I walked into the elementary school classroom and was instantly filled with a sense of warmth and familiarity. The walls were adorned with student artwork and colorful posters, and the desks were arranged in small clusters around the carpeted room. The faint smell of aged crayons and paper filled the air, bringing back memories of my own childhood. It’s that comforting scent that reminds you of the innocence and wonder that comes at that age. I also was struck by the peacefulness and stillness of the room. The lights were dim, and it was quite calm. The silence was only broken by the gentle hum of the oscillating fan in the corner. I figured the students were outside at recess. Little did I know, this was just the calm before the storm.

I mentored young students in an after-school program last year, helping them with their homework and other STEM-related projects. However, going into it, I had no idea how crazy these kids would be. When it was time for them to come inside from the playground, I could hear a roar approaching me, as they grew closer to the classroom. They scrambled into the room one by one, jumping around like little monkeys.

Initially, I was intimidated by the students’ chaotic behavior. Even the teacher struggled to get them to settle down. When I could finally sit down with one of the fourth-grade girls, she immediately made it known she was not going to do her homework. Instead, she found much joy in just sitting there and making fun of my chipped nails. I tried my hardest to get her to at least try one problem on her homework–she refused.

At first, I wondered if maybe she just didn’t know how to do it, but that was not the case. Going through her folder, I saw her scratch work. She knew long division like the back of her hand. So why wouldn’t she do her homework? I later asked for advice from one of the adult chaperones there. I said, “Hey, I am having trouble getting some of the students to do their homework, but I know they know how to do it. What do you do?” The chaperone was no help. She said, “Oh, that’s just how they are. They don’t ever do their work.”

In defeat, I went home that night with no solution. I tried not to think too much about it, but I couldn’t help but wonder about it in bed that night. I thought to myself, “Why did the chaperone not care if they did their homework?” It seemed like the teachers held lower expectations for these students compared to their better-behaved peers, as if they were not good enough. However, as her work already proved, that was far from the truth.

I went back the next day, and again, sat down next to this girl. First, of course, I had to listen to the daily elementary school drama she was spilling. Then, afterwards, I asked her to show me how to do the division problem. With some heavy convincing (and bribing with bubble gum), she agreed to do it. I was so proud of her. As I spent more and more time with her each week, rather than just giving up and walking away from her, she began to show me more and more of her creative side. I will never forget the sense of pride that glowed in her eyes when she won the STEM competition of the day. She successfully build the tallest and strongest tower out of the entire group with just popsicle sticks. She couldn’t have been more excited.

If I would have just walked away from the girl on that first day, would she have ever completed her math homework? Would she have won the STEM competition of the day? Would she have felt what it feels like to be believed in?

I believe all children deserve to be given a chance to shine. Despite what others saw in them, I found these children to be some of the most confident and fearless individuals I have ever met. They were never afraid to be curious or silly, and they were proud of who they were. Anyone who took time to listen to them would see just how remarkable they truly were. And when given the chance, they shine brightly.

(I know this is too long, but I hope to revise it in a later draft)