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WORTH THE RISK
Article by CJ ryce
Page 1

Jamie moved across the back of the room and examined the other children through narrowed eyes. A rubber band poised at the end of his finger, he walked back and forth stretching then relaxing the elastic in a sometimes threatening manner. The other children settled into their seats and concentrated on their assignment. Jamie’s face contorted into a frown when none of his classmates seemed to notice him. Hesitantly, he walked toward the front of the room. He moved in my direction until he finally stood directly in front of me. I glanced at the rubber band now relaxed at the end of his finger and pointed toward the floor. As my eyes rose to meet his, the corner of his mouth raised in a mirthless smile. Quickly, he lifted his hand, turned to the side, and fired the rubber band. The unleashed elastic smashed into the wall, just missing an intricately designed paper house displayed on a shelf. Hours of work had obviously been invested in building its delicate framework.

Gasps filled the room, and I closed my eyes and said a silent "thank you" that the paper house was still intact, then glanced at the other children in the room. Every face was turned toward me. With a deep breath, I looked at Jamie then walked over and picked up the rubber band. Jamie’s eyes remained glued to mine as I straightened up and walked back to him.

"Like I said, Jamie, I’d really like you to join us today. The assignment was to draw something or someone that meant a lot to you. A favorite pet, a toy, your mom, a friend—anything would be fine." His face revealed no emotion as I searched his eyes. "This seems to mean a lot to you," I said, handing the rubber band to him. "Why don’t you draw this. Draw the rubber band."

"This?" he exclaimed, his stoic expression swept away in disbelief. "You want me to draw the rubber band?!"

"Yes, Jamie, if that’s what means a lot to you. It doesn’t matter what you draw. You decide."

"I don’t know where to sit," he said, his eyes moving from me to the rubber band, then around the room in confusion.

"Sit here," I said touching a desk in the front row. "This seat is empty."

Jamie sat down and stared at the piece of paper I placed in front of him. I walked back to the center of the room and motioned the other children to go on with their work as they stretched and popped out of their seats trying to see what Jamie was doing. In a few moments, the room once again hummed with the soft chatter of children. I walked about the room answering questions and making suggestions and glanced at Jamie’s desk as I passed. A huge heart, adorned with scrolls and beautiful ornamentation was unfolding on his sheet of paper alongside a loosely coiled, spent rubber. . .

This story is true. It happened a number of years ago in a class of third graders during a "Lessons in Living" program. Several of us were presenting a series of lessons intended to heighten the children’s sense of connectedness, self-worth and encourage peaceful resolution of conflict. I had some hard decisions to make while I was part of that program, and I took a risk that day. Many of the teachers were suspicious of the program. They had definite ideas about what constituted acceptable classroom behavior and discipline. But, I was there primarily for the children, and in the ups and downs of my life, I’ve learned a few things.