Visitation School is a private K-8 Catholic institution in Kansas City, Missouri. This semester, the Spring of 2013, I have the opportunity of student teaching at Visitation for 6 weeks; this paper is meant to serve as a reflection, in the Jesuit tradition of Rockhurst University, of how the school and community settings will impact my teaching and my relationships with students, parents, and other teachers. In the following pages I will posit that Visitation, as a school for the upper class, is an institution that largely shelters its students from the world of less privileged classes; I will first examine the demographics of the school and the neighborhood in which students live, followed by a theorization of how these facts will affect my practice.

Visitation is full of bright, happy, polite students. The total enrollment is 565 for this school year. Put bluntly, it is a school for the privileged, a school with a tuition cost of $6,300 a year for each student and a student body that is 91% white. It is where wealthy white families who live along Ward Parkway and nearby neighborhoods send their children. Between tuition costs, fundraising, and investments from Visitation Parish across the street, the total operating sum is over $2.7 million a year (School Profile handout, 2013).

It is an exemplar of wealthy neighborhoods, still very much secluded from non-whites, opting for private education that is fully funded by rich families and is likewise overwhelmingly white. According to the handout I was given from the office, Visitation is 1% black, and indeed I have only seen 1 black student in my nearly two years of observing, subbing, and now student teaching at the school. He is mixed race; my cooperating teacher tells me he is adopted, as are several other minority students. She can only think of three black students in the building, and one does not have to be a mathematician to determine three students of 565 would indicate the black population would actually be half a percent. The school is 4% Hispanic and 4% “other.” This includes a couple Indian children. There is no ELL population. A black man and Hispanic man clean the building after school.  

Naturally, a fully-funded institution such as this does remarkably well on standardized tests. Across the board, in reading, language arts, math, social studies, and science, Visitation pupils consistently score somewhere in the 80th percentile of all American students on the Iowa Test of Basic Skills. The average class size is 21, with a pupil-teacher ratio of 17:1. Graduation rates are virtually 100%, most students will go on to private high schools, and there is no tracking that my cooperating teacher can think of save the upper-grades math courses. The classrooms are well-supplied with SMARTboards and iPads.

There are suitable accommodations for 38 students with IEPs, according to the Special Education Coordinator. Disabilities include everything from dysgraphia to ADHD to visual processing difficulties. My cooperating teacher says she has students with Tourettes, panic attacks, or Epilepsy, among others. There are two children with Autism and one girl with Down Syndrome. These students are integrated, but have paras. The school has a Student Improvement Team for each student who needs modifications or accommodations. The teams determine student concerns and strengths, objectives, instructional methods, and strategies. Each IEP is over 20 pages long.

The neighborhoods from which the students come are those of the upper class. I spent many months tutoring a 5th grade boy from Visitation, seeing his street, home, and lifestyle. He lives in a neighborhood adjacent to Ward Parkway, and many of his classmates are his neighbors. In the 64113 area, the median household income is over $250,000. The median home value is nearly $1 million. It is one of the richest neighborhoods in Kansas City. The population is virtually 100% white, according to City-Data.com (2013). The students enjoy membership at the Carriage Club, dinners on the Plaza, and other amenities. Many interrupt school for vacations to California or Chicago. I have several times heard students who live in the area describe peers who have a newer version of an iPad or iPhone than they as “spoiled.” They live privileged, unicultural lifestyles. They do not see how other children live.

My instructional planning for Visitation’s social studies classes will emphasize societal themes which both interest me most and are most important for all children to understand, but particularly upper-class children. When students pass through their history classes learning nothing of class, they are left in ignorance. When they make it through school learning nothing of race, they are left in ignorance. I was astonished to learn that the 5th grade text I will be working with, Houghton Mifflin’s United States History: The Early Years, does not contain the word “racism.” There is no examination of the decimation of Amerindian tribes after the European invasions. There are two paragraphs on slavery, mostly focusing on the life of Olaudah Equiano, an African who fought for the abolition of the British slave trade. Social class and racism have been whitewashed from history textbooks, leaving no foundation from which students can reflect on social injustices and inequalities, on why they have so much and black students who attend school on Troost a mile away have so little. I intend, as I have always intended since the day I decided to become a teacher, to stress the prevalence of racism and class conflict in American and world history, in hopes that students will understand that their presence in the upper class was a product of history and not merit, just as children born into the lower class were dealt a hand they did not choose and will have a difficult life trying to change. To this end, the first lessons I will teach to my 5th graders will be Indian-European relations and conflict, and the first lessons my 6th graders will experience will examine India’s caste system, emphasizing the plight of the Dalits (the “Untouchables”) and comparing the historic class structure to that of the United States.

