#6 - "A Better Place to Be"

Amanda transferred to Hamilton Middle School in her seventh grade year from a Catholic K-8 school in an upscale area of San José. Her mother had been born in the Philippines. Her father was a San José native of Korean parents. Amanda had been bullied mercilessly by a group of girls in her class throughout fifth and sixth grade. She was hoping that seventh grade might be different. It wasn’t.

Through the kindness of a friend, Amanda and her mother lived in a rented room in a home in the southwest area of San José. Her father had been killed in a tragic head-on collision when Amanda was in third grade. He was returning home from work one evening when a drunk driver in a large sport utility vehicle drifted into oncoming traffic on Monterey Highway. The SUV collided with his vehicle, killing him instantly. In the aftermath of that tragedy, Amanda and her mother needed housing assistance. It was then that Mrs. Pritchard, an old family friend whose husband had died several years earlier, invited Amanda and her mom to move in with her. With financial assistance from the school, Amanda was able to enroll in the local catholic elementary school for her fourth grade year.

Her first year at the school was uneventful. She struggled a bit academically in the first semester, but by January was achieving at grade-level in all her subjects. She made friends easily and felt accepted by her new classmates. For whatever reason, though, as often happens when kids approach the middle school years, the tide of public opinion turned against her at the beginning of her fifth grade year. From that time on, Amanda was excluded by many of her classmates from group activities during recess and lunch. When her teacher would instruct the students to break up into groups for a classroom activity, Amanda was routinely shunned by those who had once been her friends. Social isolation soon led to active bullying. On several occasions, Amanda found her lunch smashed inside her brown paper lunch bag. Someone smeared glue on several pages in her math book. During morning recess one day, a ball “accidentally” hit the back of her head with such force that it knocked her glasses off her face. And on yet another occasion, while using the rest room one day, someone tossed a large paper cup filled with water over the top of the stall door, drenching her hair and school uniform. This harassment continued throughout Amanda’s fifth and sixth grade years.

In early October of Amanda’s seventh grade year, her mother sought help from the seventh grade teacher and the school principal. Both tried to downplay the actions of the bullies as “normal middle school drama,” and encouraged Amanda to “be strong and just ignore it.” When the bullying intensified to the point where, in the first week of November, Amanda was cornered in the girls bathroom and kicked repeatedly by one of her classmates, her mother reported the attack to the pastor of the parish, who was the top administrator for the school. He promised to investigate the situation thoroughly.

Several other parents, who had heard about the incident, warned Amanda’s mother to be prepared for disappointment, reminding her that several of the mean girls in the class, including the student who had repeatedly kicked Amanda in the bathroom, were the children of some of the wealthiest benefactors of both the school and the parish. They told her that kids from wealthy families could get away with just about anything in that school.

As these parents had predicted, the pastor, too, tried to sweep the incident under the rug. In a meeting with Amanda and her mother, the pastor told them that in today’s world, the popular phrase “boys will be boys” applied equally to girls, and that it was Amanda’s responsibility to adapt to the social situation in the school and to develop the social skills needed to get along with her classmates. 

The next day, Amanda’s mother removed her from the school, packed up all their belongings, and moved in with friends in West San José so that Amanda could be enrolled in Hamilton Middle School. 

Amanda’s first day at Hamilton was the best day she’d had in school in the past several years. In a meeting before school, one of the school counselors, Mrs. McShane, assured Amanda’s mother that her daughter would be safe at Hamilton, and that they would check-in with her on a regular basis in the coming weeks. Mrs. McShane also contacted Priya, a seventh grade girl who had earned Mrs. McShane’s respect, to solicit her help with caring for Amanda during this time of transition. Priya was an exceptionally bright, perceptive, and compassionate young woman. Mrs. McShane, confident that Priya would be a tremendous resource for Amanda as she adjusted to her new school, summoned her to her office.

“Amanda, I’d like you to meet Priya,” she said in a soft, comforting voice.

“Hi,” Amanda replied shyly.

“Hi, Amanda. Welcome to Hamilton. I think you’re going to like it here,” Priya said with a sparkle in her eye.

The meeting went on for a while longer. Both Amanda and her mother felt confident that this was going to be a welcome change of scenery.

After school on Monday of her second week at Hamilton, Amanda and Priya walked over to Jamba Juice in the El Paseo de Saratoga Shopping Center. They had arranged for their mothers to pick them up there at 4:30. Amanda ordered a Peach Pleasure smoothie. Priya ordered her absolute favorite — a Razzmataz. When they got their drinks, they stepped outside and sat in the warm afternoon sun at one of the tables.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened at your old school?” Priya inquired cautiously.

For the next twenty minutes, Amanda openly shared stories of the daily harassment she had endured at the hands of her classmates, many of whom had been her friends. She told Priya how hurt she was by their actions, how betrayed and alone she felt. Priya understood. She, too, had gone through a period of time when some of her classmates had turned against her. She listened to Amanda’s stories compassionately, not saying much, but attentively focusing on her every word. Amanda felt totally accepted. She knew that Priya understood her, related to her stories, and would do anything necessary to protect Amanda in her new school environment.

