My first day as a sixth grade substitute teacher, I walked into class and saw every student wearing sunglasses.

When I asked why, they said, “You’ll see at 2:15,” everyone shouted in unison.

I looked around confused and set my bag on the desk. Twenty-eight twelve-year-olds staring at me through dark lenses like a miniature secret service.

The lesson plan Ms. Stevens had left said nothing about this. I tried to shake it off and started taking attendance, but all the kids were staring into space as if they couldn’t see me. The girls were bouncing their heads like bobbleheads while the guys were reaching for the air like they had beef with oxygen.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on with the eyewear?” I asked again, trying to sound like the cool substitute.

Nobody answered. They just continued their conversations like I hadn’t said anything.

What stuck out most was the one kid without glasses. This kid, Claxton, in the middle row, just sat there looking down at his desk. Why was he the only one without them?

During my prep period, I found another teacher in the lounge.

“Hey, quick question. Why are all the kids in room 203 wearing sunglasses? Well, all except one.”

Mrs. E. Kremer suddenly became very interested in stirring her coffee.

“Oh, that’s just a thing they do.”

“But why, though? And why doesn’t Claxton have any?”

She grabbed her mug and headed for the door.

“Go to the principal about it. I have copies to make.”

So I did.

“Mr. Williams, the kids in my class are all wearing sunglasses except for Claxton, and no one will tell me why.”

He checked his watch.

“Well, as long as they’re not disrupting learning, I don’t see a problem. But if it bothers you, ask the janitor. He cleans that room more than any other.”

Then he practically jogged away, saying something about a parent phone call he had to take.

At lunch, I was refilling my water bottle when the janitor appeared next to me. This older guy named Fonan who’d probably been here since the school was built.

“You’re the sub in 203, right?” he said without me even having to ask him a word about it.

“Yeah.”

“Just prepare yourself for 2:15. And if the nurse tells you to do something, do what she says.”

I almost facepalmed.

“Prepare myself for what? What are you talking about? And why is Claxton the only kid without sunglasses?”

But he was already wheeling his cart away down the hall.

After lunch, the school nurse knocked on my classroom door.

“Thought you might need these.”

She pressed a pair of sunglasses into my hand. They were the exact kind all the kids in my class were wearing.

“I don’t understand what’s happening. Should I give these to Claxton? He’s the only one without any. And what’s up with 2:15?”

“Nothing’s up,” she said quickly. “And those glasses are for you. Claxton doesn’t need them.”

She was already walking away before I could ask why.

I walked back into my class at 2 p.m. where the kids were sniggering and checking their smartwatches. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

I stepped into the hallway to answer it.

“Is this the substitute in room 203?” The voice sounded tired.

“Yes.”

“This is Amanda Walsh. I was the substitute there last week. Listen, I know this is weird, but when 2:15 comes, just go with it, okay? Just put on the sunglasses and go with it.”

“Can you please tell me what happens at 2:15?”

She paused for a second.

“The kids figured something out that we adults never could. Claxton is… Claxton is the reason for this. Don’t try to change it. Don’t interfere with it. Just go with it.”

She hung up.

I walked back into the classroom and looked at the clock.

2:12.

The kids were getting fidgety. Some were adjusting their sunglasses. Claxton was still the only one without them. His hands were shaking as he pulled out index cards from his backpack.

2:13.

Claxton stood up from his seat. He was skinny, with curly hair that stuck up in weird places. His hands were already trembling as he walked to the front of the classroom with his index cards. Still no sunglasses.

2:14.

The room was dead silent now. Claxton stood at the front looking at his cards. His face was red, and I could see sweat beading on his forehead. Every other kid sat perfectly still behind their dark lenses.

2:15.

Claxton looked up at the class and started talking.

“My presentation is about the water cycle.”

His voice cracked on the word “water.” His whole body was shaking.

“Water starts as pre… precipitation, which falls from clouds.”

That’s when I understood it.

Claxton was terrified of public speaking—beyond a normal kid nervous. Panic attack level fear. His eyes kept darting around and every time they did, his voice got smaller and his shaking got worse.

But he also couldn’t see anyone’s eyes. He couldn’t see if they were laughing or judging. All he could see was a room full of dark lenses.

And all of a sudden, his voice was getting steadier.

“This is called evaporation,” he said.

The more he talked, the more confident he became.