In conclusion, focusing on themes such as these will not only prepare Visitation students to recognize and confront social injustices, but I predict it will better capture their interest and help me build more positive relationships with them. Nothing is more dull than sugarcoated history. Controversy and conflict, those are interesting. My students may be shaken to learn Pocahontas was 10 when she encountered the residents of Jamestown, and far from saving John Smith from certain death, she was kidnapped by him and the English and was held for ransom. But it will fascinated them, they will remember it, and they will learn to question everything they see and hear. Hopefully this process will aid my relationships with parents and other teachers, who will see student interest sparked and true learning and growing taking place. I write “hopefully,” for not everyone is comfortable with the teaching of social history, nor the examination of themes conservative textbook authors and publishers have desperately avoided for decades.

***

Raytown Central Middle School (RCMS) is a public 6-8 school in Raytown, Missouri, southeast of Kansas City. This is where my Spring 2013 student teaching semester at Rockhurst University concludes and, as during my first placement, I am writing an essay that examines the culture and climate of the school. Becoming a reflective practitioner includes considering how the school community will influence my decisions as a teacher. I will posit that the climate of the school, characterized by bored and controlled students, perpetuates restlessness and disruptive behavior.

The students of Raytown Central are largely good-natured. Many are sociable and eager to say hello to me and ask questions of me. The student population is 581. The school is more ideal than other American public schools in its ethnic diversity, being 40% black, 47% white, 9% Hispanic, and 3.5% Asian/Pacific Islander. The teacher population is not so diverse. There are 69 faculty and staff members, but I have only seen three African-Americans and one Hispanic. The vast majority are in their forties, fifties, or sixties. Of the students, there are 16 English Language Learners, 58 students with Individual Education Plans, and 13 with 504 Plans.

I am told that RCMS serves families in a better part of Raytown.

“We’re in one the wealthier areas,” a counselor tells me. “Meaning we don’t have trailer parks.”

The city as a whole has an average median income of $48,000, but with significant racial disparities (a median $51,000 salary for white families, $36,500 for blacks, $34,500 for Hispanics). Raytown is 65% white, 25% black, 5% Hispanic, and 1.2% Asian/Pacific Islander. 18% of the residents live on less than $30,000 a year, 33% on less than $40,000 (City-Data website, 2009). Raytown Central is not a Title I school, but 40-45% of its students qualify for the Free and Reduced Lunch Program (the school serves breakfast and lunch), and I am told 12-18 students are homeless this year, meaning displaced and living with relatives or other caretakers. Many of my students wear the same sweatshirts each day.

The students with IEPs seem well supported; I joined a meeting after school to discuss the needs of a boy with low IQ and behavioral problems, and it is clear the staff is dedicated to providing the modifications he needs to learn. Students with lower processing abilities are given preferential seating and provided hard copies of notes daily. I have not seen extensive differentiated instruction, but I have only observed one teacher, and for a brief period of time. Still, the education offered to students with special needs seems on par with other students. One of my students is blind, another is a quadriplegic. There is a full-time braillist in the building, and multiple paras. Most significantly, students on IEPs are fully integrated. The extent to which other students help their peers impresses me.

There are also students on behavioral plans. I sat in on a staff meeting on building-wide behavioral referrals. From August 2012 to February 2013, the number of referrals for lies and aggression were both in the hundreds. There are no metal detectors, but there are cameras in the halls and a policeman on duty.

