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.
As Cullen walked out of the classroom, Miss Meyers realized that this was the first time she had ever seen Cullen smile.
© 2017
