There's a particular kind of worry on a new child's first week, and you can spot it from across the hall. Aarav had it. He'd found his classroom and his peg, but the lunch hall is a different test — all those full tables, and nowhere that's obviously yours.
I was about to step in, the way teachers do, when Diya — seven years old, halfway through her lunch — picked up her plate and slid down the bench to make room. She didn't announce it. She didn't look at me for approval. She just said “you can sit here,” and went back to her food.
You can't put that on a report card. There's no grade for noticing that someone is on their own and quietly fixing it. But it's the thing we most want this school to grow, and you can't teach it with a worksheet — you can only make room for it and hope.
By Friday, Aarav's table was a noisy six. He had a seat, and a couple of people who'd saved it for him. The morning's worry was gone, and not one adult had to make it happen.
A Grade 2 teacher