DETOURS & DREAMS….a box of crayons

My first teaching job was as a music teacher at a primary school in our hometown. It had been a long day with many energetic kindergarteners and first graders.  I was packing it in to go home when GayLynn, my own first grader, walked in. Usually she bounced through the door to my room still filled with plenty of energy to go around, but not that day. Arms crossed and the look of complete irritation, she slid onto a chair and said nothing. Keys in hand, ready to head home, I sat down beside her. “A bad day?” I asked. Arms tightened but the usual smile and gab were nonexistent. “There’s a boy in my class,” she said; “He’s on my last nerve; he’s on everybody’s nerve!”

“Oh my; what on earth did he do?”  A litany of disruptions spewed out as if this small six year old girl was ready to let someone have it!  “Mrs. Reynolds is always telling him to sit down, stop talking, leave others alone, but he doesn’t. She sends him to the office; but they send him back! Why can’t they send him to someone else’s room?” I had seen GayLynn irritated many times with her own brother and sister but not like this. “And if that’s not bad enough, his box of crayons is a mess! They are broken into tiny pieces and the box is falling apart. He’s just a big ole mess!” By now, this rant had covered everything and part of me wanted to laugh at her intensity.

But I didn’t laugh. I knew things she wasn’t privileged to. Being a small town, the teacher’s lounge was a source of learning the good and the bad. I happened to know this family was going through a difficult time and evidently it was having quite an impact on this child.

“Let’s go; we have an errand to run.” Now she was intrigued. We got into the car and headed to Gibson’s. Inside the store, I told her we needed a box and some crayons. “Why?” she asked all the while walking down the aisles running her small hands down the shelves as she went. Finding the crayons, she picked up a small box. “Not today,” I said. “Get that big box over there and then pick out one of those decorative boxes that look like a boy.” She looked up at me and with all the surprise she could muster, “we are taking this to him?” “Yep!” you are,” I said. She grabbed both. “OK,” she said, and skipped to the checkout.

That night I rehearsed with her what to say; she finally asked. “Now why am I doing this?” “Well, you can’t change anything else but you can change the crayon situation. So do that.”

The next morning she headed down the hallway armed with a nice box filled with crayons. I was the proud mother waiting for the day to end to have her tell me about the wonderful thing she did. The day finally ended and she bounced into my room in her usual charisma. But she wasn’t gushing with the story I had played in my head all day; she didn’t even mention the crayons. Standing it no longer I asked, “How did it go with the crayons?”

” He liked them,” she said. “What did you say?” She was getting on my last nerve of curiosity! “I said your box is a mess and so are your crayons; you need these,” and she handed them to him.  With that she bounced out the door to find her friend.

Anti-climactic; no big production, not a big deal. He had a need and she took care of it. She didn’t need big words or a grandioso performance. Quietly, unseen, she slipped him the box, spoke her few words, and sat down.

Days later, the teacher stopped by. “That was really nice of GayLynn. I hope she told you what happened this week.” Mrs.Reynolds pulled up a chair and told how a box of crayons changed a little boy’s attitude. “It’s been a better week; I can’t thank GayLynn enough.” She got up and left.

The rest of that school year went much smoother in that classroom. “He’s not really so bad,” GayLynn mentioned on the way home one day. “He and I have become friends.”

My own six year old had no idea about what another six year old was being faced with.  She didn’t know the back story and she didn’t need to know. Hurt and fear show up in different ways depending on age. GayLynn had no idea; she saw a young boy who was disrupting the class.  I’m so glad she zeroed in on the crayons; she could fix that. However, she also helped change his behavior. Who knew……

That was over forty years ago. I often think of that experience wondering where that little boy who became a man is; how his life turned out. It is so easy to judge, to label, to decide why others do the things they do. I have done my own fair share of that.  Those back stories can be emotionally brutal and all we do is add to the pain someone is already feeling.

That day so many years ago one six- year- old handed another six- year- old hope through just being kind. By meeting a need, possibly he felt like someone cared.

Hope; disguised as a box of crayons. Who knew……