The climate of the school is not particularly positive. The halls are painted dark grey, the lockers are black, and the lights are low. Teachers are authoritative and controlling; raised voices are commonplace, and some engage in arguments with students over things I would consider not worth the battle. Many teachers seem frustrated. They are not unkind, just tired. I can understand why; many of these students are difficult to manage. I wonder how many of them truly enjoy what they are doing, and how many simply tolerate it.

Attitudes are sometimes negative. A teacher referred to one of the classes I will teach as “a rotten group of kids.”

The discontent is shared by the students, who feel very much controlled. The school uses the BIST (Behavior Intervention Support Team) strategy, which strives to control behavior, but involves sending disruptive students out of the classroom. Usually the disruptive behavior is the refusal to stop conversing with peers while a teacher is trying to teach, and indeed it can get out of control. Most of my classes have nearly 30 kids. Students are sent out of my cooperating teacher’s six classes often; sometimes one or two a day, sometimes five or six.

Disinterest breeds disruption. Many students are bored, resigned to silently fill out worksheets as the central activity of some lessons. There are days when they watch interesting videos or do research on computers, but the classes I’ve seen are largely devoid of vigorous discussion, debates, group work, or activities that allow students to get up and move. As my teaching begins, I am seeing why, as there are some classes that simply cannot control themselves. The side conversations and disruptive behavior become impossible to manage.

My decisions as a teacher here will attempt to create a positive environment that sacrifices authoritarianism for interesting, thought-provoking lessons as the central driving force of classroom management. RCMS students need to have a reason for what they are doing. The majority seem to have little understanding of learning for its own sake. I believe I am off to a decent start: my first day I was able to spark student interest in the Greek language and maintain a relatively high degree of control. Students were excited to learn Greek phrases and examine root words. Many enjoyed greeting me with γειά σου for the rest of the day. However, the next day’s activities that involved student mobility proved to be difficult with certain classes, and I see why these teachers gravitate towards rote learning that maintains tighter control. I hope to find a balance, learning how to craft active lessons that still allow me to manage the classroom.    

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References     

(2012-2013). School Profile [handout]. Visitation School, Kansas City, MO.

64112 Zip Code Detailed Profile. (2013). Retrieved from http://www.city-data.com/zips/64112.html.

Raytown, Missouri (MO) income, earnings, and wages data. (2009). Retrieved from http://www.city-data.com/income/income-Raytown-Missouri.html.

In Skirting the Issue: Teachers’ Experiences “Addressing Sexuality in Middle School Language Arts,” Laurel Puchner and Nicole Klein of Southern Illinois University interviewed 15 middle school language arts teachers from eight school districts across America’s so-called “Bible Belt” to investigate how the topic of sexuality is handled when it arises in the classroom. These were majority suburban areas, with majority white student bodies, all 15 teachers were white, and only three schools had majority low-income students (2012, p. 4). While this sample of teachers was nonrandom, small, and homogeneous, the study provided valuable insight into how middle school students are learning (or remaining ignorant) about sexuality.

Puchner and Klein found that sexuality came up frequently in school, and the majority of the teachers they interviewed “believed that frank discussion of sexuality issues would be beneficial for their students” (p. 6). The authors agree with them, citing studies that indicate open dialogue concerning sex helps students understand the importance of safety practices, understand how sex is portrayed in the media, and grow into sexually healthy adults (p. 2). Ignorance in this area perpetuates incorrect information and prejudice and violence towards the LGBT community (p. 2). They even suggest the curiosity and fascination surrounding sex can be used to spark interest in science, history, and literature, and that “it is useful for promoting democracy because sexuality is so closely entwined in the issues of racial oppression, gender oppression, class oppression, and sexuality oppression” (p. 2).

However, a “culture of silence” (p. 3) persists because teachers are afraid to go too far when discussing such a controversial subject. Many see the positives in open communication, but there exists a “benefit-risk tension” (p. 11) that requires teachers to mentally weigh risk versus reward for any situation in which sexuality arises. Teachers are fearful of angry parents and/or administrators, of losing their jobs (p. 13). And naturally, some simply don’t see it as the teacher’s prerogative to teach such issues (p. 12). In their conclusion, the authors push for a change in attitude: If the ignorance teachers perpetuate with silence has a negative impact on the sexual development of adolescents, this must change, and it should begin with dialogue between superintendents, principals, and teachers on how open an educator can be when discussing sexuality with students (p. 14).

