Kindergone

My mother is the only kindergarten teacher at a small school. She has 27 students, one of whom does not speak English (a girl who transferred from Haiti). She doesn’t have an aide or a translator or anyone to help her other than the P.E. teacher who takes them off her hands for a few minutes every day. This week, she’s getting a 28th student. If you can imagine spending your entire day with 28 five-year-olds, and then try to imagine having done so for the past 32 years, then imagine how it would blow your mind to find out that if the residents of her county don’t pass the 1-cent sales tax up for a vote next month, the school (where she’s taught for longer than I’ve been alive) is going to close and she’ll have to transfer to another town.