"What are cuffs?" I ask my third grade student as we work on his English homework.

"Umm." Unfortunately, this is not the first word he struggles to define. "I don't know... but I know something like it," he replies with a hint of confidence at recognizing a word association. "Like, like handcuffs."

...

My stomach twists into a knot and before a moment has passed, my heart breaks for this child, is enraged at the injustice in the world, currently expressed in a low-income corner of Providence, and restores itself enough to say, "Yes. Great connection. Like handcuffs. Cuffs are the part of a shirt at the end of the sleeve." and I point to the cuffs on his black and red sweatshirt. I am still shocked by maintain my composure.

Handcuffs, this 8-year old says. Because that is his world. That is his reality.


For the rest of my day, I don't stop thinking about his answer. And a deep, deep sadness settles is my heart.