I was two years shy of becoming a mother when I learned my greatest lesson about parenting. This information was not gleaned from a New York Times bestseller, a renowned pediatrician, or an experienced parent. It came from a 10-year-old boy born to a drug-addicted mother, with an Individualized Education Plan thicker than an encyclopedia—a boy with permanent scars along the side of his left arm from a beating with an extension cord when he was three.
Kyle [*name changed] taught me the one and only thing I really needed to know about loving a child through the challenges of life.
This is my story …
It had been a difficult move. I left my family and friends and the beloved mid-western state where I’d lived most of my life. My new home was thousands of miles away from anything I knew. It was hot—all the time. There were no seasons and teaching jobs were hard to come by. Having seven years experience as a behavior specialist, I was up for a challenge. I would accept any job if it meant I could do what I was born to do—teach.
I accepted a teaching position in a classroom for children with an array of educational diagnoses. They were students with severe learning and behavioral difficulties who’d been shuffled from school to school. So far, no program in the district was able to meet their challenging needs.
The first few months of school were difficult. It was not unusual for me to cry as I made my 45-minute commute to the inner city. It required a deep breath to even open the classroom door, but I came back every day praying this would be the day—a breakthrough to one broken soul.
On this particular morning, I was excited. The other lead teacher and I had spent weeks teaching the children appropriate behavior for public outings. We would be going putt-putting and out to lunch. Miraculously, most of the children in class earned this privilege—only a few had not. Alternative arrangements were made for those students while we took the field trip.
We had an extensive plan in place to make the departure as smooth as possible. But due to the explosive behavior of many of the students, even the best laid plans could quickly turn sour.
Kyle was one of the students who had not earned the field trip, and he was determined to make that disappointment be known.
In the corridor between classrooms, he began screaming, cursing, spitting, and swinging at anything within striking distance. Once his outburst subsided, he did what he’d done at all his other schools, at home, even once at a juvenile detention center when he was angry—he ran.
The crowd of onlookers that congregated during the spectacle watched in disbelief as Kyle ran straight into the heavy morning traffic in front of the school.
I heard someone shout, “Call the police.”
Based on the information in Kyle’s file, I knew the officers would locate him and place him on a 5150 holdfor a psychiatric evaluation.
But I could not just stand there. So I ran after him.
Kyle was at least a foot taller than me. And he was fast. His older brothers were track stars at the nearby high school. But I had worn running shoes for the field trip, and I could run long distances without tiring. I would at least be able to keep in him my sight and know he was alive.
With the agility of a professional athlete, Kyle dodged the moving vehicles in his path. After several blocks of running directly into on-coming traffic, he slowed his pace. Although it was still morning, the tropical sun was bearing down on the black tarmac baking anyone crazy enough to be running full speed on it.
Kyle took a sharp left and began walking through a dilapidated strip mall. Standing next to a trash compactor, he bent over with his hands on his knees. He was heaving to catch his breath. That is when he saw me. I must have looked ridiculous—the front of my lightweight blouse soaked with sweat, my once-styled hair now plastered to the side of my beat-red face. He stood up abruptly like a frightened animal that thought it was alone suddenly discovering he’d been spotted.
But it was not a look of fear.
I saw his body relax. He did not attempt to run again. Kyle stood and watched me approach. My exhaustion caused me to slow to a walk.
Kyle remained still.
I had no idea what I was going to say or what I was going to do, but I kept walking closer.
We locked eyes, and I willed every ounce of compassion and understanding in my heart toward his own.
He opened his mouth to speak when a police car pulled up, abruptly filling the space between Kyle and me. The principal of the school and an officer got out. They spoke calmly to Kyle who went willingly into the back of the vehicle. I did not come close enough to hear their words, but I didn’t take my eyes off Kyle’s face. His eyes never left mine … even as they drove away.
It was days before Kyle would be allowed to return to school. I shared my disappointment regarding the turn of events with Kyle’s speech therapist who was familiar with Kyle’s past history and family situation.