It turns out that the kids had figured out that if Claxton couldn’t see their eyes watching him, he could get through his presentations.

I looked around at the other kids. Some had their heads tilted like they were listening. Others were probably not paying attention.

But Claxton couldn’t tell the difference. As far as he knew, every single person was locked onto his every word. This gave him the confidence to keep speaking. Before I knew it, he was even making jokes, which got a few laughs.

I looked down at the sunglasses the nurse had given me. Then I put them on.

But sadly, that was the biggest mistake I could have made.

Suddenly, Claxton stopped speaking and turned to me.

“I’m not a weird freak, okay?”

He ran at me suddenly as everyone took their sunglasses off.

I stood frozen as Claxton ran past me and out the classroom door. His face was red and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

The other students sat completely still with their sunglasses now off, staring at me like I had just done the worst thing possible.

I pulled off the sunglasses the nurse had given me, and my hands were shaking as I looked down at them. I had broken something important that I didn’t understand at all.

The room stayed quiet except for a few kids shifting in their seats. Nobody would look directly at me. Index cards lay scattered on the floor where Claxton had been standing.

The nurse appeared in the doorway within seconds, breathing hard like she had run from her office. She took one look at the empty space at the front of the room and the cards on the floor, then waved her hand for me to come into the hallway. The students stayed silent as I followed her out.

Right before the door closed behind us, I heard Mikey say quietly to the class that everyone should just stay calm.

In the hallway, the nurse kept her voice low but firm as she told me that Claxton was in her office right now and he was safe but really upset. She explained that the sunglasses thing has one main rule that everyone except subs seems to know about: adults never wear them because it makes Claxton feel like he’s being made fun of or pitied.

I felt my stomach twist as I understood that my attempt to show support had done exactly the opposite of what I had wanted.

She said the kids created this system to help him, and when adults join in, it stops being peer support and becomes something that makes him feel like a charity case or a freak.

I asked if I could talk to him and she shook her head. She said he needed space and that other people would handle this now.

Ximena Vega, the assistant principal, came down the hallway a few minutes later. She asked me to write down exactly what happened while it was still fresh in my mind. She was professional but not mean about it, explaining this wasn’t about blaming me, but about understanding what went wrong so they could help Claxton get better.

I walked back into the classroom where students were working quietly on some assignment that someone must have given them. I sat down at Ms. Stevens’s desk and started writing the report about what I had done. The room stayed quiet the whole time I wrote.

The final bell rang and students started packing up their stuff silently. Most of them wouldn’t look at me as they filed out.

Fay stopped at the door and said quietly that they knew I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I should have asked them first.

Her words stung because she was completely right. I had just assumed I understood without asking the people who actually knew what was going on.

She left and I sat there alone in the empty classroom for a few minutes.

I finished writing the report and took it to the main office. The sub coordinator read it quickly and then told me my assignment for tomorrow was in a different wing of the building. There was no judgment in her voice, just the reality that I needed to be away from room 203 while things calmed down.

I asked if I could leave a note for Claxton, and she suggested that any talking to him should go through the counselor first. She gave me a card with the counselor’s name and office number on it.

That evening at home, I searched online for stuff about social anxiety in kids and fears about presenting in front of people. I read about how helping kids get over fears needs to happen slowly and in controlled ways. I learned that adults who mean well often make things worse by forcing kids to do the scary thing to “build confidence” or by drawing too much attention to the fear.

Everything I read made me feel worse about what I had done that afternoon.

The articles talked about how kids with severe anxiety can have panic attacks that include throwing up and shaking and feeling like they can’t breathe. One article mentioned that some kids develop such strong fear responses that they avoid school entirely.

I kept thinking about Claxton’s red face and the tears and how he ran out of that room.

I opened a document to write an apology note to Claxton, but I deleted it after a few paragraphs. I tried again and deleted that version, too. The third time, I realized each version was making it about my feelings instead of his experience.

I finally wrote something simple that said I made a mistake and broke a rule I should have learned about first. I saved it to show the counselor before deciding if I should actually send it to him.

The next morning, I got to the school early and found Daniela Murphy’s office using the card the sub coordinator gave me. She was already sitting at her desk with a coffee and a big stack of folders in front of her. She looked up when I knocked and told me to come in.

I showed her the note I had written and she read it slowly and carefully. When she finished, she said we should probably talk about what happens next before I send anything to Claxton.

