Behind Young Eyes
Children can be the best teachers of how adults should raise them

When my older son was entering school, I encouraged him to “be big and responsible” and painted word pictures about the “fun” he’d have. Like any 6-year-old, he was thrilled with new shoes and a Spiderman lunchbox but less excited about leaving home. I assured him that he’d meet new friends and that the bus driver knew where we lived.
He was prepared for the first day. I wasn’t. When his chin started quivering and he wrapped himself around my legs like a grapevine, I fought for composure while coaxing him to “just stay today.”

We finally agreed to separate. Evidently he adjusted quickly, but it was one of the longest days of my life. Seeing him roll off that yellow bus was a thrill, even if his new jeans were torn, all his notebook paper had been given away and his thermos had an unmistakable jiggle of broken glass. Nothing mattered except the reaffirmation I felt from his gap-toothed grin and immediate request for Pop Tarts and milk.

All seemed right in the world—until dark. After reading him a bedtime story, I slipped into bed beside my husband. We shared a special moment about how “manly” our little boy had become.

I was almost asleep when I felt my son’s presence. He didn’t say a word. Just stood there beside the bed until I opened my eyes and asked him what was wrong. I was so thankful for the darkness when he finally whispered, “Mama, is motherf—er a bad word?”
I could barely breathe. In less than 24 hours, my son’s life had been inextricably changed. He now belonged to the world.

I carried him back to bed and caressed his cheek, trying to brush away the dirt that was clinging to him. I explained that he might hear other words that he didn’t understand and that we would talk about them if that happened.

I doubt he remembers the incident, but I shall never forget it. I also lost some innocence that night. I hadn’t thought about the effect that unfamiliar children would have. I believed he was safe at school. I suddenly realized that no safe haven exists and that his father and I couldn’t protect him from people, their attitudes or their actions.
The same sick feeling came over me recently while I was watching the news and eating my dinner. When I saw Colorado’s Columbine High School students running for their lives, my food became tasteless. I watched in disbelief, learning of innocent children being murdered by not-so-innocent children. Those scenes were recreated until I wanted to scream, “ENOUGH!”

I wanted to ask the newspeople, “What are you doing to reward the law-abiding, hard-working and loving parents and their children who go to school each day, behave themselves and grow up to benefit society?” I believe I could introduce the media to several students. The seniors in the Chesterfield County Public Schools were given a writing assignment last fall. They had a variety of subjects to choose from. About 2,600 completed essays, which were sent to professional writers who critiqued the students’ work.

After the first 25 essays, I called Lynda Gillispie, the instruction specialist who coordinated the new project for the county. I told her that I was tremendously impressed with the quality of the students’ work and agreed to take more essays. I wanted to see if I had just happened upon a high-achieving group in the first batch.

After reading a total of 650 of those essays, I believe I can draw a fair conclusion. Those teenagers, who reflect a good cross section of society, created some of the most poignant work I’ve ever read. Their optimism gave me a new jolt of hope for our future.
I laughed at some, cried at others. I read about teens who were academic achievers, team captains and school leaders. I read about car wrecks, unwed mothers, depression, drug and alcohol abuse and numerous family troubles, including the deaths of siblings and parents.

While several essays disturbed me, more impressed me. These young adults wrote about how they were the caregivers for terminally ill parents. They described how they helped their siblings with their homework and how some also worked—not one, but two—jobs to help feed their families while attending school themselves.

There were heart-wrenching stories about straying into problems and heart-warming descriptions of how they managed, through various guiding forces, to find the right path again. More than one student wrote of their admiration for a teacher, a coach, a family member or a parent who believed in them when they didn’t have the strength to believe in themselves.

Those essays made me think about the responsibility of being an adult. Isn’t it more than just caring for our own children? Could it be that all of us are somewhat accountable for what is now being played out in high schools?

Their stories triggered a quote that I’ve remembered for more than 25 years. I don’t know who wrote it, but the poignant words bring home the accountability that every adult has to help train, educate, encourage and guide the generations that follow. How different our world might be if we reminded ourselves every day: “Be careful what you do. There may be a child listening. There may be a child watching. There may be a child trying to make up his mind.”

August 1999