If we do it correctly, Facing History and Ourselves can be a life-long gift to our students. The "Ourselves" part is always the most difficult. It’s the part that students struggle with. Sure they can parrot it in the moment, but it is the part we hope students actually engage with for the rest of their lives. Not often enough, but from time to time we get hints that they are actually doing just that.

A student asked me, “What do I do?”

Like all questions worth asking, worth the trouble, it had no clear answer.

Last week, we met Angel: a student struggling to remain in the shadows within an active classroom which had been together for over a year. Leaving Brian pondering how to bring him back into the class after a confrontation, Angel had stormed out of the classroom.

Facing History and Ourselves has given me much: a collective of thoughtful, like-minded educators; a deep and sophisticated pedagogy; and perhaps, most importantly, a lens through which I can see and examine myself. Though I would have labeled myself a Facing History educator since 1995, it wasn’t until 2004 that I actually faced myself fully and not because I chose to but because one student gave me no opportunity of escape.

I’d taught the story of Kitty Genovese for years and thought I’d read all there was to read on it. I was convinced that I knew the story. It had touched me deeply, shocked me, and moved me. Perhaps that was the problem, I had become far too comfortable with an uncomfortable story, and stopped exploring, asking, questioning. For an old man it was a rookie mistake and one that I’d unfortunately made every year for 16 years.