I agree with Puchner and Klein’s stance. Conservative American culture tends to deem sexuality a dark secret that must be locked in the closet, despite the fact that besides the intake and expulsion of nutrients and oxygen, plus the sleep cycle, sex is the most common biological function of all life. If adolescents are not educated, they are left in ignorance. We need to move toward the belief that the benefits outweigh the risks. Students should not have to rely on their peers for information on sex. They should be able to count on respected parents and teachers to educate them, and although some adults may feel parents are the only ones with this responsibility, I believe the educator plays a critical role. When a learning moment arises from a novel students are reading in English, or a discussion on the gay rights movement in history class, or a lecture on anatomy in science, it should be taken advantage of and used as an opportunity to discuss and examine this controversial topic, to the ultimate end of producing informed and sexually healthy adults and eliminating the controversy entirely.

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References
Puchner, L., & Klein, N. A. (2012). Skirting the issue: Teachers’ experiences “addressing sexuality in middle school language arts.” Research in middle level education, 36(1). http://www.amle.org/portals/0/pdf/publications/RMLE/rmle_vol36_no1.pdf.

The author of Ordinary Resurrections: Children in the Years of Hope would probably frown upon any notion that the book is about him, but Jonathan Kozol’s observations at St. Ann’s Church in the Bronx are truly a journey of understanding and discovery, of both hope and tragedy. He builds friendships with poor inner-city children at an after-school program, learning about their experiences, attitudes, values, and beliefs. In a way, Kozol is a John the Baptist type figure, preaching a message that has nothing to do with him but at same time takes him on a journey through the wilderness. If John the Baptist humbled himself by eating wild honey and locusts in the desert, Kozol, a Harvard-educated man, humbles himself by spending his days exploring the destitute conditions of New York’s children. John the Baptist prepared the way for the coming of Christ. Kozol hopes to pave the way for change.

The children Kozol develops friendships with—Elio, Pinnapple, Tabitha, Lucia, and the others—live in a very rough part of the Bronx called Mott Haven. Their living conditions are grim. “All are very poor; statistics tell us that they are the poorest children in New York. Some know hunger several times a month…some have previously lived in homeless shelters” (Kozol, 2000, p. 4). Poverty is only the beginning of the horrors the children must endure. They are surrounded by drugs and gun violence. Disease is a widespread problem. The author writes that Mott Haven is “the nation’s epicenter for the plague of pediatric and maternal AIDS” (p. 3) and most of the children “have lost a relative or grown-up friend to AIDS” (p. 4). The area, like other inner-cities, remains a breeding ground for asthma due to exposure to harmful chemicals and pollution (p. 3). Kozol describes this problem as particularly painful for the elderly, but takes special pit on asthmatic children:

Asthma is a miserable illness for a child…play is a part of childhood and children cannot play with real abandon when they feel so bad. Even mild asthma weighs their spirits down and makes it hard to smile easily, or read a book with eagerness, or jump into a conversation with spontaneity. They learn somehow to live with these discomforts. Nearly a quarter of the children have to bring their pumps with them to school a church (p. 94-95).

For a time, the neighborhood was plagued by a waste incinerator, the description of which is one of the most terrifying and stomach-churning portions of Kozol’s book. He writes, “It’s a medical incinerator, burning what are known as ‘red-bag products’–hypodermic needles, soiled bedding, amputated limbs, and embryos—which are brought here every day from fourteen hospitals in New York City” (p. 87). The author notes that it took years of protest to get the machine shut down; all the while sick children grew sicker.

However, that one incinerator was just the tip of the iceberg. “In Hunts Point alone, immediately adjacent to Mott Haven, there are forty garbage and recycling facilities, one of them a plant that turns most of the city’s treated sewage into fertilizer. The stench that it gives off is so bad children ‘throw up on their way to school’” (p. 88). Pollution from cars and trucks aggravates the problem. The living standards of these kids astounded me. It is something I could only truly understand if I saw it with my own eyes. Perhaps that mentality explains why Kozol (and his friend Mr. Rogers) has spent so much time in the South Bronx, exploring the darkness in which these kids live. Without seeing, one cannot understand, and without understanding, nothing can change.