Finally, Priya spoke up. “I don’t want you to think I’m conceited, but… I’m pretty well-respected at Hamilton. I wouldn’t say I’m popular, but popularity is over-rated anyway. My classmates seem to accept me for who I am, and, for some reason, I know that I have the ability to influence many of them in a positive way. It’s actually a pretty intense responsibility for me, but I try to use that influence to make Hamilton a better place to be. If we hang out together for awhile, I think you’ll be accepted here, too.”

“That sounds good. Thanks,” Amanda responded. “I’ve never been popular, either, but I don’t want to be. I just want to fit in with everyone else. Hamilton seems like a pretty cool place.”

“It really is,” Priya replied. “I think you found your new home.” 

Amanda smiled. “Hey, there’s my mom. I gotta go,” she said. “Thanks for listening to me, Priya. You’re awesome!”

“You are, too, Amanda! See you tomorrow.”

In the weeks and months that followed their initial meeting, Amanda and Priya became very good friends. Priya, who was an excellent tennis player, invited Amanda to participate on the tennis team. Amanda would be the first to admit that she wasn’t very good at tennis, but the connections she made with her teammates was one of many reasons Amanda cherished her experience at Hamilton.

As one might expect, Amanda’s mother was tremendously grateful to see her daughter smiling again. She had endured far too many tears in the previous years — Amanda’s, as well as her own. 

That night, after Amanda had gone to sleep, her mother was reading a magazine article and came across the following quote by Dag Hammarskjöld, the former Secretary General of the United Nations. She re-read the quote several times, knowing that it held a powerful message for both her and Amanda: “For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes!” 

© 2017

#5 - "The Cash Box"

After several months of unusually persistent rain in the Santa Clara Valley, the sun was finally shining brightly at Hamilton Middle School. The temperature around noon time had already hit the low 70’s. Jason and Mateo walked out of English class and headed to their lockers to pick up their lunches.

“What do you have today?” Jason asked Mateo.

“My Grandma made some killer chicken burritos last night. There was one extra for my lunch today. How ‘bout you?”

“We didn’t have much in our refrigerator this morning, so Mom stopped at Subway on our way to school. I got a footlong ham with pepper jack cheese,” Jason replied.

“Cool. Let’s hit up the Game Club. It’s Thursday.”

The two boys headed straight for Room H1A. A group of kids met there every Thursday at lunch to play cards or any of the many video or board games available there. The two faculty advisors for the Game Club, Ms. Green, who worked in the library, and Ms. Sharff, one of the teachers, were both well liked by the students. They took turns supervising the room on Thursdays. On any given day, there may be as many as twenty students participating in the club, or as few as three or four. On this day, however, because of the long-awaited Spring weather outside, Mateo was thinking that most kids would probably choose to stay outside.

The door to Room H1A was open when the boys arrived. Much to their surprise, the room was empty. They remembered that Ms. Scharff had supervised the activity last week, so they expected to see Ms. Green. Without giving it too much thought, the boys entered the room and sat at one of the tables to eat their lunch. It didn’t take long for Jason to notice the cash box.

“Dude, check it out!” he said to Mateo in a low voice. Jason’s eyes, and a slight nod of his head, cued Mateo to look at the table next to the teacher’s desk. There, on the table, sat an open cash box filled with bills of various denominations, as well as a fair amount of coins. 

“Hmmm…,” Mateo responded. “That’s probably the cash box from the library. Ms. Green is supposed to be here today.”

There was an awkward silence before Jason stood up and walked over to the door. He stepped outside, looked around, and returned to the table. 

“Dude, there’s like no one around. Let’s grab some of that cash and get out of here.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Mateo inquired.

“Why not? If we get out of here quickly, no one’s gonna know we took it.”

“We can’t do that!” Mateo protested. “That’s stealing.”

“Like you’ve never stolen anything before? Don’t be such a dweeb.”

Mateo looked directly at Jason. At first, he didn’t say anything. Jason took a bite of his sandwich, then looked nervously toward the door. As he stood up to look around outside again, Mateo asked, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Hell yeah, I’m serious,” Jason replied. He turned and walked back to the table. “We can split whatever we get fifty-fifty.”

Mateo had not yet taken a bite of his burrito. He was stunned that his good friend would even think of stealing money, much less actually suggest that they do so. He just sat there looking at the burrito in his hands.

“What? Are you afraid we’ll get caught?” Jason asked.

“That’s a possibility, yeah, but it’s not just about getting caught.”

“What do you mean?” 

Mateo looked directly into Jason’s eyes. “It’s wrong, Dude. We can’t just go around taking stuff that doesn’t belong to us.”

“Now you sound like my pastor,” Jason replied sarcastically. “What,… like I’m gonna go to hell or something?”

“I don’t know about that, but I do know that taking the money is dishonest, not to mention illegal — and it’s not the right thing to do.”

Jason laughed. “Since when are you such an expert on what’s the right thing to do? Weren’t you the one who found a poem online and turned it in as your own work in English class?”

“Yeah, I did. It was wrong, and I paid the price when I got caught.”

“We’re not gonna get caught,” Jason said assuringly. Again, he got up and walked anxiously over to the door. By now it was clear that no other students would be coming in to play games. The only question in Jason’s mind was where Ms. Green might be — and when she’d return.

