“You have to have a talk with your son!” the third grade teacher begged me today. “My son” is Marc, my former homicidal student, as opposed to Kyle, my suicidal student, from last year. Marc is my love, and I cannot imagine one day loving my own child half as much as I love this little boy. Marc came with me and sat with me for a heart to heart talk as I furiously filled out the remaining 4 report cards. He spoke to me for a few minutes about his teacher and about the things she had done. I distractedly looked up and said’ “Okay, so I have heard about all the stuff that she has done but I have yet to hear a word about what you did to have all these terrible things happen to you.” He thought for a few moments and said “Well I did punch my textbook and kick the table.” “But Marc, I thought we worked out how to handle your anger last year.” “Yeah but this is different. My teacher thinks I am like Kyle. You remember Kyle right? She thinks I do this because I want attention. But that is not it at all” “How is it different, tell me.” I said as I tried to recall whether Takkiyha has trouble with beginning or the end of the words. “I am very sad.” “What do you mean?” I asked as I looked up to see tears start to pool in his eyes. “I… I…feel an emptiness inside.” “What do you mean?” “I feel very alone. Sometimes I don’t feel like I have any friends or that any one understands me. I feel an emptiness inside.” “But Marc, you have Luc-Albert who adores you, he’s your best friend.” He just shrugged his shoulders and gave me the saddest smile and then put his head back on the desk. He tried to explain the emptiness, the void that he feels. “Marc, let me tell you something. You are an artist, a gifted writer. People with talent, who are artistic, are sometimes more sensitive than others, they feel things more deeply. That is what makes their art so unique. I know you feel that no one understands you, but let me tell you something. You need friends who understand this very special part of you. Like Sergneno. He is sensitive; he is a writer like you. Maybe the emptiness that you feel is because you aren’t writing.” “No, Ms. Bahrami. I write a lot. I am getting really good at sentences.” “No, honey, I mean your poetry… you need to write your poetry” “But I have nothing to say now… I just feel an emptiness.” We spoke a few more minutes and then there was a brief pause. I looked at Marc and asked, “Marc, this has nothing to do with a problem with a girl does it?” “No!” came the indignant reply. He shook his head and said something unfair that his teacher had done that day. Then mid-sentence he sheepishly puts his head to one side and looks at me. “Ms. Bahrami, it actually does have something to do with a girl.” “Who, Marc? Some one in your class?” My motherly instincts kicking in. He looked down and said nothing. “You know you don’t have to tell me her name, but if you want to talk about it I am here to listen.” “Well, it is just that I don’t know if she likes me too.” “Well, have you talked to her about it?” “Well, actually no. But I have asked some one to ask her for me. Well actually a few people.” “Well, you know I have always found in these cases that being honest and talking to the person themselves works best. It is such a nice thing to find out some one cares about you.” “Well actually I have a few people who are taking care of it for me. Hey, Ms. Bahrami, is the movie on now?” The principal had decided to play A CHARLIE BROWN VALENTINE for the children as a treat last thing on Friday afternoon. I turned it on, as Chuck was agonizing over how to handle the situation with the little redheaded girl. Perhaps Chuck could help Marc out of his dilemma much better than his well-meaning ex-teacher ever could. But when you think about it, how sad it is that our society has placed such demands on such young children that a 9 year old boy would feel such sadness and emptiness on a day dedicated to a physician who lost his life because of his faith and his commitment to help his fellow men.
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