After all this, one can hardly expect things to grow darker, but they do. Kozol tells us, “About a quarter of the fathers of the children in the after-school are now in prison or have been in prison, some of them a long way from the Bronx in various state penitentiaries and some nearby at Rikers Island” (p. 31). And what about the children at St. Ann’s whose fathers are long gone, who abandoned them and might as well never have existed? Who are these children who are surrounded by incinerators, drugs, poverty, and only see their fathers during visiting hours?

One answer would be “non-white children.” Jonathan Kozol aims to awaken those who cannot see the current race problem in America, who cannot see how dark the echoes of racism and discrimination have remained. The situation of the Mott Haven children is a testament to race relations of both the past and the present. Kozol says:

It is honest to observe, as well, that the community in which they live is one of the most deeply segregated concentrations of black and Hispanic people in our nation, with less than two tenths of 1 percent of the school enrollment in Mott Haven represented by Caucasian children, and that racial isolation here, as elsewhere in our nation, is accompanied by inequalities in education and high rates of joblessness (p. 4).

Race is a major theme throughout Ordinary Resurrections. Segregation that has persisted despite years of improvements in civil rights is one of the deeply rooted causes of the conditions of Kozol’s young friends. Inequalities in education and high unemployment create poverty. The author makes no bones about the gravity of either segregation-spawned issue. “Unemployment in the South Bronx, over all, remains at over 45 percent, according to the New York Times. It rises in the neighborhood served by St. Ann’s to over 75 percent, according to the pastor of the church and teachers in the local schools” (p. 4). And that was back in 2000. I imagine the economic recession of the past couple years may have made those number rise further. The families that are fortunate enough to have jobs scrape by on $10,000 a year, far below the poverty line (p. 44).

The prisons are deeply segregated. 92% of Rikers Island’s 20,000 prisoners are black or Hispanic and it “is believed to be the most racially consistent penal colony in the entire Western world” (p. 31). While criminals deserve condemnation, Kozol’s journey has allowed him to understand that social and economic injustices are the cause of these startling statistics. Where blacks and Hispanics cannot receive a quality education and then cannot find work, crime begins to look more and more like a viable option for bringing in money. Sometimes, people do not feel they have a choice. It might come down to stealing or starving, joining a gang or starving, or selling drugs or starving.

The author points out that “the racial make-up of the prison population and that of the population of Mott Haven are essentially the same. “The racial mix, such as it is, among the children of Mott Haven is represented by the presence of some 26 white children in a nonwhite population of 11,000 students in the elementary schools” (p. 31). A school and a prison, hopelessly interconnected, the conditions that affect the first inevitably feeding the other. Rikers becomes the next home for some after Mott Haven. At times, it comes sooner rather than later.To summarize the tragedy of the area’s 99.8% segregation rate: “two tenths of one percentage point [serves] as the distinction between legally enforced apartheid in the South of 50 years ago and socially and economically enforced apartheid in this New York neighborhood today” (p. 31). In decades, very little has changed in the South Bronx.

That is the “what” of the problem. The “why” is simpler to explain. While reading Ordinary Resurrections, one will inevitably wonder why things are the way they are for these families and St. Ann’s children. The current issue is an echo of a time of racial tension and hatred. The author explains:

In the vast expanses of the South Bronx, in which residential segregation was encouraged and accelerated by the conscious policies of realtors, banks, and city planners starting in the 1950s, and where federal housing subsidies in recent decades have been used to underwrite a set of policies and practices that deepened pre-existing racial isolation, tens of thousands of black and Hispanic children never see white children in their schools…they don’t know white children (p. 32).

