[Image Description of screenshots of text: And then she told me this.
Every Friday afternoon, she asks her students to take out a piece of paper and write down the names of four children with whom they'd like to sit the following week. The children know that these requests may or may not be honoured. She also asks the students to nominate one student who they believe has been an exceptional classroom citizen that week. All ballots are privately submitted to her.
And every single Friday afternoon, after the students go home, she takes out those slips of paper, places them in front of her, and studies them. She looks for patterns.
Who is not getting requested by anyone else?
Who can't think of anyone to request?
Who never gets noticed enough to be nominated?
Who had a million friends last week and none this week?
You see, Chase's teacher is not looking for a new seating chart or "exceptional citizens." Chase's teacher is looking for lonely children. She's looking for children who are struggling to connect with other children. She's identifying the little ones who are falling through the cracks of the class's social life. She is discovering who's gifts are going unnoticed by their peers. And she's pinning down--right away--who's being bullied and who's doing the bullying.
As Chase's teacher explained this simple, ingenious idea, I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. "How long have you been using this system?" I said.
Ever since Columbine, she said. Every single Friday afternoon since Columbine. Good Lord.
And what this mathematician has learned while using this system is something she really already knew: that everything--even love, even belonging--has a pattern to it. She find the patterns, and through those lists she breaks the codes of disconnection. Then she gets lonely kids the help they need. It's math to her. It's math.
All is love--even math. Amazing.
What a way to spend a life: looking for patterns of love and loneliness. Stepping in, every single day, and altering the trajectory of our world. End ID]