“I’m not gonna do it. It’s stealing, and that’s just wrong.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Jason protested.

“A what?” inquired Mateo.

“A prude. You know,… someone who’s like all perfect and everything and thinks they’re better than everyone else.”

“You know I’m not that way. I’m just not someone who’s gonna take something that isn’t mine. I don’t know why Ms. Green left that box on the table, but it would be wrong for us to take any of it. It’s just wrong!”

Jason took another bite of his sandwich. With his mouth full, he began to speak. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just that it would be so easy to get away with it. No one would ever suspect us of taking the money.”

“Why do you think that?” Mateo asked.

“We both have like good reputations in this school. No one would ever think that we would steal money from a teacher’s desk.”

“Think about that,” replied Mateo. “Think about what you just said. Yeah, we both have good reputations. Isn’t that important to you? Can you imagine how that would change if we DID get caught? No one would ever look at us the same way again.”

Jason paused before speaking. “Yeah,… I guess you’re right. Remember when Cullen got caught stealing art supplies from Mr. York’s classroom? Since then, no one trusts him.”

“Exactly,” responded Mateo. “I don’t want people to look at us that way. There’s always a price to pay for being dishonest.”

As Mateo finished that last sentence, Ms. Green walked through the door, surprised to see the two boys sitting at the table.

“You’re here!” she said in a startled voice. “It’s so nice outside today. After all those days of rain, I didn’t expect anyone to want to sit inside and play games today. I’m sorry I’m late. I had to make some photocopies for a class coming to the library this afternoon.”

The boys looked at each other.

“No problem, Ms. Green,” Jason exclaimed. “We just wanted a comfortable place to eat, then we’re going outside. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Jason took the last bite of his sandwich, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stuffed the wrapper and napkins into the Subway bag. Mateo placed his uneaten burrito back into the Tupperware container his Grandmother had given him. Then the two got up to leave.

“Thanks, Ms. Green. Have a nice afternoon,” said Mateo.

“You too, boys. Enjoy the sunshine.”

On his way home after school, Mateo decided to stop by Smashburger, in the Westgate Center, for a vanilla milkshake. Miss Lucy, the manager at Smashburger, put some extra whipped cream on top, just the way she knows Mateo likes it. As he walked away from the counter to look for a place to sit, he noticed Nick sitting alone at a table near the side entrance. Nick was an exceptionally well-educated homeless man who often hung out at the Westgate Center. He knew Mateo, as well as his friends Jason and DeShawn.

“Hey, Nick,” Mateo said enthusiastically. “What’s up?”

“Not much, Dude. How ‘bout you?”

Mateo paused briefly, wondering if he should tell Nick about the situation he experienced at lunch. He didn’t want to rat-out his friend, Jason. Then he realized that they hadn’t actually done anything wrong, so he spoke up.

“Something happened during lunch today. It was really awkward.”

“Tell me about it, Dude.”

Again, Mateo paused, then continued. He explained the entire situation to Nick, who listened attentively without saying anything. When Mateo finished, Nick turned in his chair and faced Mateo directly.

“Dude,… you’ve got integrity. I could be wrong, but I think most kids your age would have taken the money. What you did… that’s awesome.”

“Thanks, Nick. That makes me feel a little better.”

“A LITTLE better?” Nick cried out. “Dude, you’re my hero! I’m proud of you. Your parents would be proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself! You did the right thing.”

Mateo responded, “It was just so hard, because Jason is my friend. I felt like I betrayed him.”

“Dude, you didn’t betray him. You saved him! Can you imagine how he’d be feeling right now if he’d taken the money and been caught? In fact, even if he took the money and didn’t get caught, I think he’d be feeling pretty low right now. He knows it’s the wrong thing to do. Your conscience never lets you off the hook when you make bad choices like that.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“You displayed true integrity today, Dude. You know, doin’ the right thing, even when no one’s looking. That’s integrity. It’s making the right choice, even when there’s no chance of getting caught. When you live with integrity, you can sleep better at night, knowing that you did the right thing.”

“Thanks, Nick. I needed to hear that.”

“Like I said, Dude, I’m proud of you. And maybe, just maybe, Jason will thank you some day.”

Mateo smiled. “Hey, I gotta go,” he said. “Nice talkin’ to you.”

“Catch you later, Dude.”

Mateo started toward the door, then stopped abruptly. Whenever he was with his friends, and they happened to see Nick, Nick would always share a Quote of the Day with them.

“Hey Nick, do you have a Quote of the Day for me today?”

Without hesitation, Nick spoke up with a broad smile on his face. “Oh, yeah, I do. Listen carefully.” He spoke slowly, “Wisdom is knowing the right path to take. Integrity is taking it.”

Mateo understood clearly. “Thanks, Nick. I like that one.”

He walked out the door, stopped briefly, took a deep breath, and continued his walk home, knowing that he’d done something good that day, and confident that he’d get a good night’s sleep.

© 2017

#4 - "A Sad Reality... Explained"

My name is Travis. I’d like to tell you what I learned about social status — how kids relate to other kids — during my middle school years. Maybe it will help you to understand what you see and experience in your school today.

