Silhouette of a woman holding a book or tablet, with a textured orange background and a mint green border.
I’ve taught here twenty-two years. First in the portables, then Room 12B when we finally got heat that worked. I’ve taught long enough to see kids grow up, move out, and send their own children through my door. I know this town—its rhythms, its slumps, its hopes. And I know that for the first time in a long time, people started believing in something again. The Springs.

When they first broke ground, I’ll admit—I was excited. The brochures promised tax reinvestment. School improvements. Full-time aides. Maybe even a music program again. And those aren’t small things when you’re holding together a classroom with glue sticks and crossed fingers. But lately… the children have changed.

They’re tired. Quicker to anger. More distracted. I’ve seen rashes on their arms, stomachaches that don’t pass, and more referrals to special services than I’ve ever filed in a single year. First graders, barely able to focus for ten minutes. Fourth graders who flinch when the faucet sputters.

I try to explain it away—growing pains, too much screen time, pandemic lag. But… the numbers don’t lie. And neither do their faces.

Then there was the fight last week. Eli Stockmann and the Hammond and Kamp children. I know those kids. Tyler’s never been cruel. Marci is sensitive. But something’s shifted.

Eli walked in wearing that stubborn look—so much like his father—and they pounced on him with all the frustration they didn’t have words for. Called him a traitor. A liar’s son. And he fought back, like any child would when their family is under attack. But that wasn’t a normal schoolyard scuffle. That was anger with a target and no context.

And I stood there thinking: “What happens when a town lets its children become carriers of its shame?”

But then I look at the Springs again. And I remember: new roofs for the school. A full-time nurse. Fresh lunches that don’t come in cans. Those things matter too. And I can’t tell anymore which truth costs more.

Maybe the doctor is right. Maybe the mayor is. Maybe none of us are. All I know is—I didn’t get into teaching to choose between science and survival. I got into this to make things better. And right now, I’m not sure which side of this makes that true.
— Mrs. Judith Lenhart