A young girl stands on a tiny platform under a spotlight and tearfully tells her classmates about the night that she held hands with her siblings in the bathroom of their home in Syria while the Russians bombed their street. A fourteen year old boy admits a vulnerability hiding under his swagger. A sometimes combative teen with a lot of talent recounts the sensation of her father's car flipping in an accident that took his life on the way to the birth of her sister. Two girls who previously had little interaction connect over similar stories about drug-addicted parents and coming to live with their grandmothers. There are days when my classroom is pretty factual and practical. We learn to make scaled set drawings. We study the differences between Greek and Roman theater. We memorize lines by rote. And then there are the days when my class gets pretty emotional and almost therapeutic. We journal. We build box forts. We reveal something about ourselves like we did that day when we