The Shores of Lake Michigan

I'm spending the week on the shores of Lake Michigan somewhere between Michigan and Indiana in a small town called Michiana. Though I don't have any children of my own, my sister's daughter is here with us. On Sunday, Ali and I took a walk along the beach and I watched as she skipped stones on the water. Ali, a seven year old only child, skipped stones better than I ever could. As I was watching her however, I couldn't help but remember a talk that I once heard an inner city school administrator present to a state conference. She explained that her students had never walked along the beach with their pants half way rolled up. Her students don't know what the word hors d'oeuver means. They have never watched a beautiful sunset over a rural setting. As Ali and I walked I couldn't help but reflect on our luck. I hate to write it, but both Ali and I are lucky to have been born to our respective parents.

What does this mean to us as educators? What should this mean to us as educators?

If I truly had the answers to these questions, I'd be wasting my time walking along the beach. If I knew the answers I'd have a moral imperative to spread them in an attempt to create equity in the world. However, just cause I don't have the answers doesn't mean that I can ignore the questions.

I now remember that though I was thinking about these questions when Ali and I walked the beach, I didn't share them with her. I'm not sure if Ali realizes that there are people in the world who don't have what she has. Sure, she gives charity at religious school. Sure she knows that her parents distribute food to the poor.

But, does she know what this means? Should she know what this means?

I think I'm going to print off this essay and read it with Ali when I get back to the cottage. (After all, maybe one thing all educators can do is make sure that all children know that there are people in this world who are less advantaged, less lucky, than they.

In the meantime, what do you think about my questions?