The Sin of Having Blue Eyes

Wendy (a real person, but a fictitious name for the sake of telling this story) was one of several girls in a family with a single mom. I knew that her mother was courageously and lovingly providing as best as she could for her children on a meagre income. There was certainly no room in her budget for such luxuries as the latest expensive fashionable clothes.

Just before recess ended one day, Wendy walked up to me in the schoolyard where I was on supervision. Her head was down, tears were not far away, and she simply said to me, "The girls are teasing me because of my clothes."

I knew I could not confront the other girls in the class directly. That would simply have made the situation worse for Wendy. I therefore opted for another approach - an idea that popped into my head as I was heading back to class.

When all of the students were back in their seats, I looked at them, making a real effort to keep a straight and a stern face, and said: "I can't stand it anymore! I have always wanted to have blue eyes, but my eyes are brown. Every time I see someone with blue eyes, I get really frustrated. I won't stand for it anymore! All of the students in this classroom who have blue eyes, stand up and line up in the back of the classroom facing the wall." At this point, close to half the class got up and headed to the back of the classroom. I had not realized that there were so many blue-eyed children in my class until that moment! I then proceeded to say: "From now on, I want you blue-eyed people to keep your heads down when you see me near you, whether it be here in the classroom, in the hallways or outside in the playground. I do not want to see your eyes anymore." I paused for a few seconds and said: "Those of you who think that what I am doing is rather silly, please raise your hand." Hesitant hands started going up one at a time until all of them were in the air. I then added: "You are, of course, quite right." I told them to sit down and said: "When people put others down because they look different, or have different clothes, or speak differently, they do something just as silly as what I have just done."

I left it at that and started the afternoon lessons. Later that same day I intercepted a note being circulated by some of the girls – the equivalent of texting in a 1980’s classroom! It simply read: "I am sorry for making fun of your clothes."

When I recall that incidence, I sometimes wonder why I never got phone calls from irate parents telling me, “How dare you single out my child like that and risk marking him/her for life.” I think it is because the children never felt threatened by what I was doing and saying. They knew me and instinctively understood that I wanted them to learn something because I cared about them. I had done crazier things than that in the past to help them understand things! Even if what I was saying sounded like harsh words, they “knew my voice” and trusted the one who was speaking to them.