A couple of weeks ago I wrote about a memorable, eye-opening, experience with a wonderful 8th grade boy at The Langley School in Virginia. In that blog, I referenced another occasion of equal impact.
Another of our 8th grade students, a young man from inner city Alexandria, missed school the day after Thanksgiving vacation because one of his friends in his community had been shot and killed. This was the second occasion where someone about Keith’s age had been murdered.
The next day, Keith was back in school. It was my practice, as Head of the Middle School, to visit each classroom first period every day. Doing so gave me a chance to observe teachers and students in action, as well as to touch base with kiddos who might need a bit of extra support.
On this particular morning, the rest of the 8th grade had assembled as a group for some special exercise about which I remember nothing. What I do recall is one very mature Black kid sitting at the front of his empty classroom, head down, weeping. His teacher was there but didn’t know what to say or do. Neither did I, but I did know that sitting with Keith was the first step. I will carry the image of this wonderful young man, head down, disconsolate, for the rest of my life.
After expressing condolences, I thought to ask Keith if he were afraid this might happen to him. At first he said no. Then he paused, shuddered, and quietly replied, “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know.” Not a question for any of the White kids in our school, nor for their teachers. Keith’s “I don’t know” should be a reminder of the uncertainty with which so many live. None of us “knows” what might happen any given day, but most of us don’t have to consider that violence could easily have a role. At least that was true two decades ago in Virginia, if one were White.
Glass Full 