Today, we walked out. At 10am, half of the school turned silent, the other half turning to hushed whispers in an instinctive understanding of respect --respect for those turned silent, and respect for those silenced, those we honored. A conglomerate of coats and poster board, of children, teenagers, and teachers, we filed out onto a sidewalk that was slightly too small, on a March Wednesday that was a bit too cold for Maryland, and braved a wind that was more characteristic of Chicago than Silver Spring. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The raised voices, shrill squeals, and constant calls for walking in the halls, from just five minutes before, had been exchanged for a silent power; and, for many of us, an overpowering silence, a reminder of the silent schools, silent for the voices wrenched from them. A reminder, too, for how quickly our voices could be silenced. We stood on the sidewalk for 17 minutes, shivering, as students held posters for passersby to read. Students excha...
Just one teacher's attempt at retaining sanity.