Daniela explained that Claxton has paperwork showing he has severe social anxiety that shows up mostly around public speaking and doing things in front of other people. The school has been working on getting him something called a 504 plan that would give him official help and changes to how he does assignments, but she said the process moves really slowly with all the meetings and forms that need to happen.

In the meantime, the students had created their own way to help him.

She told me she appreciated that I wanted to say sorry, but Claxton needed space right now and might not be ready to hear from me yet. She said, “Sometimes the best thing adults can do is step back and let kids process things in their own time.”

I leaned forward in my chair and asked Daniela what I should have done differently.

She pulled out a notepad and walked me through each missed opportunity. First, I could have asked the students directly about their classroom rules on day one instead of assuming everything would be obvious. Second, I should have checked with her office about any student needs or supports before I even started. Third, and most important, I shouldn’t have assumed that joining in would help without asking someone first.

She wasn’t mean about it. She just laid out how each choice I made led to what happened with Claxton.

I wrote down everything she said because I didn’t want to forget any of it.

Daniela looked at her calendar and mentioned she had a meeting scheduled with Ivonne Tate that afternoon. That was Claxton’s mom. She asked if I would be willing to come to the meeting and face her directly.

I said yes right away. I knew I needed to own up to what I did in person.

Daniela warned me that Ivonne was really protective of Claxton and frustrated that the school hadn’t set up official help sooner. She said the meeting might get tense. I told her I understood and I’d be there.

The sub coordinator sent me to a different classroom for the rest of the day. It was a fifth grade class working on a science project about plants. I found myself watching the kids way more carefully than I normally would.

I kept noticing little things like how two kids always worked together and got upset if someone tried to split them up, or how one girl needed to sit near the window.

During a group activity, I walked around and asked each group what was working best for them instead of telling them how to do it. One kid looked really surprised that I was asking. He said most subs just tell them what to do without checking first.

That made me realize how rarely teachers probably ask kids what they actually need.

At lunch, I sat in the staff lounge with my sandwich. Mrs. Kremer walked in to get coffee and froze when she saw me. I could tell she wanted to leave, but she poured her coffee and sat down at the other end of the table.

We didn’t talk for a few minutes. Then she said she was sorry for brushing me off that first day when I asked about the sunglasses. She explained that teachers had been told not to discuss Claxton’s situation with subs because of privacy rules.

I told her I got why there were privacy rules, but I wished someone had at least warned me to be careful. She nodded and said the school was really bad at giving subs any useful information. Then she left to get back to her classroom.

The afternoon went by slowly. I kept checking the clock and thinking about the meeting with Ivonne. Around 2:30, Fonan came by to empty the trash cans. He took his time wiping down the desks even though they were already clean.

Then he said quietly that the kids in room 203 were good kids. He said they figured out how to help their friend when all the adults were stuck in meetings and paperwork. He added that sometimes the best thing grown-ups can do is protect what already works instead of trying to fix it.

Then he pushed his cart out into the hallway.

I thought about that for the rest of the afternoon.

The meeting was scheduled for 3:30 in a small conference room near the main office. I got there a few minutes early and Daniela was already setting up papers on the table.

Ivonne arrived right at 3:30. She was wearing scrubs and looked exhausted, like she came straight from a nursing shift. She shook my hand, but her face was guarded. I could see anger in her eyes when she looked at me.

We all sat down, and Daniela started by going over what happened in room 203. She was only a few sentences in when Ivonne interrupted.

She said Claxton had been in therapy for two years. She explained that public speaking triggered panic attacks so bad that he had thrown up in class before. The sunglasses thing was the first solution that actually worked.

Now, she was terrified he would go back to how he was before. Her voice got tight when she talked about how scared Claxton had been yesterday.

I waited until she finished and then I apologized directly to her. I kept it short and focused on what I did wrong. I explained that I put on the sunglasses thinking it would help him, but I didn’t know there was a rule about adults not wearing them.

Ivonne’s expression got a little softer. She said she believed I meant well, but good intentions didn’t erase the harm when her son was the one suffering from it.

Daniela steered us toward talking about solutions. She said the incident had actually sped up the 504 process because it showed in writing how severe Claxton’s needs were. She suggested that if I came back to room 203 as a sub, there should be clear, written rules about the sunglasses and other options for presentations.