She placed her hand on my shoulder and said, “No one ever ran after him before, Rachel. No one. They just let him go.”
But I couldn’t help but feel that I had failed him … that I should have done more or said more … that I should have fixed the situation, or better yet, prevented the situation.
Kyle eventually came back to school. I quickly noticed that when he had a choice of which teacher to work with or which teacher to accompany him to special classes, he chose me. As weeks passed, he was glued to my side, complying with instructions, attempting to do his work, and once in awhile even smiling. For a child with severe attachment issues, it was quite amazing that he was developing a bond with me.
One day on the way to art class, Kyle unexpectedly grasped my hand. It was unusual for a boy his age and size to hold his teacher’s hand, but I knew I must act like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And then he leaned in and quietly said something I will never forget.
“I love you, Miss Stafford,” he whispered. And then, “I never told anyone that before.”
Part of me wanted to ask, “Why me?”
But instead I simply relished the moment—an unimaginable breakthrough from the child whose file bore the words: “Unable to express love or maintain a loving relationship with another human being.”
Besides, I knew the turning point. Things changed the day he ran, and I ran after him—even though I didn’t have the right words … even though I wasn’t able to save him from the mess he was in.
It was the day I didn’t throw my hands up in the air deciding he was too fast … a waste of time and effort … a lost cause.
It was the day my mere presence was enough to make a profound difference.
Ten years have passed since I’ve seen Kyle. I no longer live in the same state that I did back then. But I often think of him. When I am out running … when I am to the point where my legs are tired and aching … I think of him.
And I think of him when those really hard parenting dilemmas come my way—problems derived from inside and outside of the home—issues that make me want to beat my head against the wall or lower it in despair. I think of Kyle in those moments when I don’t know what to do or what to say when I look into my children’s troubled eyes.
That is when I see Kyle’s face and remember I don’t always have to have the answer. Because sometimes there is no clear-cut answer.
And I remember I don’t always have to “fix” their troubled hearts. Because there will be times when I can’t.
I think of Kyle and remember the power of presence.Because it’s possible to say, “I won’t let you go through this alone,” without muttering a single word.
Thank you, Kyle, for revealing the key to loving a child through the challenges of life.
Sometimes our mere presence is enough.
Sometimes it is exactly what is needed to change a dismal situation into one of hope.
Here in the U.S., many students are beginning a new school year. With that, social, academic, and emotional issues are bound to arise at any age. My hope is that we take some pressure off ourselves and realize we don’t always have to “fix it” or find a solution, but instead just be there for our children with love in our eyes.
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a classic example of how CURE comes through CARE ! You cared for Kyle not through words but just by running after him......your Care, your Concern which differentiated you from the mass for Kyle.
As a lifelong educator I want to thank and praise you from the bottom of my heart. There is more wisdom and real teaching knowledge in this essay than in 100 education books. You've also comforted my heart as I once again stay present with a child in a challenging situation. I can't fix anything but I can love him with all of my being.
as a parent of one of those kids, Thank you for loving on them.
Every month for the past 2 1/2 years, my organization, Gina's Team, has driven the 246 mile round trip to present an inspirational program to very troubled teenage girls at a large juvenile facility upstate. We are only there 2 hours (the trip is longer than the event) and sometimes I feel like what we do is a tiny bandaid on a huge, gapping wound. Then we get letters from the girls that say "I look forward to your coming all month," "I know you will come." "Thank you for always being there," We know we can depend on you." Rachel is right. Showing up in the lives of these children is sometimes all we can do but sometimes it is enough. Thank you, Rachel, for reminding me because sometimes I need reminding.
Yes. We all need someone in our corner. Life isn't supposed to be easy, but God didn't create us to be the Lone Ranger. That's a Hollywood Idea. How good to hold the hand of someone who loves us! How good to love and be loved for exactly who and what we are.
i too had this problem during my secondary school days........
