I was making copies after school today, and teachers were in and out, hustling to get home a bit early on this Friday.
As I chatted with another teacher, the office door opened once again, it's creek and screech nothing unusual.
What was unusual was the familiar face of a grown man staring right at me.
He smiled.
"Wait a minute," I said aloud.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he said.
"Oh my gosh I do remember you! Silus! Look at you!"
I hugged this tall figure, who's face still held the 13-year-old's smile from so long ago.
"You're like...a man!" I proclaimed.
The last time I saw Silus (who's name I changed for this post) was the day he chose to bring brass knuckles to school to fight another kid. Rightfully so, he was suspended and expelled.
The last time I heard anything about Silus, he was expecting a child, and then spending some time in jail, and then in New York state. As we teachers tend to do, we'd written him off as a criminal, destined for, well, nothing.
I know. It's not the noble teacher thing to do. But for as much as I can believe in a kid, lift him or her up, buy lunches and lend an ear after school, I can't change what he or she goes home to. Silus stole shoes once...because he needed new ones.
Today, my heart swelled with pride as the now twenty-year-old Silus discussed what he's studying at a local community college. When I asked about his brother, he lowered his gaze. "He has three years left on his term. I've distanced myself. He disgusts me."
My eyes continued to well with tears as Silus talked about his job at a YMCA after school program...where he mentors kids. Our conversation was cut short. His YMCA badge already around his neck, he had to get to work. He didn't want to be late.
The emotions I felt this afternoon ran the whole gamut. One of those was peace. I felt it because there is hope, for so many kids that come through our hallways just like him. He is my proof.
This once tortured soul, so to speak, is well on his way to finding his own peace.
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