Ivonne asked what promise she had that I wouldn’t mess things up again. I told Ivonne honestly that I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t make mistakes, but I could promise to ask questions first and follow the advice of people who knew Claxton better than I did.

I mentioned the stuff I’d been reading about social anxiety. I said I understood now why the student solution worked so well. It gave Claxton control and let him keep his dignity.

Ivonne stared at my face for a long time before she nodded slowly.

Daniela shifted in her seat and pulled out a folder with printed pages. She spread them across the table and started going through different options for Claxton if he wanted to try presenting again.

The first option was recording himself privately with just Daniela in the room and then showing the video to the class. The second was presenting only to Daniela as proof he could do it without needing the whole class there. The third was going back to the classroom setup with students wearing sunglasses, but making it clear that no adults would participate in the ritual.

Daniela explained that the goal was giving Claxton choices instead of forcing one specific method on him. She said exposure therapy only works when the person has some control over how it happens.

Ivonne listened carefully and took notes on her phone. She asked questions about each option and how they would fit with what Claxton’s therapist was already doing. Daniela promised to coordinate everything with the therapist before moving forward.

Ivonne agreed to talk through all the choices with Claxton at home and see which one felt manageable to him. She stressed that she didn’t want to push him into anything before he was ready. Daniela nodded and said they would follow Claxton’s pace completely.

I sat there mostly quiet, knowing this wasn’t my conversation to lead. Ivonne glanced at me a few times like she was checking whether I understood how serious this was.

Before we wrapped up, Ivonne set her phone down and looked directly at me.

She said Claxton came home yesterday and cried for over an hour. He kept saying that everyone at the school probably thought he was broken or crazy. Ivonne’s voice got tight when she described trying to comfort him while he sobbed into his pillow.

She explained that the sunglasses thing worked so well because it felt like his classmates were supporting him as a friend, not treating him like a project.

When I put on the glasses, it changed everything. Suddenly, it felt like a teacher-led activity instead of something the kids did for each other. Claxton told his mom it made him feel like a charity case, like everyone was just pretending to help him because an adult told them to.

Ivonne said those exact words hit her hard because Claxton rarely opened up about his feelings that clearly.

I felt my chest get heavy listening to her describe his breakdown. The difference between support and spotlight suddenly made complete sense. Support meant his friends had his back. Spotlight meant adults were shining a light on his struggle and making it everyone’s focus.

I had turned their private system into a public accommodation without meaning to.

Ivonne finished talking and gathered her things. She shook both our hands again before leaving, and this time her expression was less guarded—still worried, but maybe a little less angry at me specifically.

That evening, I was sitting on my couch trying to watch TV, but mostly just replaying the meeting in my head. My phone buzzed with a text from a number I didn’t recognize. The message said it was Mikey from room 203 and asked if we could talk tomorrow before school.

I typed back yes immediately and asked where he wanted to meet.

He suggested the bench outside the main entrance at 7:30 in the morning. I confirmed and set an alarm on my phone.

The rest of the evening, I couldn’t stop wondering what Mikey wanted to tell me. Part of me hoped he would help me understand what I still didn’t know about the whole situation. Another part worried he was angry like Claxton had been.

I spent an hour reading more articles about anxiety in kids and how peer support systems work. Everything I read emphasized that student-created solutions often work better than adult-imposed ones because kids understand each other’s social dynamics in ways adults miss.

I finally went to bed around eleven but lay awake thinking about what Mikey might say.

I got to the school at 7:15 the next morning and found Mikey already sitting on the bench with his backpack next to him. He looked up when I walked over and gestured for me to sit down.

Mikey was one of those kids who seemed comfortable in his own skin, the type who could talk to anyone without getting nervous. He didn’t waste time with small talk. He launched right into explaining that the sunglasses ritual worked because it belonged to the students, not because any adults approved it or joined in.

When I put on the glasses during Claxton’s presentation, the whole thing stopped being a peer support system. It became a teacher-led activity instead.

Mikey said that shift changed everything for Claxton because suddenly it felt like the adults were taking over something the kids had figured out themselves.

I listened without interrupting and Mikey kept going.

He told me they had tried talking to teachers about Claxton’s anxiety before. Every solution adults came up with involved either forcing Claxton to present anyway because “it would build confidence” or excusing him completely from presentations, which made him feel worse about himself.

