#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

#2 - "An Unexpected Goodbye"

“Shall we order first?” Miss Myers asked softly.

“I’ll be honest,” Lan responded. “I don’t know anything about Persian food.”

“It’s better than I thought it would be,” replied Minh. “When I came here with…. when I was here before, I just ordered what…” Minh stopped abruptly, his eyes filling with tears.

“It’s okay to say his name, Minh,” Miss Myers said compassionately. “He’s here with us today.”

Minh looked a bit surprised by that statement, but continued cautiously. “When I came here with… Amir… and his family,… I just ordered what he ordered. It was really good.”

Lan looked at Minh briefly, well-aware of how difficult this day was going to be for her cousin. Amir had been her classmate, too, but he was Minh’s best friend. Minh continued to stare at the menu in his hands. 

The server, a tall, middle-aged Persian woman, approached the table. Mihn recognized her immediately. She was the same server who had waited on Minh, Amir, and Amir’s family when they celebrated Amir’s 12th birthday almost two years ago. There was no indication that she recognized Minh.

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Negeen. Are you ready to place your order?” 

Miss Meyers looked at Minh. “What was it that Amir liked?”

“It’s got a weird name — it’s called Joojeh Koobideh. It’s kabobs made from ground chicken.”

The server smiled broadly. “Ah, the ground chicken kabobs. Excellent choice. So you’ve been here before?”

“Yes,… just once,” Minh replied.

“Well, welcome back,” the server replied enthusiastically. “And how about you, ma’am?” she asked Lan.

“Hmmm…,” Lan responded with a note of apprehension. “I think I’ll just have the chicken breast kabob. At least I know what that is.”

Minh and Miss Myers chuckled at Lan’s comment. The server smiled kindly.

“That sounds good, too,” Miss Myers assured her. “I’m going to try the marinated lamb kabob. I haven’t had lamb in years, and it’s one of my favorites.”

“I promise you won’t be disappointed,” the server said with confidence. “That’s one of our most popular menu items. And what can I get you all to drink? The choices are at the bottom of the menu.”

Lan spoke first. “I’ll have a cherry 7-Up, please.”

“I’d like a Coke, please,” Minh blurted out.

“And I’ll try the pomegranate juice,” said Miss Meyers.

“Great,” the server replied. “I’ll get your drinks right now.”

There were a few brief moments of silence at the table before Miss Meyers broke the ice. “I’m so glad we could get together for lunch today,” she said. “This is a very special day — for all of us.”

Again, Minh’s eyes filled with tears, one drop slowly rolling down his left cheek. He quickly brushed it away, hoping no one had noticed. Miss Meyers continued. “It’s hard to believe it’s been a year already. It seems like just yesterday.”

Neither Minh nor Lan responded.

Minh, Lan, and Amir had been seventh grade students at Hamilton Middle School the previous year. Miss Meyers was their cooking instructor, as well as moderator for the school’s Chess Club, which Minh and Amir had created. The club met once each week in Miss Meyers’ classroom. It was a small club. On a good day, a dozen kids, mostly boys, showed up to play chess. The usual attendance was half that many. It didn’t matter to Minh and Amir. As long as they could play chess once a week, they were content.

Lan was Minh’s cousin. She was also his classmate at Hamilton. She lived in a house next to Minh’s across the street from the school. Both were highly successful in their studies, though Lan was much more self-motivated than her cousin. Minh was continually pressured by his mother to excel academically. She had often said to Minh, “Good is not enough. You must be excellent. You must be at the top of your class. That’s what colleges look for.”

Amir, on the other hand, struggled academically. He certainly had the academic potential to excel, but grades were not important to him. Amir just wanted to have fun. He had his iPad with him wherever he went, constantly checking ESPN, Instagram, or playing any number of online games. Amir was definitely a gamer, even in the classroom. He knew how to play the teachers and his classmates. He was a master at doing whatever needed to be done to earn a passing grade, but rarely, if ever, sought to do anything more than was required. He also enjoyed the role of “class clown.” Entertaining his classmates with witty comments and asking his teachers preposterous questions gave him a sense of power, belonging, and acceptance in an environment in which Iranian-American students were often marginalized.

Minh, like Amir, struggled with self-image issues, but didn’t possess the self-assuredness to bring attention to himself. Students of Vietnamese origin also often struggled to find their place on the middle school campus. Minh just wanted to fit in — to be accepted by his peers. The Chess Club provided that opportunity, and Miss Meyers’ classroom was a safe place on campus for kids who might otherwise have been ignored, or even bullied.

