In the wake of recent mass shootings, like so many people out there, my heart has been heavy. I’ve wondered what I can do for my own children, then my thoughts turned to other children, the ones who grow up to be bad guys. There are so many kids at risk that get shuffled around or brushed aside in our schools. They become ignored until they scream loud enough for attention. This attention gets them negative feedback, and they can get stuck in a terrible cycle. They are labeled as “problem children” or “unfixable” by teachers. Classmates label them as “bad kids” or “just weird.” How do we help these children? I certainly don’t claim to have the answers or the whole story for every situation, but I want to share an experience I had this week that’s opened my eyes and made me think of how I can actually make a difference.

When my eight year old son came home from school on Tuesday, he told me about a boy in his class that I’ll refer to as Aaron*. My son has mentioned things Aaron does at school before, like getting upset and sent to the principal’s office frequently. However, this time he told me how Aaron threw a chair in class three different times that day. Whoa, this is second grade.

My first thought was to ask if anyone was hurt. My next thoughts were, “How does your teacher help Aaron? Do you try to help him? Do other kids help him? Is he getting what he needs?”

I know Aaron has only been at this school since the middle of January. I know Aaron gets yelled at in class. Aaron has a rough home life. I know a few of the other kids try to help him, but he doesn’t know how to let them, so instead he just yells at them to stop or go away.

I thought about Aaron off and on the remainder of the day. What’s his home life like? Who helps him when he has these outbursts? How is he treated at school? Who does he eat lunch with? Who does he play with at recess?

I might have been overthinking it, and maybe it was my post-homeschool anxiety creeping in, but I couldn’t get this little guy out of my mind.

On Wednesday, Valentine’s Day, I showed up to help with the class Valentine’s party. I stood quietly in the back of the room while the substitute teacher on duty that day finished up. As the kids started to clear their desks and get a little noisy, I noticed a boy at his desk in the back corner of the room put his hands over his head, hunch over, and start to rock.

Ah, this must be Aaron. I moved so I could see his name tag and confirmed it was him. I watched as he pulled some noise-cancelling headphones from his desk and covered his ears. I watched him become more agitated as the kids pulled out their paper-covered Valentine boxes and it was then I realized… He didn’t have one.

I watched the substitute teacher go over to talk to him. She quickly found a box and grabbed a few sheets of colorful paper. As she haphazardly cut out a few paper hearts and squares of paper for him, she shot me this strange look. I still can’t quite put my finger on what she meant, but it was something along the lines of, “Here we go again” mixed with, “I’m so put out by this.”

I watched as Aaron frantically tried to glue hearts and squares to cover his box. My heart couldn’t just stand by at this point and I walked over, knelt down, and asked if I could help. He mumbled a quiet, “Yes” without looking up. I helped him with the glue and handed him paper hearts and squares. After a minute, he looked up at me and said something that pierced my heart, “I don’t think anyone has a valentine for me anyway. I have problems. I have to take medication, and sometimes I get angry.”

My heart ached. I quickly replied, “I’m sure someone has a valentine for you.” I knew at least my son did.

We continued decorating as the other classmates began passing out their valentines. I casually asked, “Do you have anything to pass out?”

“No,” he quietly said.

Oh no. This poor kid. I looked down and noticed a stack of small paper squares left on his desk. “How fast can you write your name?” I asked.

“Pretty fast,” he replied excitedly.

“You start writing your name as fast as you can, and I’ll write Happy Valentine’s Day on the back. Ok?”

He agreed, and we got to work writing as quickly as possible. He became more and more excited with every paper he finished. Once we had ten finished, he bounced around the room delivering the tiny papers to his classmates’ boxes.

He came rushing back to see if I had finished the rest and declared he would need more for the principal and this teacher and that teacher and so on.

This boy may get angry, I thought, but he is full of love. And he desperately needs to be loved back.

Once the class finished exchanging valentines, we played games and passed out snacks. I went home that afternoon with a heavy heart.

Then the news broke about the school shooting in Florida. I read about the shooter – he was troubled, rejected by his peers, eventually expelled, and, on top of it, had lost both of his parents. As I read comments and articles about how things get to this point, I thought of sad little Aaron.

Now I’m not saying that this explains or validates the violent actions of these shooters. I think as we consider all the things that can be done, we have to think about everywhere we can improve. I’m sure that there are laws and processes that can make it harder for the mentally disturbed to get guns, but we all know that bad guys don’t just turn evil overnight. We seem intent on treating symptoms instead of digging down to more difficult core issues like disconnected families, labeling kids, overmedication, absentee parenting, too much homework, not enough play, poor diet — the list can go on and on.

How can we address these hard problems sweeping through society? It is going to take a village at this point and we all need to have each others backs. We have to ask ourselves if we are ignoring or pushing away the kids who need the most help, especially in the earliest stages. When should we love on these troubled kids? In second grade? In fifth grade? In seventh grade? In high school?

The fact remains. In a school system focused on academic performance and behavioral homogeneity, assessed and rewarded mostly through test scores, there are children slipping through the cracks every day. These kids end up somewhere. And some will end up exploiting the system that failed them.

Where is the village for these children and their families?

That night as I was tucking my son into bed, I told him about my interaction with Aaron that day. His face was sad as I shared what Aaron had told me about wondering if he’d receive any valentines and not having anything to pass out. I fought back tears as I told him I hoped he would always be kind even if Aaron wasn’t.

We can talk about a lot of things that our society needs, from enforcing laws and policies to changing them, but I think what we need most is to wake up, pay attention to one another, and do something about it.

We must be the village.

Put the phone down. Turn the screen off. Lift your head up and open your eyes.

Notice the lonely.
Notice the forgotten.
Notice the struggling.
Notice the sad and the weary.

Then get doing. Jump in. Get face to face. It’s gonna be hard, and oh so worth it.

Smile
Say hello
Make a new friend
Use please & thank you
Look deep into your own child’s eyes
Teach them about love, kindness, and service.
Then, show them through your actions.

Let’s stop rushing and missing the very thing we desperately need – connection.

Connection to ourselves.
Connection to each other.
Connection in our homes.
Connection in our communities.
Connection in our country.
Connection in our world.

Don’t wait. More than ever, we need you now.

*Name changed.

**Teachers have a tough, tough job. They are under appreciated, under paid, overwhelmed, and exhausted. Many of them wish to do more, but their hands are tied with policy and overcrowded classrooms. How do they find time for the one who is struggling? I think teachers would welcome positive changes in the educational system as well. Many of them dearly love their students, and it shows. Their job is crucial to the success of our children and our future. They need our help, too.