Small Classroom, Big Dreams

   

 This week, I took a small break from prison work and spent the day at St. Ignatius of Loyola Catholic School with Sr.Wanda, who teaches first and second grade. Because of low enrollment, both grades are combined into one classroom.

    Walking into the school felt grounding in a completely different way. After spending so much time reflecting on prisons, punishment, and systems of harm, being surrounded by children reminded me that social work is also about prevention, nurture, and creating environments where young people can safely grow into themselves before the world hardens them.

    The classrooms were full of children learning, laughing, sharing stories, and trying to understand the world around them. Watching them made me emotional. Maybe because I saw so many possibilities sitting in that room. Maybe because I understood how important spaces like this are for children whose futures are still being shaped in real time.

    St. Ignatius’ mission speaks about faith, service, truth, and helping students recognize their God-given gifts. As I observed the classroom, I realized how powerful it is when children are taught not only academics, but also dignity, compassion, and community. The school’s student learning expectations describe students as Falcons: faith-filled Christians, articulate communicators, lifelong learners, creative thinkers, outstanding citizens, and nurturing individuals. What struck me most was the emphasis on nurturing. So many children are expected to survive before they are ever truly nurtured.

    One little girl especially stayed with me. She was mature beyond her years. The way she carried herself, the way she observed others, the way she spoke, it felt familiar. I saw pieces of my younger self in her. And honestly, it made me sad.

  Sometimes people praise children for being “so mature” without asking why they had to become that way so early. Children often learn how to carry adult emotions, responsibilities, and tensions long before they should have to. What looks like maturity is sometimes survival.

    I thought about how many children quietly absorb the pain of the adults around them. How many become caretakers emotionally before they even fully understand themselves. Hurt travels across generations unless someone chooses to interrupt it.

As someone hoping to become a social worker, experiences like this remind me that healing is deeply interconnected. Social work exists in prisons, but it also exists in classrooms like these. It exists in every effort to create environments where children feel safe enough to dream, explore, and simply be children.

    I hope one day I can help adults recognize the power of healing themselves, not only for their own sake, but for the children watching them closely every single day. Children deserve homes, schools, and communities where they are nurtured instead of burdened. They deserve softness before survival. And sitting in that classroom, surrounded by little Falcons learning how to soar, I was reminded just how life-changing that kind of care can be.