Their seventh grade year had been a good one. As winter turned to spring, Minh and Amir began making plans for the summer months. Amir’s family would be visiting relatives in Iran for the entire month of July, so the boys wanted to make the most of the weeks available to them in June and August. Nothing could have prepared Minh for what happened exactly one year ago  — on May 1st.

To this day, Minh does not know the details of Amir’s unexpected death. A newspaper article from the San José Mercury News indicated that Amir had died as a result of a “freak accident in the family’s backyard swimming pool.” No funeral services were held. Minh had no further contact with Amir’s family. For the last month of school, grief counselors were available to any students who felt the need to discuss their feelings, but Minh knew that his mother would never approve of his missing class time to talk with a counselor. He also had nothing to say. He was at a total loss for words, yet the powerful feelings, like a tsunami of grief, often overwhelmed him.

At Minh’s home, Amir’s death was never discussed. The only person to reach out to him in the aftermath of the tragedy was Miss Meyers, but Minh was resistant to open up to her. Throughout Minh’s eighth grade year, he rarely visited Miss Meyers’ classroom. The Chess Club died with Amir. Minh spent his free time in the school library or sitting on a bench in the quad reading books. He felt so alone.

Minh was a bit surprised when Miss Meyers, with Lan following close behind, approached him on the last day of April — a Friday — and asked if he would like to join them for lunch the following day. He thought it was strange, but he accepted the invitation. It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning that he realized the significance of the day.

After an awkward silence, Minh spoke up. “Thanks for bringing us here today,” he said to Miss Meyers. “When you asked where I’d like to go for lunch, this was the first place I thought of. Amir loved this place. I was only here with him once, but Amir’s family used to eat here all the time.”

“I think you made an excellent choice,” Miss Meyers responded. She paused before continuing. “Minh, I know this has been a challenging year for you. The loss of a friend is never easy. And when it’s someone as young as Amir,….. well,….. it’s difficult to know how to respond.”

“Yeah,” Minh replied. “I’ve felt like such a freak this year. At first, it was really hard. I tried to pretend that it never happened — that Amir had never even existed. That didn’t work. Every time I’d come to school, I’d think of him. When I’d see kids who were in the Chess Club, I’d think of him. When I’d be sitting alone, on campus or at home, I’d think of him. After awhile, though, it got a little easier.

"But just when I thought I was over it, something would happen. I’d see something, or think about something, or hear something that would remind me of Amir and the good times we had together. I thought I’d be over it by now. I just kept telling myself that everything was okay, but it wasn’t…. It still isn’t.”

Miss Meyers nodded her head knowingly. “Yes, I understand. We’re not very good at admitting that we’re hurting, are we?”

Lan spoke up. “Maybe it’s because we don’t want people to think we’re weak.”

“Wow,” Miss Meyers said. “That’s a perceptive statement. At some point, everyone is affected by grief. It’s a reality of life. One of the most challenging life lessons is to learn how to deal effectively with grief when it confronts us.”

“I just felt so alone when Amir died,” Minh admitted. “I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to know why — why it had to happen,… why Amir had to die.”

“That’s a common response, Minh,” Miss Meyers replied. “We can feel powerless at times. We don’t have the ability to change the reality of death. We do, however, have the power to decide how we’re going to respond when someone we love dies. You know, there’s no answer to the question of ‘why?’ Maybe a better question for us to ask ourselves might be, ‘What now?’ or ‘Where do I go from here?’”

Miss Meyers looked up at the server as she returned to the table with the entrées. “I’ve got a Joojeh Koobideh for you, young man,…. and a chicken breast kabob for you,” she said, as she placed the large plates in front of Minh and Lan. “And here’s your marinated lamb kabob, ma’am,” she said to Miss Meyers. “I hope you like it.” 

Suddenly, the server realized that the trio had not received their drinks. “I am SO sorry,” she said apologetically. “I’ll get your drinks for you immediately.”

As the three began eating, and the drinks arrived at the table, Miss Meyers continued. “You know, Minh,… Lan told me that you’re still struggling with your loss. I need you to know that it’s absolutely understandable. Many people, when confronted with the loss of someone close to them, want their grief to end. They just want to get back to living life as usual. But the loss of a loved one changes us. We will eventually learn to cope with our grief, but life will never again be as it once was. We will be forever changed by the experience.”

“That kinda sucks,” Minh replied. “I’m sorry. I know that’s a rude comment, but why does it have to be so hard? Why can’t we just get on with life?”

