One of the most difficult and altogether beautiful things about serving young children from the South Bronx is that they are entirely transparent. If they love something, you can see it in every part of their being — their smiles, their words, their laughter, their curiosity. If they hate something — you, for instance — you will know within seconds and will be reminded almost constantly afterwards until the sentiments change.

However, I must point out that, more often than not, it isn't you they hate. Not at all. Rather, the anger that sparks and spreads rapidly is directed at whatever is in front of them and very rarely finds its origin in them. No, my suspicion is that the anger — not pettiness or frustration over "you touched my stuff!" but raw, real, unadulterated emotion — comes from hurt within the home.