School is full of reading, writing, lunchboxes, lost jackets at recess, assignments with no names, and endless pencils to sharpen, but the most valuable times in class are when we share a story.  

All the students in my elementary school are reading the middle-grade novel A Fish in a Tree at the moment. This week in our reading one of the characters dropped some wisdom right in our laps. Our discussion led me to ask my students if there was ever a time they felt that they didn’t fit in. 

Since second graders like to put forth often-inflated opinions of themselves, they started by telling me they didn’t fit in because they were the smartest kids in the school, the fastest runners at recess, and could turn invisible and fly.  Once we dealt with these outrageous claims to fame, our discussion turned more serious.

One student quietly said she didn’t fit in because she can’t always say the right words in English. I paused, surprised at this bit of vulnerability. Another child talked about being late to school every morning and feeling embarrassed to walk in while we were already working. A third student chimed in about wearing sneakers with holes in the bottom. 

I stayed quiet and let the children lead the conversation. Mina said she doesn’t like her name because kids say it has the word “mean” in it, so she must be mean. A student from India said the home-cooked food his mom puts in his lunch doesn’t look or smell like the sandwiches the other kids bring. As more voices chimed in, it became the rare outloud type of conversation that warms a teacher’s heart, witnessing the trust and care for each other that the group had grown over the course of the year.

Alyssa sat listening silently.  She has a prickly personality, and is more often angry than happy.  She was in disbelief at the confessions she heard from her classmates. Why would they admit to feeling not-good-enough? She never let her guard down. We wouldn’t catch HER saying that something bothered her about herself. 

So it was a shock to us all when she actually raised her hand and very seriously described not fitting in because she is so tall. She is quite a bit taller than her classmates, which she usually uses to her advantage in intimidating them. 

It felt for a moment like all the air left the room. The kids were so surprised, not only that she showed a softer side, but that she mentioned something about herself that she didn’t like.  After some hesitation, they started to reassure her, to point out some of the advantages of being tall. She was surprised, and sat up just a little bit straighter. 

I saw that she wasn’t quite convinced, so I decided to jump in and use my love of basketball lore to add to the story. It was the day before the WNBA draft, and a few days after the UCLA women had won the National Championship. I pulled up a photo of Lauren Betts, who Alyssa resembles in many ways. Lauren is a very tall basketball player, and has shared publicly about her struggles in dealing with her height and the reactions of people around her while growing up.

Alyssa listened intently, but without expression. She shrugged off our attempts to put her height in a more positive light and went back to slouching in her chair and ignoring us. The discussion dwindled and we went on with the story.  Although I was so pleased with the heartwarming way the students had opened up to each other, I felt that I had also failed to reach Alyssa and boost her confidence in herself. 

It was only after school had ended and I was picking up the classroom that I found a scrap of torn notebook paper on the floor under her desk that read “Lauren Betts” in her most careful handwriting. She had connected after all. 

In the days to come, I found ways to work Lauren’s name into some of our class conversations and even showed the video of her name being called for the WNBA draft. I had hopes that a little seed was planted showing Alyssa that being tall could be something admirable.

This small second grade conversation highlighted the idea that we all so easily organize ourselves and others into categories. Alyssa did this by putting herself in the category of “too tall.” There are countless categories that we use to label ourselves, those we know and those who move through the world around us. 

We then go further and decide which categories are good and which are bad. We gravitate towards those who affirm our judgments of others according to the categories into which we place them. Although we can also categorize each other in very positive ways, the truth is that seeing others in certain terms has escalated to a fever pitch of judgement, mistreatment, and even violence. 

I don’t think this is how God sees us. God doesn’t look through any of those lenses, but instead sees us at our hearts’ core. Wouldn’t our world be changed if we could do the same? Imagine the love with which we would meet each other. 

For a few moments in second grade, my students were asked to see each other through these kinds of eyes. Could they instead see the hearts of each other and the way each of us brings something beautiful and unique to the group? Perhaps the attributes of people we decide are a negative could actually be reimagined as strengths, as Alyssa learned from the example of Lauren Betts.

All of the line-drawing and categorizing of people leads to exclusion, judgment, and finger pointing. We would be so better served to try to see each other as God does, and treat each other accordingly. 

This is a tall order, but a tiny step was taken when a little girl who already stands a head above her classmates stood up a little bit straighter and started to define her difference as her strength.

* Obviously, names have been changed.