Epilogue To "The Me You See"

I was unprepared for the reaction to my last post.  You know…the one about my grieving boy.  The general public read about a first grade child whose mother’s death rocked his world and felt sympathy for his plight, maybe said a prayer for him,  then got up and put another load of laundry in the washer or checked their Facebook page.  But for those who are a part of the community we live in or are connected in some way to this tragedy, it has touched a sensitive nerve that catapulted reaction into the forefront of community consciousness.  The plain truth is, one year is not a very long time when you are  referring to an event that forever altered a small community.  It’s the sort of event that causes people to stop and remember what they were doing when they heard The News.  Sort of like December 7^th for the Greatest Generation, or September 11^th for the rest of us.  Those events are so life-altering that the moment of hearing their shocking news for the first time becomes etched in our minds and memories forever.

Such is the case when there is a death in a small town.  If the deceased is someone who has lived a full life, then discussion of the death fills the local diner and the bar, but is more centered around the good life they lived and becomes an informal tribute of sorts to their character and reputation.

When the unthinkable happens and the death involves someone far too young to be taken from this world, then the discussions become filled with details of their death, and conversations are repeated over and over in a vain attempt to make some sense of a seemingly senseless tragedy.  At the end of nearly every conversation, the participants will shake their heads slowly and quietly say, “What a tragedy.”

It appears that my observations about my heartsick student have ripped the scab off a slow-healing wound.  It was certainly not my intention to inflict fresh pain on anyone.  I simply saw a child full of emotion and thought I should write about it.  These are the real-life circumstances that teachers must sometimes face.  But the reaction has been strong.  I have received many tearful messages from people telling me how touched they were by my post and by the story of a lost little boy.  They have all been incredibly encouraging and expressed gratitude for my concern for him.  Many have been from caring relatives who, too, see his sorrow and long to comfort and ease his grief. 

My thoughts, concerns, and reactions to this student reflect my philosophy of teaching, a philosophy I am still defining as I experience the day-to-day of the classroom.  Some teachers are purists in the sense that they feel strongly that the child they are to be concerned with is the one that walks in the door at 8:30 and walks out at 3:30.  Very little before those times or after.  That may sound cold and heartless, but purists are focused on educating that child and wringing every valuable drop of instruction out the school day.  Most are quite effective at their job and love their students as much as any other teacher does.  Those of us who take a “whole child” approach to teaching look at each child at the outset of the day and wonder, “Are you hungry?  Did you sleep well?  Was there arguing in your house last night that left you stressed and exhausted?”  The purist and the whole child teachers are each sincere in their efforts to educate effectively.  I just simply have too much mother in me to be a purist.  I DO wonder if my little charges walk through my door ready to learn or are weighted down with life beyond their ability to cope.

The touching part about my last post and its subsequent reaction is that I am reminded of how closely knit this community is and how large my little boy’s “village” is.  He is loved, cared for and about, and has countless people rooting for him.  I am not alone in my effort to love this child back to a good place.  His cast of support extends far beyond his family, who love him deeply, and myself, who is just beginning to know him.  He has already taken his place in the fabric of this prairie enclave and will forever be one its sons. 

To all the amazing people who have shared their tears, pain, and support over the last couple of days; thank you for welcoming me into your circle that will nurture this child to wholeness.  I have much to learn about my profession and how to do justice to each of my students.  I welcome your guidance and help as I feel my way through the next weeks and months.

It is good to be reminded that with sorrow and pain come the overwhelming expressions of love by those, like you, who care where words simply fail.  May God bless all the open arms and hearts in this little boy’s life!