The papers were lined up on the wall. Each student had completed the project. In reading each sheet, I found myself brought to tears.
The Past. The Present. The Future.
My grandson loves basketball. Each weekend we cheer his team on with great enthusiasm. The games are played at different schools each week. Each school serving different communities, reflecting those who live there.
The corridor was loud and chaotic with the sounds of adults, kids and basketballs being dribbled and passed. A free-for-all feeling with kids eager to get into the gym. I stood in the chaos and felt so very much alone.
The students were given a project of writing three sections about their lives.
The Past. The Present. The Future.
A simple project, right? I learned early, with kids, nothing is simple.
The Past: All of the students wrote about the joys of childhood with toys and adventures, vacations and friends. All except for one. This boy wrote of the anger in his house and of a divorce. A middle school child already hurt by life. His anger tore at the page.
The Present: My heart broke as these words echoed time and time again. “Will the earth end?” “What is it like to die?” “I’m afraid I won’t get into college.” “What is it like to have a baby?” “What if I fail?” Fear permeated the pages.
I worked with high school students for many years working with many at risk. The horror many of these kids experienced was overwhelming.
A girl preparing to sing a solo asked if I would put makeup on the bruises on her back. I was handed a suicide note. A boy had been raped by his uncle and his father for years.
On and on, the stories poured out of these kids over the 12 years I worked with them. I knew the signs and wrote plays to try to give them a voice. Now here I was facing the same on pieces on white-lined paper.
The Future: A few wanted careers while others just wanted to get out of school or make it into college. Many wanted to have money and to be able to leave home. They shared dreams of a better future for them and the world. Most saw hope ahead of them. Many did not.
The Past. The Present. The Future.
These stories have stayed with me.
I wondered if the teachers read these and saw the signs, voices calling for help. Did the school look at these contemplating what they can do to keep children safe and from falling through the cracks?
What about the parents? Did they listen to the unsaid words their child said in their actions and in their silence?
Who was caring for these scared children? Are adults seeking help for their tempers, their marriages, their families? Who will open the door and say, “I care?”
The Past. The Present. The Future.
I give these all to you.