The students figured out the sunglasses compromise on their own after watching Claxton struggle through multiple presentations where he could barely breathe.

The dark lenses gave him just enough distance from everyone’s eyes to function without making him feel singled out as different from everyone else.

Mikey explained that Claxton hated feeling like “the broken kid” who needed special treatment. The sunglasses thing worked because everyone participated, so it didn’t spotlight him specifically.

I asked Mikey what I should do now to fix things. He got quiet for a moment and stared at the empty parking lot. Then he said the best thing was probably to just stay out of it unless Claxton specifically asked for help.

If I ended up subbing in room 203 again, I should treat the presentations like any other classroom activity—monitor for safety, but don’t participate or make a big deal about whatever accommodations students were using.

Mikey stressed that the ritual worked best when adults acted like it was completely normal instead of something special or unusual.

I nodded and told him that made sense.

Mikey added that some students were worried Claxton might not come back to class at all now. Others worried the school would ban the sunglasses now that adults were paying so much attention to them.

I promised I would speak up for keeping the ritual if anyone questioned whether it should be allowed. Mikey’s shoulders relaxed a little when I said that.

He mentioned that Claxton was one of the smartest kids in their class and deserved the chance to show what he knew without having a panic attack every time. Then he grabbed his backpack and headed inside because the first bell was about to ring.

In my assigned classroom that morning, I kept thinking about what Mikey had told me. During the language arts block, one of the students seemed really anxious about reading her paragraph aloud. Her hands were shaking when I called on her.

Instead of just waiting for her to read, I quietly walked over and offered her the option to pass or read to me privately during lunch. The student looked surprised but relieved.

She thought for a second and then said she would try reading to the class. She got through it successfully and looked grateful that I had given her a choice instead of just forcing her to perform.

I realized how much power there was in simply offering options rather than deciding for students what they should do.

The rest of the morning went smoothly, and I made sure to ask students their preferences on several small things instead of just telling them what to do.

During my planning period, I opened my laptop and started a new document. I titled it “Questions to Ask on Day One” and began listing everything I wished I had known before walking into room 203.

The first item was asking students directly about classroom norms and routines. The second was checking with the counselor about any accommodations or special situations. The third was finding out if students had created any of their own solutions to problems that I should know about and respect. I added a note about not assuming that adult participation in student systems was helpful without confirming first.

I kept the whole thing to one page so it would be quick to reference. I saved it to my phone and decided to use this checklist for every single substitute assignment going forward.

Mid-morning, my email pinged with a message from Daniela. The subject line said, “Update on Claxton.” I opened it immediately.

Daniela wrote that Claxton was back at the school but spending the day in alternative locations with modified assignments. She was working with him on a plan for slowly returning to room 203 when he felt ready.

The email asked if I was comfortable being the substitute there again once Claxton was back in class. She stressed that it would only happen if Claxton felt okay about it.

I read the email twice and then typed a response. I said I was willing to help if it would make things easier, but only if Claxton genuinely felt comfortable with me being there. I added that I would follow whatever guidelines Daniela and Claxton’s team set up.

I hit send and closed my laptop, hoping that my willingness to return might show Claxton that I understood I had messed up and wanted to do better.

The next day at lunch, I spotted the nurse refilling her coffee in the hallway near the staff lounge. I pulled the sunglasses from my bag and walked over to her.

She took them without saying anything and slipped them into her pocket. Then she looked at me and said, “Claxton was tough” and that one bad day didn’t undo all the progress he’d made over the past year.

She added that sometimes mistakes actually push things forward because this incident finally got the administration to move on that 504 plan they’d been sitting on for months.

I thanked her and she headed back to her office.

I stood there for a minute thinking about how a disaster for Claxton might actually lead to him getting real support.

That afternoon, my phone buzzed during my planning period.

Amanda Walsh again.

I answered and she asked how I was holding up after everything that happened. I admitted I felt awful but was trying to learn from the whole mess. Amanda said she almost made the exact same mistake on her first day in room 203, but Mikey stopped her right before she put the sunglasses on.

She explained that the hardest part of being a substitute is walking into these situations completely blind and having to figure out complicated student dynamics with zero background information.

We talked for almost twenty minutes about how schools set up substitutes to fail by not sharing critical information about accommodations or classroom cultures. Amanda suggested we start a group where subs could share strategies and warn each other about tricky classroom dynamics.

