The problem with Eli’s school is it’s not on a human scale. Five stories tall. A dozen first grade classes. When the bell rings, the teachers march the kids out in strict little lines. The playground is big, but it backs out onto the avenue. There is a hole in the fence where the wire is bent, and every time I see it I feel a jolt of dread. All year, I’ve been on some soul-crushing committee where we talk about getting it fixed. I’m not a joiner, but believe me, I work less than these immigrant parents.
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