For the horrid problems in this area of New York, we have to thank realtors of the past,who would not show black families homes in white neighborhoods. Some whites when moving from their homes would make it a condition that the house could not be sold to an African-American. Banks refused to loan money to blacks. City planners carefully designed neighborhoods to keep whites and blacks as separate as possible. This is why there are few white kids at St. Ann’s or in Mott Haven’s school, P.S. 30. Racist whites of decades ago made an extra effort to keep blacks and other minorities away from their children. Here Kozol prompts moral reflection. The sins of the last generation are still present in our own. Does that not make us as guilty as our parents? True change has not come close to glimmering in Mott Haven.

In some ways, prejudice continues among the powerful elite in New York. Mott Haven was not the first place in New York that the city attempted to install the medical incinerator. “It had been forced upon Mott Haven, very much against their will, by powerful financial interests after attempting to build a comparable burner on the East Side of Manhattan had been stopped by people there, who rightly feared the damage it would do to their children’s health” (p. 87). The pleas of Mott Haven parents fell on deaf ears. The incinerator was built and maintained for six years. Kozol notes that Mother Martha of St. Ann’s claims “the financiers…had close ties to City Hall” and “contrived instead to put it in the South Bronx not far from St. Ann’s, where asthma rates already were among the highest in the nation” (p. 87). Is it a coincidence that a heavily polluted section of the city, a petri dish for disease, was chosen as the spot for an unsafe incinerator? Is it a coincidence that the location is almost 100% black and Hispanic? How can one part of New York protest and win before such a machine is even built, and another can protest but see the machine erected and cause child illness for over half a decade before anything is done?

Moreover, why does the city spend $12,000 a year on students in northern New York, and only $5,000 on students in Mott Haven schools (p. 45)? Teachers are paid $20,000 more in northern suburbs (p. 45). The inequalities in resources, funds, and salaries are huge. In a unified school district such as New York’s, those at the top are making the conscious decision to treat schools in the South Bronx worse than schools in other areas. Kozol says, “No matter how these differences may be obscured or understated or complexified by civilized equivocation, they do tell us something about how we value Pineapple and Elio as human beings, both in their present status as small children who rely upon our decency and in their future destinies as adult citizens” (p. 45). While he does not spend a wealth of time writing on those who perpetuate the current problem, Kozol is clearly placing as much blame on current leaders as on the leaders of the 1950s. St. Ann’s children have not seen the decency they deserve.

Upon reading this essay thus far, one might think the injustices in New York are all Kozol writes about. This is far from the truth. He weaves these facts into a tapestry of his innocent conversations with the children of St. Ann’s after-school. He wants to shine a light on this dark corner of the country, but he also knows that inner-city children are widely misunderstood. Most of this book focuses on revealing who these children really are and depicting their vibrant spirits. It is a celebration of their courage, fortitude, faith, and positive attitudes, as indicated by Kozol’s subtitle, Children in the Years of Hope.

He aims to combat the labels placed on inner-city kids. For too long, poor children have been looked upon as different from other kids, as part of a “culture of poverty” that makes them“quasi-children” or “morally disabled children” (p. 116-117). As if the kids at St. Ann’s are simply criminals-to-be or “premature adults” (p. 116). This prompts teachers to use “a peculiar arsenal of reconstructive strategies and stick-and-carrot ideologies that would wouldn’t be accepted for one hour by the parents or teachers of the upper middle class” (p. 117). Poor kids are looked upon differently, and are treated accordingly. However, as the multitude of conversations between Kozol and the children reveal, there is little difference between inner-city minority kids and white kids who come from wealthy backgrounds. If anything, Kozol explains they are more sensitive to the anxieties of others (p. 115) because of the world in which they live. They are in the world, not of the world. They are stronger than other children.

The St. Ann’s kids are selfless and sweet and even-tempered. The author describes many as being compassionate toward others and willing to comfort others. It’s as if the children understand what each other have to deal with every day. Seeing their interactions, I would conclude they think about others more than themselves. They are inquisitive, thoughtful, and hopeful. Their words tug at the heart.

One Tuesday afternoon I had an inconclusive conversation on the subject with religion with Pineapple and a girl named Jennifer, who is her cousin. Jennifer said she had a dream that she was visiting God. “There were no stores or restaurants,” she said. “You had to call out to get food, and someone would deliver.” She also said God had brown hair, “dark-brown, like mine,” and that she found out God was married, because, while she visited, “His wife came in and kissed Him.”

