The call came during second period: a student refused to take off his hat. That student was Jaden, a quiet eighth grader who usually followed every rule. But today, he sat slouched in my office, hat pulled low, silent. When I asked why, he finally whispered, “They laughed at me.” He’d gotten a bad haircut—uneven, patchy, humiliating. Kids had teased him at lunch. Instead of writing him up, I pulled clippers from my desk. I used to be a barber, and I offered to fix it. As I cut, Jaden relaxed. Then I noticed faint scars on his scalp.
He quietly shared that his mom’s boyfriend had once thrown a bottle at his head. Now he lived with his uncle—who “didn’t do anything.” I checked his file that night: multiple school transfers, absences, signs of instability. I began checking in with him regularly. One day, he asked if I’d ever been embarrassed to go home. I told him the truth—about my own rough childhood. That broke the wall.