Rethinking Giants

No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.—Edmund Burke

Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.—Bertrand Russell

I’ve grown certain that the root of all fear is that we’ve been forced to deny who we are.—Frances Moore Lappe

Most adolescents have experienced or are currently struggling with the problem of bullying. Bullying is when someone performs certain actions or says certain things to harass or exert power over another. It is about the domination of other souls. Schoolyard bullying has plagued every generation, and most adults have traditionally viewed it as a right of passage, telling the young to simply ignore the bully and he will eventually go away. But bullying can leave scars on hearts that last a lifetime. Over the next few weeks, this blog will address the issue of bullying by exploring Odysseus’s encounter with the horrific Cyclops.

Rethinking Manuel

This combination that we have observed in our timeless stories is a key to helping young people today establish a sense of identity. How do we, as adults, become Menelaus, Obi-Wan, Mr. Miyagi, Aslan, or Athena for the students in our lives? It is different in every situation, because every adolescent is unique, but let’s take a look at some examples.

The Story of Manuel

Manuel, a thirteen-year-old student, moved into the school district from Los Angeles halfway through the year. He was somewhat flippant about school rules, and as the year progressed, he found himself in trouble more often than not. Manuel was in and out of detention and eventually was suspended from school for a period of time. His home life was chaotic. His father had walked out on the family when he was very young, and he and his mother had lived with one relative after another over a period of several years. Furthermore, being Latino in a predominately white, suburban school wasn’t easy.

His math teacher, Mr. Alfhild, noticed that Manuel was really struggling in this new environment. As a teacher, what could he do? How could he intervene in a situation that didn’t develop overnight any more than it could be “solved” overnight? It had to start with Manuel. The boy had no idea of his place in the world. Who was he? He was well acquainted with what the disparaging voices of the enemy had been shouting at him most of his life: “You are a troublemaker! You have no home. You can’t be trusted!” But who was he really? Helping Manuel build a positive sense of identity was the key. Mr. Alfhild had to follow the archetype that the great storytellers had been whispering throughout the millennia.

One day they happened to have a few moments to chat—more accurately, Mr. Alfhild, like Athena, arranged for the encounter. When Manuel walked into the math classroom, Mr. Alfhild knew by the look on his face that Manuel thought he had done something wrong. He asked him to sit down. Manuel looked nervous. What happened next was a complete surprise. Mr. Alfhild told Manuel that he had been observing him for quite a while now and had noticed that he possessed many good qualities. Manuel appeared somewhat shocked that Mr. Alfhild had not brought him in to yell at him or confront him about this problem or that. Instead, Mr. Alfhild had asked Manuel to meet so that he could pay him a compliment!

It is so important that we look for the positive things in a young person’s life. If we search for the negative, we are sure to find it. Isn’t that true about your own life as well? This can really be a challenge! We are so conditioned to seek the negative that we can completely overlook the positive in other people. Students especially need to hear us affirm the good in their lives. It is important to look beyond what a young person is right now, at this present moment, and instead see what they could become. The children look up to us and respect what we as adult leaders have to say (despite messages they may convey to the contrary). We carry an authority that comes with our position. Use it wisely!

After reinforcing Manuel’s good qualities and the potential Mr. Alfhild saw in him, he thought about the second piece to the mythical model, bequeathing a gift. What could a teacher give to him? Well, let’s see. Menelaus gave Telemachus a silver bowl, crafted by the gods themselves. No . . . what would Manuel do with a silver bowl? Obi-Wan entrusted Luke with his father’s light saber. Seriously, what would a thirteen-year-old boy do with a Jedi’s weapon? Probably have the time of his life! Mr. Miyagi bequeathed his classic yellow car to Daniel LaRusso. But Manuel was thirteen, not sixteen, and what teacher can just go around giving away cars? No, this had to be something different. What Mr. Alfhild ended up giving Manuel was a job. Manuel would now be Mr. Alfhild’s official office runner. If he had some important memo to send to the office, he would carefully seal it in an envelope and hand it over to Manuel for safe delivery.