A boy who was sitting with us said he had been told that God is “with us in the world” and “not above us in the sky,” but Jennifer said it wasn’t so, that God “stays up in heaven” but “He breathes into the world.”

When I asked her to explain this, she was unable to do so, but Pineapple said, “It’seasy! Look—like this.” She filled her cheeks with air, then pushed them in like a balloon with both her hands and said, “Kapoof!”

Then she laughed and said, “I’m sorry. I was fooling.”

“I knew you were,” I said.

“We’re only children,” said Pineapple, and she handed out grape-flavored sour balls to everyone (p. 237-238).

Only children. With those words, Pineapple sums up the message of Ordinary Resurrections. Despite the segregation and poverty of Mott Haven, despite the injustices of New York’s elite, despite all the horrors of dangerous inner-city life, the children are still children, no different than any others. These kids must simply go through “ordinary resurrections,” or rise above loneliness and fear (p. 108), more often than others.

The above conversation is one of many the author has with the kids at St. Ann’s concerning God and His character. In the beginning of his journey, Kozol was rather uncomfortable with prayer and religion. He writes, “A child would look up and ask me, simply,’Can we pray?’ I would say yes, but I felt strange about this at the start, because I’m not a Christian and I’ve never been especially religious, not in formal ways at least. So I’d be hesitant at first, but I’d agree; and so I’ve ended up saying a lot of prayers without the certainty that I had any right to do this” (p. 7). For the children, “prayer, of course, is a pervasive part of life” and many kids seek the wisdom and spiritual guidance from St. Ann’s pastor (p. 245). Most of the children are firm in their faith, and are very open to discussing serious religious matters to the best of their ability.

Kozol once spoke about God to a little girl named Lucia.

“How powerful is God?” I ask.

“He’s powerful to make hearts,” she replies (p. 71).

Later:

“God needs to make hearts,” she told me firmly one day when I questioned her about this. It had an almost brazenly didactic sound.

Stephanie, who is older than Lucia, also speaks of “God’s heart,” and her own heart…I asked her once what she believed would make the world a better place.

“What would make the world better is God’s heart,” she answered. “I know God’s heart is already in the world. But I would like if He would…push the heart more into it” (p. 72).

It is my opinion that Kozol deeply admires the simple faith of little children. He asks so many questions of them. He is obviously curious, perhaps even jealous of what they have. Kozol has pain and fear in his own life, as his parents grow ill in their old age. He admits, “Perhaps the illness of my parents has enabled me to listen with less awkwardness to children’s prayers, and given me a reason at some moments to pray with them” (p. 7). As his journey of understanding continues, he becomes more comfortable with prayer and religion.

At the end of the book, Kozol joins the children on Easter Sunday for a service (p. 332).His mother’s illness prompts him to write, “Every time I leave her bedside she gives me three kisses, one on my forehead, one on my right cheek, and one on the left, and says, ‘God bless you,’and I say, ‘God bless you,’ in return. We never know which night will be the last one” (p. 336).Without a doubt, Kozol finds comfort through St. Ann’s kids and their faith. I believe that he realized how much strength such faith gave them, and has found the same strength more and more as he opens up to God. In the end, I think he found that certainty he spoke of, the certainty that he did indeed have the right to speak to and petition God.

Kozol believes things will get better in the South Bronx. Despite the darkness and evil there, the hope of the children has become his own hope. He spent seven years learning about who they are and where they come from. He believes the good he has found will wear away at the darkness until, many, many years from now, there will be none left. In the end of Ordinary Resurrections, he describes a present Pineapple gave to him:

It’s a landscape: grass and sky and one tremendous puffy-looking cloud…partly hidden by a hill, a jolly-looking thing with orange rays that look like dragons’ teeth and is supposed to be the sun…friends who see it here cannot decide if it’s supposed to be the end of the day or the beginning. Either way, I think that orange thing with dragons’ teeth is beautiful; and, at the risk of being sentimental about somebody whose sunny disposition brings a lot of joy into a world that has too many cloudy afternoons, I like to think it’s rising (p. 339).

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