When my Mom told me that we would be moving to San José, California, I sunk into a deep depression. I loved living in Fitchburg. I loved my school. I loved my friends. I didn’t want to leave Massachusetts. My Dad’s death was totally unexpected. He was only forty years old when he had a massive heart attack. Despite the efforts of an amazing medical team at UMass Memorial Hospital, he died within an hour. My Mom picked me up at St. Bernard’s, where I was a first-semester seventh grader. I didn’t know why she was picking me up from school in the middle of the day, but when we got to the car, she broke down crying and told me what had happened. Six weeks later, she told me that we were moving to San José, where her parents lived. We’d move in with them for awhile until, as my Mom put it, “we get our feet back on the ground.”

Mom enrolled me at Hamilton Middle School. It was just a few blocks from my grandparents’ home in West San José. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the move might not be so bad after all. There was a shopping mall within walking distance of our new home. A restaurant there called Smashburger had the best burgers, fries, and shakes I’d ever had. Across the street was another shopping center. There was a Chipotle restaurant there. I’d never had such a big burrito before. In fact, in Fitchburg, I don’t know that there were any Mexican restaurants at all. Across another street, there was a candy store. It wasn’t like any candy store I’d visited in Fitchburg. It was classy. They even gave me a free piece of candy just for walking in. I think See’s chocolate is the best candy I’ve ever tasted.

Yeah, so the depression didn’t last all that long. I like to eat, and I quickly learned that there were lots of good places to get a meal in San José. In Fitchburg, my favorite restaurant was Vito’s, which served Italian food. I didn’t think I’d ever find a place that could compare with it. Well, not far from Chipotle is another restaurant called Tomatina. I’m not sure that it’s any better than Vito’s, but it’s just as good. That’s where my grandparents took us the night we arrived from the east coast.

I guess Mom had told Grandpa that I was a bit apprehensive about moving out west, so he decided to have a surprise waiting for me when we arrived. When we got back to the house from having dinner at Tomatina, he handed me a wrapped box. I opened it. It was a t-shirt for my new school. It had the words “Hamilton Tigers” printed on the front. I liked it. At St. Bernard’s, I had to wear a uniform — the exact same thing every day. It consisted of a white polo shirt, embroidered with the letters “SB” on the left-front, and navy blue Docker-style pants. It wasn’t all that bad, just boring. At Hamilton, there was no uniform — only a dress code. It was pretty lenient, so I didn’t have a problem with it. Unlike St. Bernard’s, I could wear a t-shirt to school. I decided that on my first day at Hamilton, I’d wear my new shirt. Big mistake.

“Dude, what’s with the dorky shirt?” a kid asked me as I strolled onto campus for my first day of classes. It was late-March, but the weather in San José, unlike Fitchburg, was Spring-like. I was wearing the Hamilton t-shirt with black shorts. I thought it looked okay, but I quickly realized that no one else — not even one other student — wore any article of clothing associated with the school. In Fitchburg, it was quite common to see kids, and even some parents, walking around town with Longsjo Middle School t-shirts, sweatshirts, and jackets. I never wore that Hamilton shirt to school again.

In all, kids at the school were pretty cool. Like most middle schools, I guess, there were cliques at Hamilton. In fact, I guess you could even say they had a “caste system,” like they have in India. After seeing how students interact with each other, I realized that the middle school caste system has five levels, though one of the levels has two parts. Let me explain. It’s sort of complicated.

The top tier, a relatively small group, consists of the true leaders in the school. These are the kids who are highly respected by their peers. Sometimes they don’t even realize how highly respected they are, because popularity isn’t that important to them. They appreciate their friends, and they realize that they are well-accepted by their classmates, but they often don’t recognize themselves as leaders, nor do they always fully understand the influence they have on their classmates. Sometimes, kids in this top tier might be involved in student government, serving in elected leadership roles in the school, but not always. These kids have a lot of influence, though. Without being bossy, or trying to force their ways on anyone else, what they say goes, just because of who they are.

It’s kind of interesting, but kids cannot place themselves in the top tier. Those who try to do so won’t find themselves there. Students are put in the top tier by other kids — those who recognize that there is something special about these gifted individuals. I was thinking about this one day and realized that there are certain qualities or characteristics which these top-tier students most often possess. They may not have all of them, but they pretty much have to have most of them to be considered a part of this highly-respected group. Coincidentally, the qualities all begin with the letter “A” — and there are twelve of them, or perhaps thirteen, in all. I’ll explain them in no particular order, because I don’t think the order really matters.

The first quality is academic success. Kids who find themselves at the top of the social ladder usually get good grades. They may not be the smartest kids in the class, but they tend to be conscientious students and generally do well academically. The second quality is athletic ability. Again, they don’t have to be superstars on their teams, but those identified by their classmates as true leaders are usually involved in athletics. The third quality is that they are articulate. These students are not afraid to share their opinions in class discussions, although they always do so tactfully and respectfully. These kids are also not afraid to call out another classmate who might be picking on one of the weaker students. Because of their status among their peers, they can get away with doing this.

