Words are not enough
posted: May 30, 05:02 PM
You know the expression words are not enough? I often find myself thinking words can only begin to express how our heart may feel.
As you know, I work in an inner city school. I enjoy my students and my work, but there are some days when I feel much too inadequate. Thursday was one.
A young woman whom I have worked with since she was in grade 7 and who will be going to high school next year, was with me for the first period of the day. She is normally a very gregarious, read noisy, young person. On Thursday, she was quiet and, I thought, not feeling well. I asked and her response broke my heart.
She answered my question of “Are you not feeling well?” with “I was at a funeral yesterday, miss. I didn’t want to come to school today, but my mum made me.” I replied that I was sorry to hear about yesterday…asked if she had been close to the person who had died. She responded with “It was my cousin miss. You heard about the guy who was shot in the head?” I knew she was referring to a recent drive by shooting in a near by community.
We talked for a bit about how close her cousin and she had been. How his family and hers were handling his death and then she asked me “Miss, why do so many people I know get shot?” My heart, which thought it could become no sadder, found it could.
She began telling me about another relative who had been shot and died and then of her uncle who had been shot, and who is currently in hospital, paralyzed on one side of his body.
I replied to this question with a response along the lines of I didn’t know why life had to be so hard sometimes. Then I added I wished so much that she (and several other of my students) could just be kids and not have to deal with life’s tough stuff at so early an age. My eyes filled up with tears at this point…I couldn’t help it…the young girl noticed and said “Oh, miss, please don’t cry, I’ll be alright.”
Interestingly, she appreciated my visible emotion, I’m not given to crying or raising my voice with my students. She shared some stories from the after funeral at her aunt’s house, telling me a funny story about a little girl telling the older kids to come in because of the “great, hairy beast” in the backyard. I asked what it was and my student told me the “beast” was a raccoon. As she couldn’t focus on academics and really should have been home, she spent the morning with me.
I was sharing my feelings about this young person’s experiences with another staff person and was most taken aback by their reaction. It was along the lines of “well as long as she lives in that “lifestyle” those things will keep happening.”
Since when do children get to choose where and how they live? Does her mother choose to live in poverty? I am not certain what the solutions to stories and experiences such as my student’s may be…I do have ideas…but I do know blaming a child for where they live and who they are related to, is not the answer!