELA classroom even for school year 2024-2025. But, things being as they are in the world of education where teachers are hard to come by, my replacement was not found. So, a long-term substitute took three sections from my previous load, and we crammed all the seniors into the two classes that I would cover.

It was my idea. I’ve been teaching senior English on and off since the fall of 2005, and angsty as they are, these are my people. They are wrestling to find their path from childhood to the world of adults, and that path (let me assure you) is quite circuitous. One day they are presenting their goals for their future via slideshow from the front of the room, the next day I stop them from throwing paper wads at each other. One day they applaud a peer who got accepted into college, the next day I’m having a conversation with them about how we don’t always have to announce when we smell someone’s body odor or flatulence. One might stop by to explain that they’ve been absent because they’ve been “going through it” and another might blurt out “you got any snacks?” in the middle of a lesson.

Yes, they get under my skin. Yes, they do indeed at times offend my sense of smell. Yes, they do give me a challenge every day of my working life, but these students, year after year after year, these seniors, have helped me to learn, to grow, to evolve.

One of this year’s seniors interviewed me this week for an article he’s writing for another class. His questions showed me that he sees me: “Mrs. Rathje, why do you take so many steps each day?” They showed me that he wants to make a connection: “What made you want to be a teacher?” And they showed me that he wants to gauge my commitment to him and our community: “Do you like teaching here?” That conversation gave us an opportunity — to sit one-on-one, knee-to-knee — to see each other not as teacher and student, but as two humans who are sharing the same space for a small season of time.

That is the money of teaching, friends — those intermittent interchanges that happen when you least expect them. These moments are what I treasure most from all my years in the classroom.

All year, I have navigated two roles — instructional coach in the AM, ELA teacher in the PM — and since I’ve known it was a transition year, I have tried to see ways that I can experience these same kinds of moments with the teachers that I coach. Most of the time our relationship looks like me observing a class then meeting with the teacher afterward to provide feedback — data and my observation of moves that were impactful and less impactful. Many of the teachers in our building lack experience, training, or certification, and my role is to facilitate their transition to being more experienced, more skilled, more effective. This path, too, can be circuitous. Teaching is hard work — all day long our teachers lead classrooms full of students at various levels of skill and engagement with the task of capturing the attention of 100% and providing them with high-level instruction, all while following our school’s instructional model and managing multiple interruptions.

One day I observe a teacher greeting his students at the door, providing them directions as they enter, and ensuring that all students are engaged in the day’s learning. Three days later, I notice that same teacher hasn’t replied to my email, is late to a meeting, or didn’t notice the student sitting in his room who was supposed to be in a different class.

Just like with my seniors, I am not looking for perfection; I am looking for growth.

I must confess this is hard for me. Any student I’ve ever had will tell you that my expectations are high, and if they are high for students, they are exponentially more so for the teachers of those students. I didn’t come out of a medically imposed leave from teaching to do a substandard job for students. No. I returned to the classroom in the middle of Covid because of the vast inequities in America’s school system. I came back to push the bar higher for students who have been historically underserved, under-challenged, and undereducated. I am not trying to enable low expectations for either my students or their teachers.

Yet…

Yet, I have learned from a couple decades worth of students (not to mention my own children), that folks don’t want to meet your expectations unless they know that you love and accept them for who they are. If I don’t love and accept you when you are late to class, smell of weed, and don’t know what unit we are on, what are the chances that you’ll be able to hear my expectations let alone take a swing at them. If I don’t hug you in the hallway, why should you listen to me when I approach you at your desk. If I can’t hear your request to use the bathroom or get a drink of water, how will you hear me give you feedback on a paper.

Over the years, it’s gotten easier for me to love a kid, even when they are disruptive, even when they are failing, even when they skip my class. I used to be very judgmental, but I’ve learned that judgment pushes kids away; love draws them closer.

I was tempted to judge one of my teachers recently. I was walking to my classroom one morning when I noticed a group of students standing outside a classroom instead of going in. “What’s going on here?” I asked, “why aren’t you all going in?” The students replied that the principal was inside speaking with the teacher. They intimated that the teacher was “getting in trouble” for something. I was curious, but instead of getting more information, I moved the students to my classroom to give the teacher and the principal room to speak. For all I knew, the conversation was of a personal and unrelated nature, and it was none of my or the students’ business.