The fourth quality of those in the top tier of the social structure is that they tend to be amicable. They get along well with others. They’re basically friendly and kind to everyone. They don’t pick on weaker students, and rarely do they participate in gossip of any kind. The fifth quality is gratitude. They are appreciative of their giftedness. They are aware of and grateful for the people, things, opportunities, and experiences they have in their life. The sixth quality of true leaders is approachability. Others feel comfortable talking with them, or going to them for help with something. They never make people feel stupid or unwelcome in any situation.

The seventh quality these kids have is assertiveness. This is very different from aggressiveness. Those who are assertive have the ability to stand up for themselves and others with conviction. They have a confidence in themselves which they are able to convey in a respectful, non-threatening way. No one would mistake them for being weak. The eighth quality of these leaders is that they are ambitious. They don’t wait for things to happen. They don’t sit back and just hope that success comes their way. They go out and get it. They’re not afraid to work hard to achieve their goals. The ninth quality of top-tier students is that they are authentic. They don’t try to be anyone other than who they truly are. So many middle school kids put on masks, trying to be someone or something that they’re not. These true leaders don’t have the need to do this.

There are three more qualities which often describe kids in this top group in the caste system. Top-tier students tend to be physically attractive. They’re not good-looking because of the labels on the clothes they wear, how they style their hair, or how they put on make-up. Some middle school kids go to great lengths to try to look good. True leaders don’t have to do this. Without any effort, there is just something about them, an aura, perhaps, which makes them attractive to others. It’s hard to explain. The eleventh quality on my list is that these kids tend to be accommodating. They may have a specific way they’d like to do something, but they are amazingly flexible when it comes to working with others. They might have an idea for a group project, but they won’t force their idea on the group. They know how to work as a team, to negotiate, and they’ll gladly take a back-seat to another student when it comes to decision-making on a project. Whether the group chooses their idea or not, they will work tirelessly to ensure the success of the group. Finally, these top-tier students are altruistic. They are consistently and unselfishly concerned for the welfare of others.

There is one other trait, which I hesitate to mention. This trait might be the least important of all the traits I’ve talked about, but it is often an accurate descriptor of kids in the top tier. Not always, but more often than not, these kids are affluent. In other words, their families tend to be financially well-off. I mention this only because their affluence provides them with the opportunity to participate in activities with other students, regardless of the cost. Affluence can be a tremendous social advantage.

The bottom tier is just the opposite. These are the kids who are picked on. The social outcasts. The untouchables. These are the kids who sit alone at lunch, or, if they’re not alone, they’re with other students from this same social tier. These are the kids who cringe when the P.E. teacher says, “Okay, let’s choose-up teams for a little softball today,” knowing that they will be the last chosen. Or, in the classroom, when a teacher announces, “Okay, break up into groups of five,” these are the kids who just sit there in silence, knowing they’re not going to be selected by their classmates. Instead, the teacher may end up assigning them to a team or group, just so that everyone is involved in the activity. These kids, who may lack effective communication or social skills, may also lack many of the qualities identified with those in the top tier.

Not surprisingly, the largest of the five groups of the social caste system is the middle class — the commoners. These are the kids who just exist day to day. They’re not the leaders, but they’re not marginalized. They’re not considered to be popular, but they’re also not treated as outcasts. They participate in school and classroom activities to the extent that they choose. They come and go each day without any major disturbances to their routine. Most kids, about 60% of all students, fit into this middle group.

Between the middle group and the bottom tier is another group, larger than the bottom tier, but significantly smaller than the middle class. These kids, for the most part, are not actively picked on or excluded, at least not to the extent experienced by those in the lowest tier, but there’s something different about these kids which makes it clear to everyone, including themselves, that they just don’t fit in. Again, a lack of self-confidence, ineffective social skills, or a lack of some of the top-tier qualities might contribute to a student landing in this group. The two bottom tiers together comprise about 20% of the students.

Finally, there’s the group between the middle class and the top-tier. I mention this group last because it’s a complicated group. I think there are actually two sub-groups within this one level of the middle school caste system. One sub-group, which I would describe as a positive group, are those who exhibit many, or even most, of the characteristics one would associate with the top-tier, yet, for whatever reason, have not achieved that level of status or recognition. These tend to be good kids who, for the most part, are good to other kids. The other sub-group, however, can be very dangerous. I would describe these students as “the wanna-be’s.” These are the kids who think they are, or wish they were, in the top tier, but they’re not, and they never will be. These kids tend to think of themselves as better than everyone else. They resent those in the top tier, but they can never express that resentment, because it would make them look bad. Instead, they simply act as if they are a part of that elite group of leaders, even though they know they’re not. This group of students tends to be the meanest in the class. These are the students most likely to do the bullying, in a futile attempt to raise their status among their classmates. These two sub-groups, along with the top tier students, comprise about 20% of the student population.

It didn’t take long for me to recognize that the student who challenged my choice of attire on my first day on campus at Hamilton was one of the wanna-be’s. I’m pretty sure he knew I was the new kid on campus, and he used his question as a vain attempt to enhance his status. My decision to ignore him, pretending that I had not heard his question, was probably the best possible response. He never bothered me again. I also learned that Hamilton students don’t sport the attire of their school, and that’s okay, too.

