As I was leaving school on Thursday, with a four-day weekend looming ahead (for students anyway), I expected the hallways to be deserted. What I witnessed instead was a vitality that astounded me. The speech team had a big tournament coming up, with organizers tapping away on their computers and contestants practicing in empty rooms, their voices echoing happily off walls. Dozens of kids on the newspaper staff were huddling and calling and moving type around on computer screens. Students from geography classes were hanging up colorful posters for extra credit. In the teacher cafeteria, the chess team was preparing for practice or maybe a weekend competition. At the concession stand, students were popping popcorn for some game that evening. I felt fortunate to be part of such vitality, even though I was merely passing through. There had been times when I’d worked the concession stand or attended a game or had my own students meeting after school or sat down for an interview for the newspaper or contributed an idea for a speech. So while I wasn’t directly involved in any of these activities as I left, I felt proud to be part of such a rich community.
I’m certain I was keenly aware of all this energy because this week we mourned the passing of one our students. I didn’t know the young man at all, I don’t know the circumstances of his death, but it saddens me to think that he may not have ever felt a part of all the goodwill surrounding him. I don’t fault him or anyone else for this. We can all recall times when we didn’t feel as if we belonged, despite the best efforts of others welcoming us in. Sometimes it takes time, that’s all. And that’s the part that saddens me most, that he won’t have this allowance. He won’t ever fully discover that teachers and social workers and counselors and administrators care about students more than students will ever know. In fact, these people “in charge” are yearning to help. We may not always know what to do or what to say, but given a chance, we’ll muddle through and listen and be there. I wonder if students realize this. Here’s the irony: students probably realize this least when they’re suffering the most. I’m not discounting at all the role of friends and family during rough times, but on top of that is a rich resource of adults around every corner, waiting to lend a hand.
I’m certain I was keenly aware of all this energy because this week we mourned the passing of one our students. I didn’t know the young man at all, I don’t know the circumstances of his death, but it saddens me to think that he may not have ever felt a part of all the goodwill surrounding him. I don’t fault him or anyone else for this. We can all recall times when we didn’t feel as if we belonged, despite the best efforts of others welcoming us in. Sometimes it takes time, that’s all. And that’s the part that saddens me most, that he won’t have this allowance. He won’t ever fully discover that teachers and social workers and counselors and administrators care about students more than students will ever know. In fact, these people “in charge” are yearning to help. We may not always know what to do or what to say, but given a chance, we’ll muddle through and listen and be there. I wonder if students realize this. Here’s the irony: students probably realize this least when they’re suffering the most. I’m not discounting at all the role of friends and family during rough times, but on top of that is a rich resource of adults around every corner, waiting to lend a hand.
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