Rachel , you did wonders & i really appreciated your initiative to concern the boy and understand his feelings through that you got a solution to help him through his problems . I too had this porblems during my secondary school days especially with my maths teacher who also see me as a troubled student , due to that i really hate the maths subject but other subject i did it well , it is the attitude of the teacher that matters .
Thank you Rachel .
WONDERFUL-- NEW WORD NOT AVAILABLE TO SHARE MY FEELINGS
Yes, most of the times what is needed is just being there,fully, all of oneself.
What a wonderful story. Thank you. Kyle responded to what we all need and want, simply love. Imagine our world if we all cared enough to "run after" someone.
Just when I question what impact I have in my life and on the world I read this beautiful story. Thank you for reminding me that sometimes, perhaps all the time, must being me is good enough.
what a beautiful narration of a heart warming positive act. It is never so important what you can do as what you intend and how sincere your actions are to help others irrespective of success it meets with.
Thank you for sharing. I am crying for Kyle and all the lost souls who dont have an anchor in life. We judge, ignore, shun, lock up, rage at and blame them for the ills of society when most of the time, they just need compassion and support. I take my loving family for granted sometimes until I get a wakeup call like this story to pass on some of the love and understanding I have been handed freely my whole life. I vow to show up for someone today.
No comments so far. Because it’s possible to say, “I loved the piece,” 'without uttering a single word'?
Rachel, bless you for being Present! How fortunate for Kyle that You ran after him, imagine how that felt to him, for someone to show enough care and concern to not let him go. I can see why he loved you; you showed him through Action that you cared. Words mean nothing when one is abused as he was, action means everything.
[Hide Full Comment]One of the most powerful memories I have of teaching within my volunteer project in Belize (I sold my home & most of my stuff to create/facilitate the program) happened at an inner city school with a 12 year old boy whom the teacher told me was always a "problem" and I should simply not bother with him. I work hard to view every person not as a problem, but as a human being. And what I discovered during the lesson was he could not read or write and he'd made it to the 7th grade that way. Not his fault, the fault of a system that failed him in diagnosing his learning difficulty. How frustrating it must have been for him to be in the classroom day in, day out, year after year, without knowing how to read or write. And there are no Special Ed teachers nor paraprofessionals to help him. He probably had a myriad of other problems too.
When I led the discussion about Belizean legends such as Tata Duende the protector of the rain forest, he always raised his hand, or shouted out responses to the questions. But at least he was contributing; true he was trying hard to see what I would say to his mostly flippant answers. I said YES to all of his answers responding, "Oh that is creative. I never heard it told that way before, yes, stories have many versions and ways to be told."
When it came time for the writing, (note: almost All the students in Belize speak English as a second language. Many of the schools do little to NO creative writing, but the children are expected to write an essay and a story based on a proverb or a picture on their National exam to enter high school) I walked around the room encouraging and helping with spelling, sentence structure. I noticed only scribbles on his page, deep scribbles tearing the paper. I leaned down and whispered gently in his ear, "you don't know how to write do you?" Eyes downcast, 'no Miss." "You don't know how to read, do you?" "No, Miss." I leaned in closer touching him on the shoulder, "It's not your fault, let me help you, let's do the story together, you tell it to me and I'll write it down for you." His eyes lit up. And he told me an Amazing story. He was very creative, but his teacher never saw that side, she saw only his disruptive behavior because he always felt less than at school.
When the class was finished with the exercise I chose 5 to share their stories with this class, including the boy I had helped, asking it he would like to tell his story, 'No, Miss, you tell it." And I did, his classmates were astounded at the story he created, his teacher's jaw dropped. The students were patting him on the back saying, "You a storyteller!" He beamed.
As I left the classroom, the teacher followed me asking how I had gotten him to do the exercise, I simply said, "Respect, I treated him like a human being, not a problem."
Bless you Rachel for seeing the hurt human being in Kyle. I am sure he will remember you and be grateful to you for his entire life. You created a turning point, hopefully other teachers followed suit later in his school life.