TAWANDA SAT IN FRONT OF a dozen young children whose eyes were dancing. She was in the place she was most comfortable, the space she’d been born to stand in: the role of educator. She’d been a teacher for a little over a decade, and now was teaching pre-kindergarten in Towson at an independent preschool program. For most of the children she worked with, Ms. Tawanda was the first teacher they would meet, and she took that seriously.
She led the class of children, about half boys and half girls, half black and half white, in the way she always did, with songs and smiles. The children loved the gold fronts on Tawanda’s front teeth—she showed them off, and the children reciprocated, showing off the gaps created by their newly lost baby teeth. They were so innocent and blameless. They were back in the KinderCare program for the first time since Monday, but had no idea why it was closed the day before.
Towson was on the outskirts of Baltimore City, about twenty miles from where Tawanda grew up and only a few miles from where she lived now. She’d believed when she first moved from Baltimore City to quieter Baltimore County that it would be enough of a buffer to provide her and her family with more safety and security. She hoped the suburbs would provide more options for her and her family. She marveled at the start the kids at her school were receiving. These young children, not even in kindergarten yet, knew their numbers, letters, colors, and basic math. Most of the kids there had similar middle-class backgrounds, but going to school with kids who looked different offered a glimpse into the diverse world they would soon inherit. This school was a place where their presence was greeted with promise and excitement, so different from the world she’d come up in—the world that had taken her brother.
Tawanda had different themes on different days. Some days the kids would come in dressed as superheroes. On others the kids would have show-and-tell. Today the kids would be talking about what they wanted to do when they got older. Some wanted to be teachers like Ms. Tawanda. Some wanted to be firefighters. Some came wearing doctors’ outfits and stethoscopes. The colorful descriptions warmed Tawanda’s heart. Almost a third wanted to be police officers, like Steven, a four-year-old with blue Crocs and a fresh haircut, his straight brown locks peeking from underneath his navy blue toy police cap. The costume onesie he wore featured a badge alongside other police insignia and a red tie. Tawanda smiled and asked why he wanted to be a police officer. He proudly replied that he wanted to help people. Tawanda loved his answer. She placed her hands on his shoulders, her smile meeting his. “That’s great that you want to be a police officer. Just make sure you are a good officer. Just be the best officer you can be and help as many people as you can.”