To an adult, this duty might have seemed like a chore. However, looking at this new role through the eyes of a middle school student is a completely different experience. What had Mr. Alfhild really given to Manuel? On the surface, a job, but remember that the gift is always a concrete demonstration of something deeper. He was giving him his trust, something no one had offered him before. Mr. Alfhild was expressing with that gift the idea that Manuel was trustworthy. He was good. He was now an “office runner,” someone to be trusted, not just a troublemaker. He had a position and a title. As Manuel began to live up to the gift that was given to him, Mr. Alfhild could tell that there were subtle changes in his demeanor. He became friendlier with other teachers in the building, and because of that, other teachers began treating him in the same manner. We teach people how to treat us, and that’s just what Manuel began to learn. At the end of the year, Mr. Alfhild gave him a certificate as an award for being an excellent office runner. It was well deserved!

Rethinking Brokenness

Awareness of the journey often begins when we are in a broken condition, when things are not going our way. Those broken times in our lives occur for just that purpose. They are a wake-up call. When a young person is faced with a painful trial, he is also faced with a choice—a choice between hope and despair. If he chooses despair, he will take one step further along the descending path of cynicism, unhealthy relationships, hesitation, and fear. If he chooses hope, he must acknowledge that there is something greater, that the story of his life has yet to fully unfold. This will take courage, no doubt about it, but as Goethe said, “Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid.”

Rethinking Darcy

A few years ago, I had a thirteen-year-old student named Darcy. Darcy had faced a great deal of hardship in her young life. Her father wasn’t in the picture at all, and her mother worked three jobs just to make ends meet. Because her mother was never home, Darcy was essentially both mother and father to her two brothers, but her older brother had physically abused her, and her younger brother, though she loved him, needed more than she had to give. She had managed to get herself into quite a bit of trouble in school, by way of fights, shouting matches with teachers, and outbursts. Most likely, she had begun to agree with the voices that told her that she needed to be “tough” to survive, not to “take any crap” from anybody.

One day, I noticed tears streaming down Darcy’s face, and I approached her in the hallway in between classes to see if I could help. As Darcy stood by her locker weeping, I handed her a tissue and asked how things were going. Her eyes said it all. Apparently, Children and Youth Services had already contacted her mother, saying that if Darcy got into any more trouble at school, they would remove her from her home and place her with foster parents. And just that morning she had managed to get into an argument with another girl on the bus, and the girl had gone to the principal’s office and turned Darcy in for harassment.

As she tearfully told me what had happened, I suggested that she go down to the office and tell her side of the story to the principal. It was then that she said, “Mr. D, it won’t do any good. I’m the bad kid. Everybody in the school knows I’m the bad kid.” In other words, she had absorbed the message of the voices: “You’re a bad person.”

What the school community didn’t know about Darcy, and what Darcy probably didn’t even remember about herself, was that a week earlier, she had publicly complimented another student in my classroom. Jen, the student she had complimented, happened to be very shy and awkward. After Jen had given a presentation in front of the other students, I asked if anyone had any questions or comments. Darcy immediately thrust her hand into the air. “I think Jen did a great job! It was an interesting report.” I could immediately tell that Jen was beaming on the inside upon hearing those encouraging words from Darcy.

Sensing the despair that Darcy was now feeling, I was faced with a choice. Would I simply pat her on the back and say, “Well, I’m sure everything will work out”? Or would I fight on her behalf? I chose to fight. I challenged the voice that had been labeling her “the bad kid.” I immediately reminded her of the encouragement she had given Jen in the classroom, and what that meant to Jen. At this, she smiled a little. As adults, we must understand how powerful our words are. With our words, we have the power to both hurt and heal. I said, “You see, Darcy, there really is something good and alive inside you.”

I didn’t stop there. Through the use of a story she had probably heard over and over since she was a little girl, I made an appeal to Darcy’s heart. I asked her if she was familiar with the tale of Cinderella. She was indeed. I went on to compare her life now—being forced into a position where she was essentially the caretaker for her brothers and her house—to that of Cinderella, who was forced to scrub and clean by a wicked stepmother and stepsisters. Remember, in the beginning of that story, Cinderella was viewed as a worthless ragamuffin by those around her, and her self-esteem, too, was nonexistent. Like Cinderella, what Darcy probably didn’t realize was that the way people viewed her was not even close to who she really was. It took someone else—her Fairy Godmother—to help Cinderella see who she really was beyond the rags.

When I spoke these words to Darcy, I noticed an ever so slight change in her demeanor. Hope, perhaps? Maybe she saw a little bit of her own story in the medieval tale of Cinderella. My hope is that maybe the thought crossed her mind that she, too, could rise above the opinions and condemnation of others. Stories help the truth sink down into the heart, past the filters of the head.