“Grief isn’t easy, Minh,” Miss Meyers stated compassionately. “Losing someone we care about, especially a best friend, is a big deal. Some people try to escape feeling their grief by keeping busy. I’m sure that might be helpful for some people. Sometimes, though, the most difficult times of grief happen when we’re alone — in the silence of solitude. We need to learn to appreciate that solitude, and to embrace the opportunity it offers us to deal with our feelings.”

“That’s how it’s been for me,” Minh admitted. “It’s weird, but for the last year, I’ve done a lot of crying in the shower. No one can see me there. No one will make fun of me. And,…. well,…. it feels good to cry sometimes.”

“Absolutely,” Miss Meyers exclaimed. “That’s a great strategy!”

Minh continued, “On the weekends, when I take a break from doing homework, I like to walk around the corner to the park. I usually walk along the bike path, from one end of the park to the other. At some point, I’ll just sit on one of the benches and think about Amir. Sometimes I cry, but I’m always afraid someone will see me. It just feels good to get outside, away from my homework — and my mom.”

“Exercise can be incredibly helpful to a person who is grieving,” Miss Meyers added, “and fresh air, too.”

Minh was grateful that Miss Meyers was so supportive of him. He wished now that he had gone to her to talk about Amir’s death, and how difficult it was for him.

The server again approached the table. “How’s everything? Do you like the kabobs and rice?”

“Everything is incredible,” Miss Meyers responded.

“This is REALLY good,” Lan exclaimed. “The rice is so soft!”

Minh looked up at the server and said, “I think it tastes even better today than it did the last time I was here.” The server smiled approvingly as she walked toward the kitchen.

“Miss Meyers,” Lan inquired, “isn’t there something about five stages of grief after a person dies?”

“Wow!” Miss Meyers responded. “I’m surprised you know about that at your age. Yes, a book by Dr. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross spoke of five stages that a grieving person goes through. I’ve got to tell you, though,…. some people might experience what she describes, but no two people grieve in exactly the same way. Grief is a very individual experience. I think it’s wrong to suggest that there is a predictable beginning, middle, and end to the grieving process. It all depends on the person.”

“Yeah," Lan said. "I read her book, On Death and Dying, earlier this year. You know, Amir’s death affected me, too. We weren’t good friends or anything, but we had three classes together last year. His death was hard for me.”

“You never told me that,” Minh replied with surprise.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Lan responded. “I knew you were going through a tough time, so I didn’t want to make things any more difficult for you.”

Minh smiled at Lan. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s been hard," he said. "A couple of weeks after Amir died, I couldn’t believe how everyone just went on with their lives — you know, just doing stuff as if nothing had happened. I guess everyone deals with death in their own way.” 

“And in their own time,” Miss Meyers added.

“I just hope that, now that a year has passed, I’ll finally be over it,” Minh stated.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Miss Meyers warned. “It’s important that you take your time with the process of grief. Think about it like this — if you broke your arm or leg, people would not criticize you or call you weak for wearing a cast or using crutches until the limb was healed, right? Grief is like that, too. It’s an emotional wound — and it, too, takes time to heal. You have to give yourself that time, and ignore those who might tell you that you should be over it by now.”

The server returned to the table and cleared the plates. “Would you like to try some dessert today?”

Lan and Minh looked at Miss Meyers, since she had already indicated that she would be paying for their lunches. “Of course,” Miss Meyers responded enthusiastically. “Minh, what was Amir’s favorite dessert here?”

Minh smiled. “He loved the Bastani — it’s ice cream with chunks of pistachios in it.”

“That sounds good to me,” Miss Meyers agreed.

“Me, too,” said Lan.

As they enjoyed their dessert, Miss Meyers spoke up. “There is one more thing I’d like to mention on this special anniversary.” Minh and Lan focused their attention on their former teacher. “Even though the grief we feel may be overwhelming at times, we can always be grateful.”

“Grateful?” Minh could hardly believe his ears.

“Yes, grateful,” Miss Meyers replied. Looking directly at Minh, she continued, “Not grateful that Amir died. Not at all. I just think it’s important to be grateful for the friendship you shared with Amir. Yes, it ended prematurely, and that's unfortunate, but that doesn’t minimize the value of the wonderful friendship you had with him through sixth and seventh grades. Your relationship with Amir was a true gift. So, yes,… to be grateful is a good thing.”

Lan spoke up, “I would never have thought of it like that, but you’re right.” Then, looking at Minh, Lan continued, “You guys were tight. I always wished I had a friendship like that with someone. You really were lucky to have him.”

“And Amir was lucky to have YOU, Minh,” Miss Meyers added.

Minh smiled.

© 2017