Like most kids, it didn’t take long for me to understand where I found myself in this middle school caste system. I was dead-center in the middle. I made friends with some kids, but not all. To the best of my knowledge, no one hated me. I was never picked-on, nor did I pick on anyone else, and I was included in most situations. I soon identified the top-tier kids in the school, and it was clear to me why those kids had been given such an honor by their fellow students. I also recognized which students had ended up at the bottom of the caste system, and I felt bad for them. While I never went out of my way to make friends with any of them, I also never participated in the social cruelty perpetuated against them.

I remember well one of the lessons I learned at St. Bernard’s in Fitchburg. My fifth grade teacher was a nun — Sister Theresa Marie. She was young, intelligent, and friendly, and she related extremely well with her students. One day, she came into the classroom after lunch and was clearly upset. Something had happened during lunch. I never knew the specific details, but I do know that the situation involved some of my classmates picking on one of the more vulnerable kids in our class. After telling us, in no uncertain terms, that bullying would not be tolerated at St. Bernard’s, she ended with a quote for us to consider: “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” 

I didn’t understand the quote at the time, but I’ve never forgotten it. Now that I’m a little older, and, perhaps, a bit wiser, those words are powerful for me.

© 2017

#3 - "Cullen's Birthday"

It was a spectacular late-Autumn Wednesday afternoon in San José. A parade of cars, pick-up trucks, and SUV’s rolled slowly through the intersection of Student Lane and Fallbrook as parents and their waiting students tried to locate each other after a day of classes at Hamilton Middle School. Priya was thoroughly enjoying the warm afternoon breeze, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and her lively conversation with her best friend, Rakshitha, as they sat on the lawn outside the school waiting for their parents to pick them up. 

Priya and Rakshitha were eighth graders at Hamilton. Both were actively involved in the school’s Secret Service Club, a student organization dedicated to performing random acts of kindness on campus. Priya, who was president of the club, was also an outstanding tennis player. She planned to attend Prospect High School, where the athletic director and tennis coach were eagerly awaiting her arrival. She was incredibly outgoing, easily meeting friends and enabling others to feel comfortable in her presence. She was also highly respected by her classmates and teachers. Although she had never been interested in getting involved in student government, everyone agreed that Priya was one of the few true leaders in the school. 

Rakshitha, on the other hand, was an introvert. While Priya, who was born in San José of immigrant parents, spoke perfect English, Rakshitha had been born in Mumbai, on the west coast of India, and struggled with her spoken English. In fact, some of her less-friendly classmates would often tease her mercilessly, accusing her of speaking Hinglish. She knew it was difficult for some of her friends to understand her, but she never expected that classmates, with whom she rarely interacted, would bother to harass her about her accent. 

The two girls met for the first time at the Hindu temple in Santa Clara where their families attended services. They were introduced to each other just two weeks before Rakshitha’s first day of seventh grade at Hamilton. Since that time, the two had become inseparable. Priya invited Rakshitha to join the Secret Service Club, which fit her personality perfectly. Even before arriving in America, Rakshitha was known to her friends and neighbors in Mumbai as a kind, selfless person. Despite her shyness, she had regularly reached out to help those in need or to perform random acts of kindness, most often for some of poorest and most marginalized of Mumbai’s citizens.

As the line of vehicles continued to move slowly past the school, and the girls discussed the math project they would be working on together over the next few weeks, they were distracted by the sound of Cullen, a seventh grade boy who had earned the reputation as the school’s most notorious bully, spouting off rudely at Corinne, one of his seventh grade classmates. Cullen had short red hair, a face full of freckles, and always wore a baseball cap backwards. He was constantly angry, or, at least, gave that impression to others. Corinne, a loner who chose to spend most of her days sitting away from her classmates and writing poetry, was accustomed to being harassed by some of the mean kids, so she did her best to ignore Cullen. Priya, on the other hand, felt compelled to speak up on her behalf.

“Leave her alone, Cullen!” she shouted authoritatively.

Cullen spun his head around violently to confront her, but immediately realized it was Priya who had spoken to him. Like everyone else on campus, Cullen recognized that Priya was a person of integrity, someone to be respected, and, more importantly, a person who would not back down from a confrontation with a bully — even Cullen. Instead of responding to Priya, he glanced quickly at Rakshitha and lashed out at her.

“Oh… it’s YOU. I guess that’s why I couldn't understand a word you said,” he replied harshly.

“Leave her alone, Cullen,” Priya countered in Rakshitha’s defense. “I’M the one who spoke to you and you know it. Just go home!”

Knowing better than to escalate the situation with Priya, Cullen turned defiantly to walk away. As he did so, he unintentionally bumped into DeShawn, a six-foot two-inch seventh grader who was standing directly behind him. Like Priya, DeShawn, despite being only a seventh grader, was one of those students who was highly regarded by his peers. He excelled academically and, not surprisingly, was a gifted basketball player. He was also one of those students who was willing to stand up for others, most notably, those who were constantly being bullied.

“What’s up, Cullen?” he asked firmly, staring directly into Cullen’s eyes.

“My bad, dude,” Cullen mumbled. “I was just kidding.”

DeShawn stood his ground as Cullen walked around him. Cullen hoped that DeShawn would not follow him. He didn’t. Corinne, who had stopped to observe the interaction between Cullen and Priya, approached DeShawn.

