Our school has suffered the kind of loss no teacher ever wants to think is possible; a fifteen year old boy, laughing at school on Friday, gone forever on Saturday.
My last interactions with him replay in my head: Him peeking into the classroom from about 6 feet above my head; standing up on a counter I’d kicked him off before. I opted to let it go. He was dead 60 hours later.
I’m grateful that the last time we spoke, it was about his haircut. He let me touch the mohawk. We had a laugh.
I think back about twenty years to another boy. He was a climber, too, come to think of it. Drove me crazy. I spent a lot of time with him, working one-on-one. He was supposed to be memorizing his multiplication tables and in spite of my best efforts, progress was dismal. One morning he came in to report he had finally memorized the 4’s.
“Great!” I said. “What’s four times four?”
It’s either 4,8,12,16,20,24,28,32,36 or 40!” He was very pleased.
I looked at him, wavered for a moment between frustration and amusement . . . and laughed. Thank God.
The next morning the principal came into my office and told me my student had been in an accident and was not expected to live. He didn’t, and I’m grateful every day that I laughed with him when I had the chance.
Laugh with them, let things go now and then, enjoy them.
You just never know.
Monica is the author of "Thanks for chucking that at the wall instead of me."
