Years ago, I heard Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely speak on their book tour for All-American Boys. The authors shared how at every school they had visited, they asked how many students had conversations with their friends about race. No matter the demographics of the school, the overwhelming response was none. Since then, I have tested their question with my own school, and my own experience yielded the same results: Race is not a popular topic of conversation among young people.
In a recent staff meeting, conversation turned to engaging students with more relevant issues related to equity. Several teachers spoke about there not being time in class for such things, or having space in the curriculum. I wondered whether time was the only issue. It seems to me we have created a cycle. By avoiding engaging students in conversations about race, we have created adults who do not know how to have such conversations themselves.
I, too, am a victim of this cycle, but I strongly believe that meaningful conversation has the potential to change the world. I also strongly believe this world needs changing. So, I made space in my curriculum through careful lesson planning, I did some research to educate myself, and I prepared myself to model empathy.
Our current unit of study involves lots of practice making inferences based on explicit details in a text. So, instead of replacing a lesson with a conversation about race, I selected a text that would open the door for a conversation and could serve the existing instructional purpose.
I began with a familiar text to establish a thinking routine. I prompted students before reading “What I’m Made Of” by Rebecca Kai Dotlich by sharing the question “What do you know about the speaker based on the details included in the poem?” The poem consists of a list of items the speaker is “made of,” such as “Of barn doors and basketball hoops, of maple donuts on autumn days, of bikes and guitars and dirt roads by campsites.”
After reading, students mentioned things like the speaker plays basketball, seems to live in the country, and is around the same age as my sixth graders. Because nobody noticed, I nudged students by pointing out how I love that the poet includes a weakness or vulnerability in addition to naming their own strengths. They immediately named that I was referring to the speaker struggling with spelling and being good at math based on the lines “Of struggles with spelling and genius with numbers.”
Next, we repeated the process with another poem. This time I shared only the text of the picture book I Am Every Good Thing written by Derrick Barnes and illustrated by Gordon C. James. Our focus was the same question: “What do you know about the speaker based on the details included in the poem?”
This time, students shared things like the speaker is a boy, he likes nature, he plays basketball and baseball, and he’s a swimmer. They also mentioned how confident he is. Again, I nudged by asking if this poem had any sign of the speaker’s weakness or vulnerability. I paused while students returned to the poem to be sure.
An excited Carmelo repeated the line “‘Every now and then, I am afraid.’”
Ari followed up with the line “‘I am not what they call me.’”
Jada jumped in by blurting, “He got a lot of stuff.” I understood her to mean that he was carrying a lot of emotional baggage.
“He was insecure and he is a young person, not an adult yet. He is a male and is telling himself he’s worth love, so times must have been hard,” Brian summarized.
Ari added, “It feels like he has been bullied.”
We paused to capture all of the good thinking they had been doing in written responses to the guiding question before moving forward. We talked about the explicit details and how we used them to draw conclusions, or make inferences, about the speaker.
Then, I revealed that the poem I had just shared was actually the text of a picture book and held the book up for them to see. “I have to tell you, when I first read the dedication page of this book, it made me see the whole poem differently. I am interested to see if the same is true for you. Derrick Barnes dedicated the book to these people. Do you recognize any of these names?”
I shared the text of the dedication, which reads, “To Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, EJ Bradford, Jordan Edwards, Michael Brown, Jordan Davis, and Julian Mallory.”
Azhar said she had heard the name Trayvon Martin, and I saw some heads nod.
“They’ve died,” Jaxon shared. “They were shot by police.”
Because I had done some research before the lesson, I was able to clarify. “Thank you for sharing what you know, Jaxon. You are right. Many of the names on this list represent people who were shot and killed by police. What they actually all have in common is that they are young Black males, from around your age up to age 20, who were shot and killed because somebody—not always police—misjudged who they were, misjudged their intentions.”
Our classroom got quiet.
I waited.
Naomi broke the silence. “Now I’m sad.”
Mikey added, “That’s a lot to take in.”
“Yes, I agree. Does the dedication change your ideas about the poem the way it did for me? What do you think this author was trying to tell us by including this dedication?” I asked. By holding the dedication for the end, I was able to show students how our inferences change when we gain new information.
“Guns are canceled,” Jada said.
Azhar hesitated. “Black Lives Matter?”
“They are kids and they had so much, and they lost it all,” Mikey lamented.
“They were good, too,” Ari joined in.
That’s when Jaxon spoke up again. “I can’t . . . This just makes me mad, just knowing that I am Black and that this can happen to me. I know people in my family that have died because of a misunderstanding. My hand is shaking—look.”
The classroom got quiet again. I could tell my students were at a loss for words. They needed a model for how to show empathy. How to sit alongside someone and acknowledge and validate their feelings.
“Jaxon, your words make me angry on your behalf. Your words make my heart ache for you and your family. But mostly, Jaxon, your words make me feel honored, because you trust everyone in our class enough to be real with us. That is something really special—to be trusted like that.”
I could feel the release of the collective breath we had all been holding. Having a model for how to react, students thanked Jaxon. Nadia shared that she felt the same way he did. Jaxon talked a bit more about his fears. The rest of the class listened. Some students nodded in agreement. Others offered words of support and solidarity, and Jaxon thanked them.
When their conversation seemed to close, I explained our next step. “It is important that you all hear the message from me that you, too, are every good thing. I want you to take some time today to celebrate all the good things that make up YOU by choosing one of these poems as a model for your own identity poem.”
Not only did students practice making inferences based on explicit details, but they applied their understanding to reverse the process. They had to develop explicit details that would reveal things about themselves in their poetry. My favorite lines might be the ones that are most straightforward. Lines like, “I am made of wanting to help others,” and “I am someone who wants to make a difference,” and especially, “I am Height and hope / Books and a pencil in hand / Ready to write my story.”
Maybe the meaningful conversation that came out of this lesson will not change the world, but I have no doubt these young people will.