“Thanks,” she said appreciatively. 

“I got your back,” DeShawn responded protectively. “No one at Hamilton should have to put up with that stuff.”

Corinne smiled and went on her way. DeShawn shot Priya a quick glance and a thumbs-up. Priya gave him a shout-out, “You’re awesome, De!”

During the lunch hour on Thursday, the jazz band from Prospect High School was on campus for a brief, informal concert. The quad area was filled to capacity. Everyone knew that the popular jazz band was well-known in the community as one of the best in the state. Because it was Thursday, however, Priya and Rakshitha were in Room 103 for the weekly lunchtime meeting of the Secret Service Club. Neither they nor Mr. Collins, the faculty advisor, were surprised that they were the only ones in attendance for the meeting that day. 

“I’ll be honest,” Mr. Collins told the two girls, “I didn’t expect anyone at today’s meeting. Why aren’t you girls listening to the jazz band?”

“Hey, a commitment is a commitment,” countered Priya. “We have work to do.”

“So what’s on your agenda today?” Mr. Collins inquired.

Priya paused briefly, then explained to Mr. Collins what had transpired the previous day on the lawn outside the school. She was clearly bothered by the interaction with Cullen. 

“Cullen IS a piece of work,” Mr. Collins stated cautiously. “I feel bad for the kid.”

“You feel bad for HIM? Why?” Rakshitha inquired.

“Well, I’m not really at liberty to say much about other students, but if you guys understood where he was coming from, you might react to him a little differently.”

“What do you mean?” Priya probed.

Mr. Collins walked over to his desk, pushed some papers off to the side, and sat on the desktop. 

“Cullen has had a difficult family life. His parents divorced when he was about six. He lives with his mom and his aunt. His dad, who I’ve heard is uber wealthy, wants nothing to do with him and hasn’t seen him since the divorce.”

“That’s terrible,” Rakshitha grumbled. 

“Yeah, it is,” Mr. Collins replied. “He’s actually a bright kid. He does well in most of his classes, but he has a reputation for being a rabble-rouser.”

“A what?” asked Rakshitha.

“A rabble-rouser… someone who does things to be intentionally distracting or annoying, with the hope of provoking anger in his teachers or classmates. You know,” Mr. Collins reasoned, “there are lots of kids out there who are desperately seeking attention, and, for some of them, negative attention is better than no attention at all.”

“That’s really sad,” Priya insisted. “I wish we could do something.”

“We can!” exclaimed Rakshitha. “Let’s plan a random act of kindness for Cullen!”

“Seriously?” protested Priya. “He’s such a….. jerk.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Rakshitha agreed, “but maybe doing something nice for him might be just the thing to help him change.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Mr. Collins agreed. “In fact,…. hang on a sec.”

Mr. Collins stood up, walked around to the other side of his desk, sat down, and opened his laptop. He looked intently at the screen as he scrolled through the student database.  A few moments later, a large grin appeared on his face.

“That’s what I thought,” Mr. Collins stated. “As fate would have it, tomorrow is Cullen’s birthday. I was pretty sure I’d seen a notification of his upcoming birthday just yesterday.”

“That’s perfect!” Rakshitha exclaimed. “Let’s make a birthday card for him and have it sent to his last-period class tomorrow.”

Priya agreed. “I like that idea. Let’s do it!”

The two girls used the remainder of the lunch period to construct a simple, but artistic birthday card for Cullen. Inside the card, Rakshitha wrote the following:

To Cullen — 

From your friends in the Secret Service Club.

Hope you have a Happy Birthday!!!

As the bell rang to end the period, Mr. Collins, still looking at his computer screen, informed the girls that Cullen’s last-period class on Friday was with Miss Meyers — Food & Nutrition. He stood up and told the girls that he would take the card to the office to have an office aide deliver it to Miss Meyers’ classroom the next day.

“Thanks, Mr. Collins,” the girls shouted in unison.

“Thank YOU! — BOTH of you!” he replied gratefully. “You guys are incredible!”

The next day, the first storm of the season had made its way into the Santa Clara Valley. Torrential rain drenched the Hamilton campus throughout the entire day. Not surprisingly, the combination of the rain, the fact that it was Friday, and the presence of more than a thousand middle school students on campus contributed to the day being unusually chaotic. By the final class period, students and teachers alike were worn out and ready to begin the weekend.

Cullen liked Miss Meyers’ Food & Nutrition class. He also liked Miss Meyers. She was nothing like his mother, who always seemed preoccupied with so many things that she rarely, if ever, made time to sit and talk with him. Miss Meyers always seemed genuinely happy when Cullen came to class or stopped by for a visit during lunch or after school. And in the Food & Nutrition class, Cullen never did anything to be disruptive, as he did in all his other classes.

On this particular day, Miss Meyers was teaching her students that culture and geography had a significant effect on the foods people eat. She shared a story about how she had once spent two weeks visiting Jamaica, and that the first meal she ate there was curried goat over white rice. Not surprisingly, many of her students were repulsed at the thought of eating goat, but Miss Meyers assured them that it really wasn’t that different than eating beef stew.

She also told them about eating okra for the first time. Miss Meyers was constantly encouraging her students to incorporate more vegetables into their diet, but she willingly admitted that she did not like the taste of okra, and hoped to never eat it again.

