For the Independent’s schoolteacher/ diarist, talk of moms and heroes ends up cutting closer than you might think.
May 15, 2006
“Happy Mother’s Day,” one of my 9th graders told me first period. All my kids laughed, and I rolled my eyes saying, “That’s creepy.” We all laughed. And then that same student said, “We’re all your children.” I stepped back a little, nodded, and told her I thought she was kind of right about that. And then I told her thank you.
So, one of my “children,” Brinn, called me today. Actually she called me Friday, twice yesterday, and today. But I wasn’t able to call her back until today after school.
“Why didn’t you return my call?” she demands of me as soon as I hear her voice. (I’ve come now to be able to recognize her voice right away instead of asking if she’s home first.)
“Sorry, Brinn. I was working Friday and haven’t really been near my phone all weekend because of Dennis’ graduation.”
“Why didn’t you call me back?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just getting around to it now. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
And she tells me things aren’t good. “I have some bad news,” she says.
But damn technology and money get in the way and she tells me that her cell phone minutes aren’t free so can I call her back at a different number? I take down her new number, and I call her, my heart pounding a little harder. What could this bad news be? Is she pregnant? Is she moving away? Is she sick? Did someone else die?
When we get back on the phone, she starts in about her boyfriend:
“I told him I just needed time to take care of Brinn. I told him I just wanted to do what’s right for me and I need to get my stuff together. I told him that maybe we could be together again in the future. But Miss, first I need to get to the future.”
So she’d broken up with him again.
“But you don’t know him, Miss. He started saying all these things. He’s done this before, tried to kill himself. He’s done it before and now no one can find him. He left me a message saying, ‘Say good-bye to my grandmother. I won’t be seeing her anymore. Thanks for fucking up my life.’ Miss. I don’t know what to do.”
I can hear her voice break, as if she’s going to cry, when she recalls what’s on the message. I don’t know what to do either. She says she’s tried to call his family, his friends, no one knows where he is. She is wracked with guilt, so all I try to do is calm her down and try to get her to see that his actions have nothing to do with her.
“His actions are a result of his own thinking and his own insecurities, Brinn. You have to know that first. Whatever he’s doing, or whatever he will do it’s because of him, not you. You are not the cause of his actions. A person is only responsible for his or her own actions. I can understand why you would feel guilty, but you have to know you have nothing to do with what he does.”
I don’t know why I’m focusing so much on trying to relieve her guilt. If I were in her shoes, I know I would feel the same way. Would I want to hear that kind of advice? In all honesty, I would want the person I called to go out and find him. To fix everything.
But I can’t do that. I can’t fix anything.
I try to stay calm, I try to get her to hear the calm in my voice. To reinforce that she made decisions that were right for her. Maybe a part of me really believes her boyfriend has chosen to end his own life. But I don’t want to incite panic in her. I know I can talk to the people at school, his family can contact the police to file a missing person report. But as I’m on the phone with Brinn, we both know and we both acknowledge that now it’s a waiting game.
“Because you don’t know where he is doesn’t mean you should go out looking,” I said after she tells me he could be anywhere. Even out of state. But Brinn feels antsy. She feels like she should be doing something more than sitting around doing homework and worrying. But she can’t do much but worry. In this moment, I don’t know what to do. We make a plan, because I think that’s what she needs. She’s going to call his family. She’s going to go over to their house. The family should take it from there. My fear for Brinn is mounting; but my anger at her boyfriend is tenfold. I can’t help, even in this moment of not being sure about whether or not he is alive, but be protective of Brinn. I don’t want her to be overwhelmed with worrying about a boy, who has unnecessarily dumped all this guilt and responsibility onto her shoulders. She doesn’t need this right now. I know it sounds selfish and uncaring of me not to go out of my way to find this boy, but I can’t help but be angry. It is not right what he did to her. It is not right to put that kind of worry onto her already worn shoulders. It’s not right. So I am angry. But I don’t want to let Brinn know how angry I am. She’s too concerned for him; she’s too full of worry and sadness and frustration already. Sunday was Mother’s Day. He knew that. This girl, Brinn, has had the world turned upside-down this year. She is a good, good girl. She is a good person and has had to grow up so fast. When will stuff stop dumping on her? When will things be easy for her? When will she get to be a kid — “just a kid — “enjoying her own young life? We left the conversation with her planning to call her boyfriend’s family. I pray, for Brinn’s sake, that he is alright. That he is alive, that he is safe, that he is with someone he can trust. But mostly I pray that someday soon Brinn will get to be happy. Just like a regular kid. Just happy.
May 16, 2006
In preparation for reading “Beowulf,” our literature classes are talking about heroes. I asked my students to identify people in their lives who they would consider heroes. I told them it was important not only to identify our heroes but to actually thank them for doing the things they’ve done for us. So I showed them a letter I’d written to Mrs. Davis, my third grade teacher, thanking her for reading books aloud to us and for showing me what it means to be a good person. I gave my students copies of this letter to use for their own. Today, they shared their letters aloud. One girl wrote to her best friend, sitting just in front of her. That girl wrote to her aunt, who passed away years ago. Most of my kids wrote to their parents. One boy began his letter, “Dear Dad. If it wasn’t for you, I would be afraid of the world around me.” Other kids thanked their mothers for being strong and going through labor for them. Most of the girls acknowledged their mothers’ strength for dealing with their daughters’ bad attitudes. One boy wrote a letter in English to his mother who speaks Spanish. He thanked her, in his own broken English, “for care for me, and for let me be who I want to be.” My eyes burned with held back tears. I wish their parents could have heard these kind words. I invited students to send their thank yous to their heroes. I handed out envelopes and encouraged students to send neat copies of their letters. “Miss,” one girl said to me at the end of class. “If I bring in a stamp tomorrow, can you please mail another letter for me?” I wish I could make these letters public so people could see how much these kids love their families.May 17, 2006
May 17, 2006
Brinn’s boyfriend is the first person I saw this morning as I drove into the parking lot at school. He was sitting on the stone wall just outside the main doors, his head down, listening to his walkman. At first I wasn’t sure it was him, all hunched over, so I did a double-take. I had been thinking to call Brinn and find out if she’d found him yet, so when I saw him sitting there I was surprised and relieved. And then I remembered what a terrible move he’d made this past weekend, and my angry feelings welled up again. I had half the mind to approach him and reprimand him for what he’d done to Brinn, his family, and our school. Instead, I nodded my head in his direction. I know he knows Brinn called me. I’m sure he knows I’m angry.