I loved the idea and said we should reach out to other substitutes we knew. She said she would start making a list of people to contact.

We talked for almost an hour about different scenarios we had faced and how we had handled them. By the end of the call, we had sketched out a basic plan for monthly meetings where substitutes could swap stories and advice.

Three weeks after the whole incident with Claxton, I got an email from Daniela with the subject line saying, “Good news.”

I opened it immediately and read that Claxton’s 504 plan had been approved by the school district. The plan included multiple ways to do presentations, extra time for assignments, and access to the counselor’s office whenever he needed a safe space.

The plan also officially recognized the sunglasses ritual as a real accommodation that teachers and staff had to respect and protect. Nobody could ban it or mess with it anymore because it was now part of his formal support plan.

I felt genuinely happy reading about all the options Claxton would have going forward.

Daniela’s email continued with more details about how the process had worked. She thanked me for being part of what led to this outcome.

She said that while the incident had been really hard for everyone, it created the paperwork and urgency that the school system needed to finally push the 504 plan through all the approval steps.

She explained that sometimes it takes something going wrong to make the adults pay attention and do what they should have done months earlier.

She told me that Claxton was slowly getting more comfortable with presentations and had recently volunteered to present to half the class instead of just a small group.

She said that was huge progress for him and showed how much the formal support plan was helping.

I wrote back right away to tell Daniela how happy I was about Claxton’s progress and the protection for the sunglasses ritual.

I asked if it would be okay to send congratulations to Claxton and she said she would mention it during their next meeting. She added that the school was now working on better ways to brief substitute teachers based on recommendations from several staff members who had seen what happened.

I closed my laptop feeling like something good had come out of my mistake, even though I wished I had never made it in the first place.

I wrote back to Daniela right away telling her how happy I felt about Claxton getting the support he needed and how good it was that the sunglasses ritual now had official protection.

I asked if it would be okay to send congratulations to Claxton or if that would make things weird. Her response came back within an hour saying she would mention it during their next check-in meeting, but that direct contact from me probably wasn’t the best idea yet.

She added that the school was working on new procedures for briefing substitute teachers using recommendations from several staff members who saw what happened in my situation.

Reading that made me feel like at least my mistake had pushed the school to fix a bigger problem with how they prepared subs for complex classroom situations.

A month passed before I got another call about room 203. The sub coordinator called my cell phone on a Tuesday morning asking if I could cover for Ms. Stevens, who had a family emergency.

She specifically said she was requesting me because I already knew the classroom culture and the students. I agreed and drove to the school wondering how it would feel to be back in that room.

When I arrived and opened the substitute folder on the desk, I found the classroom guide I had created still sitting there. Ms. Stevens had added notes in blue ink throughout the document, including details about other students who preferred certain presentation methods and which kids worked well together for group projects.

Seeing my guide expanded and improved like that felt good, like I had left something useful behind.

The day went exactly how it should go. Students came in and settled into their routines without needing much direction from me.

During presentation time, I watched as different kids used different methods based on what worked for them. Three students did traditional stand-up presentations to the whole class. Two kids presented together as partners. One student showed a video she had made at home.

The sunglasses ritual happened for the students who wanted it, with kids putting on their dark lenses when certain presenters stood up front.

Claxton presented in the back corner to a small group of four students who had pulled their desks into a circle. I stayed at the teacher’s desk supervising the whole room, but not interfering with any of it.

When Claxton finished his presentation about the Revolutionary War, Mikey reached over and gave him a quiet high-five. Nobody made a big deal about it. The system just worked.

At the end of the day, I started packing up my bag and collecting the materials I had used. Claxton walked up to my desk slowly, not making eye contact, but clearly wanting to say something.

He stood there for a second before speaking quietly.

“Thanks for not making it weird today.”

I looked at him and kept my response simple and normal.

“You did a great job on your presentation. The Revolutionary War stuff was really interesting.”

He nodded once and walked away to grab his backpack.

As I watched him leave with the other students, I understood that this boring, unremarkable interaction was exactly what success looked like.

We had reached a point where accommodations were so normal that nobody had to make them into a big thing anymore. Claxton could present his way, other kids could present their way, and it was all just part of how the classroom worked.

Well, that’s the big finale nobody asked for, but you still got it. If you made it this far, either you’re loyal or you have way too much free time. Either way, I respect it.

Subscribe and let’s keep making questionable choices.