With about eight minutes remaining in the class period, there was a knock at the classroom door. The door opened and an office aide walked up to Miss Meyers, handing her a sealed envelope before exiting the classroom. Miss Meyers looked briefly at the envelope, then at Cullen.

“Cullen, this is for you,” she stated, not knowing the content of the item.

Cullen’s body language responded predictably. After initially slumping down in his chair, assuming that the envelope from the office meant more trouble for him, he slowly got up and approached Miss Meyers. She handed him the envelope with a look of genuine compassion, one which might have been understood to communicate nonverbally that she hoped everything would be okay. Cullen accepted the envelope and returned to his desk, where he opened it and read the contents.

As is so often the case in a middle school classroom, all eyes were on Cullen as he opened the envelope. When he responded to the message by putting his head down on his desk, there was a moment of confusion in the classroom. Miss Meyers suspected that Cullen might be crying, so she did her best to distract the students by telling them a story about how, on that trip to Jamaica, she had experienced eating mangoes for the first time. Initially, it was difficult for her to shift her students’ attention from Cullen to her mango story, but when she tactfully described the unfortunate consequences of eating too many mangoes in one sitting, laughter filled the room and all eyes were on her — except for Cullen’s.

Miss Meyers was grateful to hear the school bell ring to end the period. Being that it was the last class period on a Friday afternoon, her students bolted out the door to begin their weekend. Cullen, however, didn’t move. After several minutes, he continued to sit motionless with his head down on his desk. Miss Meyers approached him cautiously. As she had suspected, he was sobbing quietly. She gently placed her hand on his back, but said nothing.

At least five full minutes passed before Cullen lifted his head. His eyes were swollen and red. Tracks from tears streaked both cheeks.

“Would you like to talk?” Miss Meyers gently inquired.

Another full minute passed before Cullen spoke up.

“It’s just…..” He was struggling to get the words out. “It’s just…. that this is the first time in my life… that I’ve ever received a birthday card.” 

Again, Cullen’s head dropped to his desktop and the tears continued to flow. Miss Meyers was stunned by his words.

“You’ve never received a birthday card?” she asked. “Not even from your mother?”

“No. Never.” Cullen sobbed without lifting his head. “I’ve never gotten a birthday present or a birthday cake or had a birthday party. My mom never even said ‘Happy Birthday’ to me — EVER!” he cried out. “And now,…. I get this…. from kids who don’t even like me.”

Cullen lifted his head and handed the homemade card to Miss Meyers. She read it and smiled. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. 

“This is very nice,” she said. “Clearly, your friends in the Secret Service Club care about you.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Cullen protested.

Miss Meyers thought for a few minutes before responding. “I know this might sound to you like an old person talking,” she said, “but I’ve often heard that the best way to have a friend is to be a friend. The kids in the Secret Service Club care enough about you to have sent you this card. Maybe the ball is in your court now. Have you ever thought of joining the Secret Service Club? Mr. Collins is a wonderful teacher and he is the club moderator. I think you’d like it.”

“Yeah, he’s cool, but those kids don’t want me in their club,” Cullen grumbled. “They’re all nice kids. I’m not.”

“And why is that, Cullen? Why do you think you’re not nice?”

“I dunno. I’m just not.”

Miss Meyers took a deep breath before speaking. “I think it’s just a mask, Cullen,” she suggested.

“Whadda ya mean, a mask?” he asked.

“It’s like being in a stage production. You go through your day pretending to be something or someone who is not really you. Maybe your anger is just a mask you wear, because you don’t want to let anyone close to you.”

“Why would I be angry?” Cullen inquired.

“Well,…” Miss Meyers said cautiously, “Maybe you’re angry at your mother for never acknowledging your birthday. Or maybe you’re angry at your father for not being there for you since you were just a kid.”

Cullen sat up straight, but continued looking down at his desktop, tears still filling his eyes. “I AM ANGRY!” he yelled. “YEAH, I’m mad… at both of ‘em. Everyone else has parents who care about ‘em. Why don’t I?”

Tears flowed freely down Cullen’s cheeks.

Miss Meyers paused briefly, then continued. “I wish I had an answer to that question, Cullen, but I don’t. I just want you to know that, here at Hamilton, people are here for you — teachers and students, but only if you let down your guard. You have to take off your mask and let us know the real Cullen.”

For the first time, Cullen looked directly into Miss Meyers’ eyes. He wiped his eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Yeah. I think you’re right,” he said, acknowledging the accuracy of Miss Meyers’ statement. “Thank you.”

“Thank YOU, Cullen,” Miss Meyers replied. “Hopefully this is a new beginning for you — one which will motivate you to let us all know who you really are. I’m pretty sure we’re going to like the Cullen we get to know.”

Cullen smiled, then stood up and gathered his books. As he started toward the door, he stopped briefly, looked back at Miss Meyers, and, without saying anything, smiled again. 

Miss Meyers spoke up. “Oh,…. and Cullen,” she said gently, “Happy Birthday!”

As Cullen walked out of the classroom, Miss Meyers realized that this was the first time she had ever seen Cullen smile.

© 2017