However, later, when the teacher wanted to speak with me, I found out that they had been reprimanded. They had made a poor choice in the heat of the moment and things had escalated into the realm of unprofessionalism. We were sitting one-on-one, knee to knee, and this teacher was expressing regret and shame and the desire to undo what had been done. And in that moment I knew what to do. Years of parenting and teaching missteps had taught me that what this teacher needed was not judgment, but love. So I gave it. I heard the confession and acknowledged the regret, “Oh, wow. Yeah. That’s unfortunate.” I affirmed the teacher’s record, “This is not your typical m.o. I’ve seen you many times manage similar situations with finesse.” I heard their concern about the impact of this action on their relationship with the principal, “I see what you mean, yet I believe our principal to be fair, and I know she values opportunities to restore.” I encouraged the teacher to give the situation some space and then to circle back to the principal for a follow-up conversation. I finished with, “This moment does not define you; it’s unfortunate, but it’s over. You’ll get past it.”

In that moment, I saw it. I was going to miss my classroom for sure, but I wasn’t going to miss the money moments. They might be fewer and further in between, but I would still get opportunities to experience rich human to human interactions with the teachers I would be coaching. Even better, I might be showing them the impact of such conversations in a way that could inspire them to seek opportunities to engage similarly with their own students.

I am certainly going to miss my classroom, but here’s to loving my new students.

For of his fullness, we have all received grace upon grace. John 1: 16

Here’s the thing(s)…

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

*A quick note, sources and resources are linked in the text.

I’ve been kind of quiet in this space lately. It’s May, and I’ve only posted six times so far this year. For a girl who posted almost daily when this blog began, six times in four months is virtually silent.

But here’s the thing….

Just kidding…there isn’t one thing that is keeping me from putting words on the page (or rather the screen)…it’s more like a steady stream of things that seem to keep coming at me (at you?) in such a way that I can’t really focus. I can’t keep my eyes on one thing for long enough to form a thought, let alone an opinion.

At work, I’m down to just a few weeks with my seniors, and their excitement/ambivalence/annoyance would be a lot to process and respond to on its own, but we’ve also had Family Conferences and Decision Day. Each of these events takes a team effort to prepare for and execute. (You know the drill — communications, set up, station assignments, and the running of the actual event, and although neither is my responsibility, I am a member of the team.) I also have had the responsibility this year to recognize students of the month (one for each teacher in the building) and honor roll recipients. This entails identifying honorees, pulling them from class for a photo, and sending those photos to someone — preferably not myself — to have them loaded into a Canva document before they are printed out and posted in the hallways. In addition to all of this “normal” school activity, the authorizer of our school charter is visiting us this week for an educational program review that we learned about just several weeks ago. Such a visit, like school accreditation, requires the submission of countless artifacts such as lesson plans, IEPs, coaching trackers, professional development documents, etc. I was part of a team that pulled all those together and submitted them electronically. This past week leadership and staff met to prepare for the visit that will be spread over three days — all while school is in session, you know, the actual teaching and learning part. Spring is always busy at school, but this year is exceptionally so.

At home, things are a bit more relaxed –we have no major repairs pending, and we’re happily in the midst of installing our garden — but if home life includes extended family, then I have to disclose that my mother and stepfather have had some pretty difficult challenges for all of 2025 that just right now seem to be stabilizing if you don’t mention the fact that at least one of them is recently ready to start exploring assisted living facilities, which takes the coordination of six adult children to do lots of fact finding. I would also be remiss if I did not mention that my dear Aunt Margaret, after many years of relative health, has taken a sudden and recent decline.

All of this is, of course within the realm of “normal” adult life. You have also had busy seasons at work and at home — they come and they go — and although they are at times taxing to navigate, we somehow make it through to the other side in time for the next wave of whatever it is that is coming.

But these are not the things that are blurring my focus. No, they take time, of course, and energy, but they are manageable. I think what has me off balance may have many of us off balance — the continuous stream of government actions that may or may not impact us directly, but nevertheless are jarring to the brain and that lead us, at least me, to at times retreat, to dissociate, to not want to process or deal with any of it.

In 2018, presidential strategist Stephen K. Bannon bragged about that administration’s strategy to “flood the zone” with initiatives. The idea was to roll out a constant flow of orders and directives to throw “the opposition” (you know, other Americans) off balance so that they could not respond (Source). Since that administration regained the presidential office this past January, this strategy is being used again, only to the nth degree.

