By: Dennis Richmond, Jr.
It happened quietly, in the middle of an ordinary school day in my Westchester classroom. One of my scholars walked up to my desk, hands cupped together, and said they had something for me. I didn’t know what it was. When they pulled out an apple—red, small, shining with the kind of care only a child can give—I froze.
I thanked them, but I didn’t eat it. I put it in my bag. I took it home.
People talk about teachers receiving apples as if it’s something from a distant American past, something preserved in black-and-white movies or told by grandparents who say schools used to be “different.” And they’re right—schools are different. Education is different. Children are different. And teachers, especially Black male teachers, are rare in classrooms across this country. Every time I step into my classroom, I know I’m standing in a place many never imagined for someone like me.
But that apple—bought with a scholar’s own money—reminded me that something hasn’t changed at all: the quiet ways young people tell you that you matter to them, even when you don’t always see the impact you’re making.
This gift was small, but it carried the weight of history. It echoed an era when families and teachers were deeply connected, when respect between home and school flowed more freely, when a teacher’s voice was something parents trusted and kids honored. Elders often tell me education has changed a lot since their time. I agree. It has changed since mine, too. But standing there with that apple in my hand, I felt a glimmer of the hope they talk about—a sense that despite everything, some traditions survive.
No matter what AI becomes, no matter how smartphones buzz inside phone bins, no matter the challenges my colleagues face across the state and the nation—underpayment, burnout, job insecurity, rising tensions—this small gesture reminded me why I’m still in the field of education. Why I show up. Why I teach.
That apple was more than a gift. It was a message. A reminder. A sign that I am exactly where I need to be, as my mother would say.
Dennis Richmond, Jr. (@NewYorkStakz) is a journalist, historian, and educator from Yonkers, NY. He writes to uplift unheard voices, honor history, and inspire change.
