“I don’t want my mom to know that I miss my
sister because I know it bothers her too, and I
don’t want to cause her any more problems. I’m
afraid that if I tell the shrink something like that
she’ll tell my mom and my mom will get mad.”
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“Well Sir, I have to tell you from experience, that
therapy is never easy, but the first thing you need
to do is to be honest. No matter how much it
hurts, you have to be honest. I went to therapy
for nearly 10 years, and I was never honest. I told
the doctors what I thought they wanted to hear
just so I could get out of their offices. Then I got
old, and it all caught up with me. Now I go to
therapy and I’m honest, and I feel like a new
person every time I leave the office because I
leave all the crap I talk about
in the office
. I really
cannot express to you how great that feels. I really
do feel like a new person.” I did my best to
convey my sincerity as I spoke. “If you start being
honest, your mom will have a better
understanding of what’s going on with you and
how she can help you. Because right now I’m
sure she’s blaming herself for what you’re doing
and what you’re going through.”
“Maybe I should be honest,” he said sadly. “I just
don’t want to hurt my mom, Mr. Love.”
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“Sir, to be honest, you’re hurting your mom
now
with your lies and sneaking around. You might
want to start there,” I recommended. His eyes
began to tear up as my words sunk in. Trying to
give him a way out, I put my hand on his
shoulder and asked if he was ready to go inside.
He hesitated and then threw his arms around me
in a bear hug.
With his face buried in my sleeve I heard him say,
“Thank you Sir.” Stunned by the sudden show of
emotion from this normally stoic young man, I
stood firm and let him have his moment. He
released his grip and stood back, wiping his eyes.
“You cool?” I asked, trying to maintain my own
emotions.
“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.” He said as I reached for
the door. Before I could open the door he called
my name. I stopped and looked at him. He
cleared his throat and said, “Thank you for being
so honest with us. I appreciate it.”
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“Sir, if I wasn’t honest with you I wouldn’t be
being honest with myself. I appreciate you guys
too. Let’s get back to work.” I opened the door,
and we went to our desks and got to work on our
own projects.
Keeping my mind trained on my paperwork and
not talking for a while had settled my mind.
When I felt more together, I got up and took my
position at the front of the room. I asked for status
reports, and everyone told me where in their
lessons they were working. I applauded their
efforts and told them all to take a break. Scott
came to my desk, holding his laptop. He showed
me the screen with his father’s name prominently
displayed on a Department of Corrections
website. Whispering that he had found his father
and was glad to know where he was, he thanked
me again and went to his seat. Scott’s relief was
evident and inspiring.
“Guys I want to share something with you. I told
you this morning about the letter and the call
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from yesterday, but I want to help you
understand why I’m doing all of this.” I spoke as
they closed their books and computers and settled
into their seats.
“Guys, first I want to thank you for giving me the
last hour to get my mind clear, in addition to
getting some paperwork done. Secondly, I want
to share a little of what I’ve been doing with you
since we missed our Social Skills lesson for this
morning. As you know I’m writing a book, and
Scott asked if I would give copies to all of you
when I was done, and I said that probably wasn’t
going to happen because of the content of the
book. But that got me thinking, and I’ve tried to
tone down as much as I could to make it so
maybe there would be parts that you could read.”
I stood in front of them as I spoke.
“I’ve been working on a chapter, and I finished it
last night, and right now it has one cuss word in
it, and it’s not bad, so I thought I would share this
one chapter with you. Do any of you want to hear
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it?” I teased. Every hand in the room shot up in
agreement. I strolled to my book bag and pulled
out a copy of the chapter that I had been
proofing, and returned to the front of the room. I
grabbed a free chair, spun it around, and started
reading a chapter entitled “My Bodyguard.” The
guys responded well, and when it was over they
gave me a standing ovation. David asked if it was
true, and I told him it was absolutely true, except
for the people’s names, which I had to change.
Another student, Kevin, raised his hand and
asked, “Mr. Love, you wrote that? Cuz that
sounds like a
real
book.” He was serious, and we
all knew it. The class exploded in laughter,
including Kevin, though, when he laughed for a
few seconds, he asked, “What?” with a dazed look
on his face. The other boys assured him that I
had written it, and we were laughing at and with
him. Kevin finally got the joke and laughed
again. This made us all laugh harder still.
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After the laughter died down, I told them
everything I had learned about research over the
course of writing my book. Though I had
mentioned it to them before, the idea of writing a
book became real to my students after hearing a
chapter and they had seen some of the old court
documents I happened to have in my book bag. I
told them about researching my family
background, talking to different people at various
newspapers, police departments, courts and
hospitals, and trying to get vital records in order
to get all of my details right. While they were
impressed that I was
really
writing a book, the
guys were most impressed when I gave real world
examples of having used all of the resources I had
taught them to use.
Speaking with my students about my research
and writing allowed me to detach from it all. It
became an academic issue, and I was able to
speak to my students as a teacher discussing
research techniques; my brain clicked into that
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familiar and comfortable teaching mode. My
anxiety lifted, and the kids brought me back to
our reality, the reality that we had made with and
for each other. Soon the day was rolling along,
and we all got through it together, just as we
always do.
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