In the first 100 days of this administration (in just under four months) we have been overwhelmed by actions such as: the pardoning of those who invaded the US capitol on January 6, 2020; the freezing of funds for cancer research, Meals on Wheels, and disaster relief; the implementation of tariffs on every country in the world, the pause in tariffs, the subsequent roll-back of said tariffs, and currently, the exponentially high tariffs on China (which will certainly impact most of us); the firing of countless federal employees followed by the attempt to rehire some of them; the withholding of funds to public universities who refuse to comply with the administration’s agenda; the deportation of countless immigrants, some whom are legal residents, with some being sent to foreign prisons; the continuing and hard to follow involvement in the ongoing conflicts in Israel/Gaza and Russia/Ukraine; the president’s attendance at the funeral of the Pope followed by his posting of an image of himself dressed as the pope on social media; and this is just scratching the surface (Source). You might be shouting at me right now, “what about the…[fill in the blank].”

Frankly, I’ve got to look at what is happening on the national scene through a peep hole with one eye covered. I can’t look at it in full — and that’s exactly the idea. This administration is using the everything, everywhere, all at once strategy to keep us all in this state of slack-jawed disbelief.

And that is where I find myself, only I’ve moved from stunned to numb. I feel detached from reality, not wanting to engage because I can’t keep up. But that is what this administration has said it wants — to “flood the zone” so that we become overwhelmed.

But here’s the thing — the actual thing — we can’t do that.

We can walk away. We can take breaks. We can sit for two hours after a long day and work on a 1000-piece puzzle depicting van Gogh’s “Irises”, or take a walk through the park plucking lilac sprigs, inhaling their beauty on a glorious spring day, or lose track of time choosing the latest fiction from the library shelves, or binge-watch “The Four Seasons” on Netflix, but then we’ve got to re-engage.

We’ve got to notice the actions that are being proposed — such as cuts to education, to PBS, to NPR!! — we’ve got to let our voices be heard — through letter writing, phone calling, boycotting or participating in peaceful protests. What we tolerate, what we look away from, what we allow — these are the things we accept.

And, overwhelmed though I might be, I cannot accept funding cuts to public education — not when I see the inequities that already exist. I cannot accept the devaluing of other humans — not immigrants, not members of the LGBTQ+ community, not minorities, not women, not anyone. I cannot accept that as the profits of billionaires increase their taxes are not commensurate, especially not at the expense of the poor. I cannot accept a disregard for the fragility of the environment — when we know better we have to do better.

We are indeed looking at a flood of issues, and each of us also has our own life to manage. None of us can stop a flood alone, but we can each do our part — we can warn the others, we can grab a bucket and start bailing, we can plug a hole, we can help those who are drowning.

Together we can weather a flood.

Beloved, let us love one another. 1 John 4:7

Educational Break

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

On Thursday afternoon, I tidied my classroom, finalized some grades, and walked away from school and toward my Spring Break. The mere thought of not having to set an alarm for 10 days would’ve put a pep in my step if I’d had any pep left at all, but I did not.

All teachers are exhausted by this time in the year. Even though we had Christmas break, even though we might’ve had a long weekend or even a full week off in February, we’ve been, since September, coordinating learning for our students, planning multiple presentations each day, keeping records, reporting to our supervisors, and (and this is the most draining part) making countless in-the-moment decisions:

What is the first thing I need to do when I walk in the door?

Do I have an extra stapler, know where more chart paper is, and can I laminate another hall pass for Room 117?

No, you can’t go to my classroom unattended; yes, I can get you a bandaid; no I don’t know where Mr. Smith is,

You can’t go to the bathroom right now, but ask me again in 10 minutes.

Yes, you can take that pencil, borrow that book, eat that snack.

You sit over here; you stay there.

Yes, your topic sentence is solid, but no, that is not an adequate example.

You’ve used AI here, and you must re-do the assignment.

You’ve used AI here, and you cannot re-do the assignment.

Yes, you can turn it in late. No, the deadline has passed.

Yes, you can work with a partner. No, you can’t get the answers from a peer.

This is non-stop all day long, but teachers, while keeping this decision-making machine running, must also, intervene in interpersonal conflicts, address misbehavior, meet demands for mandatory documentation, and, oh yeah, provide high quality instruction.

And most of us are happy to do all of this. We see each piece as necessary for supporting human development, for preparing the next generation of humans for meaningful life in our society. We’re teaching our students to co-exist with one another, to manage themselves, to hold themselves accountable, to read, to write, to identify a career, and to begin to take steps toward attaining that career. We’re in this work because we like kids but also because we believe in the power of education to create possibility for students of all backgrounds and abilities and to create a better future for all of us.

