There is nothing more terrifying than the scream of a mother whose child is in danger

To the Mama Bears who protect their babies and all the people who educate them

I was on my way to school just after seven this morning when I heard the horrifying scream, the scream of a mother. At the same time I heard the screech of brakes slammed on, bringing the car to a full stop before it could hit the young child.

I was across the street so I ran over and got to the mom as soon as I could. She had run out into the street to grab her child, about two years old. She had put him in the car, but when she went to the other side to secure her baby in a car seat, the kid who was maybe two jumped out and ran into the street, almost getting hit by an SUV.

Thank God the driver of the SUV was going slowly and watching. So many are not. That child was nearly killed today.

The driver stopped and put her car in park, hazards on. She seemed likely to be a grandmother because her immediate task was making sure the children were safe and the mom was okay. While other cars honked and drove around her, she ignored them.

I stayed to help until the mom seemed calm and had the kids safely in the car. The young child tries to run out into the street and doesn’t understand how dangerous it is. His mother kept crying.

I cried all the way to school. I just wanted to hug my school children. I could not stop thinking about how close to death any of them could have been.

One of my heroines in this world is the amazing Kathleen Cochran of Moms for All Paths To Recovery. I suggest you check out her Substack. She turned her fight for her own child’s safety into a fight for all moms dealing with substance use disorder in their kids. She is one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.

The scream of a mother whose child is almost hit by a car lasts seconds, but it is unforgettable. The scream of a mother whose child suffers with substance use disorder can be years, decades.

What it brings home to me is how a mother’s love has power.

My own mom has been there for me through hell and back. I would not be here in more ways than one without her.

I’m very conscious of how the children I teach are not my children. I’m not their mother, any more than Daenerys was the mother of the dragons. But I am a force of consistency in their lives where maybe their own families can not be. I hope to someday partner with parents and grandparents to raise these children to their full potential.

Today I just wanted to see their vibrant, alive faces and give them stickers. “STICKER LADY!!!” they screamed! It’s been two weeks since I was called up to my favorite school and they missed me but I missed them so much. Little ones put their arms around me and hugged. Stickers all over faces and laptops and uniform sweatshirts.

At the end of the day I got to see one of my favorite teachers, Mr. E., teach a class. I was supposed to cover it, but he was back from his field trip so he taught his own class.

Mr. E is probably in his late twenties or early thirties, a black guy with dreads who knows how to get and keep the attention of a class of seventh and eighth graders, and older kids too. This is one of the hardest things in the known world to do! He’s good at sports, in shape, and teaches human development. He teaches kids how to grow as people, along with reading, writing and critical thinking skills.

We had a nice chat after as he and a student had a wall-sitting contest. Sitting against the wall for as long as they could - a hard exercise, you should try it. He lost because another student jumped on him and broke his concentration.

It’s beautiful to watch the great teachers teach. It seems normal to them, but it means so much to me. I had a dream the other night where I was saying to someone, “It will be a few years before I’m Mrs. G.’’' Mrs. G is my favorite English teacher.

I’ll never be Mrs. G. I’m Ms. Smith, Sticker Lady, weird accent, the one who teaches big words. I taught “defenestrate” today. An eleventh grader was playing a spelling bee game with his friend. He told me he was angry that schools had never taught them how to spell.

We talked about how to sound things out. How the root words come from Latin and German and other languages. How to figure them out.

Why did our educational system think it was a good idea to teach black children less, to expect less of them? That black children should be turned on the world unable to spell and read because someone white thinks reading is racist? Frederick Douglass and others fought, and many died, for the right of black people to read!

The lowered standards - that’s all woke lefty bullshit. The public schools and teachers’unions who oppose charters because we teach and hold kids to a higher standard - I have no patience for them. I’m happy to be becoming more politically involved so I can stand up for the kids and the charters that can educate them.

Our kids deserve better. There are some fierce mama bears: on the streets of Philly, in harm reduction, and some fierce people (and some fine brothers if I do say so myself) teaching kids and not giving into to the crime-ridden ghetto culture.

We can do better. I will keep showing up, stickers blazing, speaking proper English to liberal power. My kids deserve better.

Mr. E. taught today about how spiritual health can lead to resilience. I got a lot of that on the farm. This was the beautiful pond. I miss it so much.