Every year on December 14th, I anonymously donate to a teacher in memory of the people killed at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012. This tradition is a way, for me, of keeping the memory of those children in my heart. It’s a way of making sure I take some time to think of them. I want to hold myself accountable to remembering them.
So I’m combing through DonorsChoose, looking at the projects teachers have posted. I try to find a classroom where I can complete a project; where many students come from low-income households; where a teacher has never been funded before. I try to find a 1st grade classroom.
There are plenty who need something. The greatest nation in the world, we’re told, and yet our teachers need: cleaning supplies, rugs, fidgets, snacks, extra clothes in case of accidents, better books, headphones, dry erase boards, chart paper, markers, Kleenex.
Greatest nation in the world, we’re told.
I scroll through the projects, thinking of how old those first graders should be: 19 or 20, now. I think of their families. Their mothers.
I think of how I lost some faith in our country, when this shooting didn’t immediately bring about real gun reform. This year, I think about Brown University. Are there any of those surviving Sandy Hook 19- or 20-year-olds there?
I do what I can to remember. But I don’t understand why it’s like this.
Greatest nation in the world. Right?
The Wandering Introvert 