In the school where I work — a small charter school on the edge of Detroit, where 99% of my students are Black, where 100% of the students qualify for free breakfast and lunch, where almost all of the students are below the national average in reading and math scores by no fault of their own but because of centuries-long inequity in education–the teachers, like me, believe in the transformative power of education. We see it as an opportunity to not only change lives but to save lives.

In addition to the exhausting work that teaching is in any context, teachers in buildings like mine have the added weight of wondering if our kids have enough to eat, if they have a home to sleep in, if their home is safe, if they will have what they need for the next 10 days, or if they will be alone, hungry, cold, or in danger. Our students have the same needs as any students in the country, but they have additional needs as a result of poverty that stems from systemic inequities that go back through the history of our nation — school segregation, red-lining in real estate, unconscious bias in hiring practices, and other elements of historical and current systemic racism.

So, you might imagine how I am feeling, heading into a much-needed break while simultaneously worrying about my students’ welfare, to learn that the president of this country has ordered the Director of the Department of Education to dismantle it.

You may say, “Settle down, Kristin, most funding for education comes from the state.”

That is true, most money for education comes from the state — but do you know what does come from the federal government? Funds that make a difference for students like mine. For example, Title I, which provides $18 million to low-income districts. It’s not enough to make up for the economic disparity between neighboring districts, but it’s a start. The Department of Education also provides IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act) funds to the tune of $15 billion to help districts provide additional resources to students with learning disabilities, cognitive impairments, and other diagnoses such as autism. Source.

Furthermore, the US Department of Education manages Federal Student Aid for post-secondary education, providing over $120 billion annually in grants, loans, and work study that allows students like mine to dream of a career. And not just students like mine — I myself relied on federal money to get my degrees, didn’t you? Source

Can you imagine what might happen in communities across the country if high school seniors no longer have access to the FAFSA? if they can no longer apply for federal dollars to fund their education through grants and/or loans? Tuition alone for Michigan State University is over $16,000 a year. Add in room and board and your talking about $35,000+. Most students need at least four years to get a basic degree. Who among us can fund $140k without the aid of at least a student loan?

Now, the State of Michigan is prepared to fund up to two years of community college and up to $5,500 per year at state universities, but states rely on the federal mechanism of the FAFSA to distribute those funds. If the DOE is dismantled, how long will it take for states to pivot to their own systems to ensure that students who need these funds get them? And, where will students borrow the balance that is not covered by state funds if they don’t have access to federal student loans?

How many students will take post-secondary education right off the table — including trade school programs that prepare our electricians, plumbers, welders, builders, and the like?

As I consider the potential outcomes of such action, the faces of my seniors are appearing in my mind — J. who wants to be a programmer, who has already completed several summers developing coding skills, L. who plans to be a nurse, K. who wants to be a truck driver, and S. who plans to become a police officer. None of these students can take one more step without the FAFSA and right this minute the Secretary of Education (who has zero experience with issues that impact schools) is busy laying off DOE employees under a directive from the president.

I am exhausted, and it’s my Spring Break, but I can’t just sit by and watch this happen.

So, I’m doing two things: First, I’m writing this post, and second I’m committing to use the app “Five Calls” to involve myself in the American process.

Here is how it works. Download the app, select the issue you are concerned about, and enter your zipcode. You will see a timeline of updates on that issue and a list of representatives from your district. One click later, you will see a page like this:

You click on the number, wait for an answer, read the script, and and click a blue button to register whether you left a voicemail or made contact, and the app sends you to the next number.

In just a few moments this morning I made three calls.

This may seem like something small — just like my boycotting may seem small and ineffectual to some –but if we truly believe that our government is of, by, and for the people, then we, the people, need to get involved. We need to do something when we see that our government is not representing all of the people — particularly when they are taking steps to further disenfranchise the most marginalized among us.

Look, you’re probably exhausted and overworked, too. You might feel like this is not worth your time, but perhaps you can take a journey back to your high school self, remember what it feels like to have a dream in front of you — of a career, a family, a whole adult life. Remember what that feels like? Don’t we want to make sure that every kid in America has an opportunity to pursue their dreams?

If you believe in the transformative power of education like I do, I urge you to make 5 calls — today, tomorrow, and until our voices are heard.

It’s a small decision you and I can make that could make a monumental difference for our kids, our country, our future.

Speak up … defend the rights of the poor and the needy. Proverbs 31:9