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This week's blessing is quiet. I thrive in, on, and around quiet.

For every good moment with the low-performing middle-school kids I work with, there are moments of mystery that are as sheer as they are frustating. I wonder what makes a 12-year-old girl so angry all the time that her first thought is to strike out at me when I greet her in the morning. I wonder why some boys of the same age derive pleasure from interrupting my classes by asking to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes. I am dumbfounded by the kids who won't even bring a pencil to my class, and when I give them one, break the point and insist they can't work.

So many ghetto kids know anger as a way of being. There is no source, no reason for it; it simply is, and they live it. They respond to kindness the way they respond to a slap in the head because they-- What? Aren't used to it? Don't trust it? I don't honestly know.

I guess that I am a part of a thing called school that is part of a world they are convinced in beyond them. Rather than seeing opportunity, they see-- What?

At the other end of the day, I tutor kids preparing the the SAT. They are on time, interested, engaged, fun. And they are doing well.

Why the difference? I don't know. I do know I can't quite find the answers in the din of the day, that I need the silence. I am grateful to find it at the end of every day.

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