J

From February:

Catharsis

In February, a bright 5th grade student left our program. His mom’s unfortunate death in late January caused him to relocate to a different school district.

I was so unnerved by this experience for many weeks following the incident that I decided to write a poem addressing what I might theoretically say to him (the name has been changed).

02.22.2011
Dear Timmy

Dear Timmy
This wasn’t meant to happen.
This letter I’m writing is,
but this life you’re getting isn’t.

Dear Timmy
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that every time you left for the weekend
I had to tell you good luck and stay strong
instead of have fun
I’m sorry that I couldn’t spend the afternoon just with you
because I know you needed it more than anyone
I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you those damn crackers everyday
I’m sorry that life isn’t easy.

Dear Timmy
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t rap as well as you
play Clue everyday with you
read a whole book or two
I’m sorry that I will never know what it is
like to be you
None of us do.

Dear Timmy,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I had to cry for you
I’m sorry there’s not the sky for you
I’m sorry she had to die on you
I’m sorry I have nothing to provide you
other than this letter and a shoulder to cry onto
This life didn’t deserve you.

Dear Timmy
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that you see death in trees.
I’ll never forget that day when you
asked me how
how can they cut it down with such ease
and leave me here on my knees.
You said just leave me, please.

But it was you who left us.
And now every time I leave for the weekend
I tell myself
Good luck. Stay strong.
He’s getting everything he needs.

J and Tree

You'll see me post a couple of entries about a 5th grade male student, J, who left the program in February. Here is a reflection from early January.

A 5th grade student was teary-eyed at the beginning of outdoor "free choice" (outdoor play time) on Tuesday. He was staring across the street as a team of workers chopped down a large tree.

"How could they do that?" He cried.
"It is sad, isn't it..." I replied.
"THAT'S SO WRONG!" he exclaimed.
"You'll have to plant a new tree in it's memory." I said, trying to comfort him.

The student then began to tell me that it wasn't just any tree, but the biggest tree he's ever lived by. And it wasn't just the biggest tree he's lived by, but it was also his favorite tree. And it wasn't just his favorite tree. It was a tree, he said, "That me and my family have special memories with." I asked him if he wanted to share any of those memories with me.
"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, looking away.

"Let's do something fun to get the tree off your mind." I said, as he shook his head no.

I thought for a moment and began to sing:
"I have a friend and his name is.......Kyle
! When I look at him he always....Smiles!"
Referring to a rapping game the student and i sometimes play together. His eyes lit up.

He chimed in:
"I have a friend her name is Erin,
She makes me want to do somethin' darin.
But then I will just get in trouble,
so I go and pop a bubble!"

"NICE!" I exclaim.

As we walked inside a couple of minutes and a couple of raps later, before I could even really assess the situation with a cheesy moral about personal expression and it's impact on mood, the student read my mind and said it himself: "I'm so happy now. Rapping makes me feel so good."

Word.