A safe place

There is no trust more sacred than the one the world holds with children. There is no duty more important than ensuring that their rights are respected, that their welfare is protected, that their lives are free from fear and want, and that they grow up in peace.

- Kofi Annan

Can you imagine a little boy attending school for the very first time in his life and being so afraid that he could not speak?

Can you imagine the frustration of the kindergarten teacher who knew only that the child came from a violent home, but not whether he was capable of speaking? To make matters worse, the child’s mother refused to come in to discuss her little boy.

Many years ago, as a Title I teacher, I had the privilege of working with a class of no more than six children at a time. These were children with social/emotional problems that made it almost impossible to integrate them into the regular classroom. All of them cried out for help in one way or another, but that year, my biggest challenge was a boy who cried out in silence. From the day he entered our class until the third month of the school year, he never uttered a word. To add to the problem, the school had absolutely no information other than that he lived with his mother and had been removed from the home a number of times because of suspected abuse. As I said, this happened years ago when it was much harder to remove a child from a bad home situation - in fact, almost impossible unless there were signs that the child’s life was in danger.

The day that James was brought into my kindergarten class, the school social worker asked if I would discover whether he could talk. So far, they had not heard him say a word or even make a sound. My heart immediately went out to this seemingly lost little soul, and I promised to see what I could do. Knowing only that his home life was traumatic, my strategy was to create a place of safety, solace, peace and love for James - a place without any demands. And I decided to let him discover at his own pace that this was a safe haven.

All my other children vented their problems and daily frustrations by acting out. I spent much of my time trying to help them find acceptable ways to interact with each other - and me. James was just the opposite. Because of his fears, he spent most of his time hiding under a table that had three brown-paper walls around it. Occasionally, he would venture out to look at the many things happening in the room... always avoiding me. Over the next few months, I patiently continued to greet him warmly each day, letting him choose what he would or wouldn’t do. By the end of the third month, I was beginning to question my strategy of loving and accepting him, of making a safe place for him that was free of demands. Would it eventually pay off? But even with these moments of doubt, I continued to hold in my mind the vision of him coming to me to be held - and, of course, speaking his first words.

Then one day, as I was quietly doing my work, James ventured out from under his safe haven and lay down on a small rug. He curled up and started sucking his thumb. I slowly made my way over to where he lay. Mirroring his posture, I lay down on the rug beside him and slowly stuck my thumb in my mouth. When he looked over and saw what I was doing, he jumped up, socked me full in the face with his tightly clenched little fist and yelled, “Take your G-d d-n thumb out of your mouth!”

As I recovered from the surprise of the blow, I was suddenly overcome with the realization of the emotional prison in which this child was living. He must have lived in terror day after day, the threat of violence ever looming over his head. And when he was seen sucking his thumb, he was cursed and beaten - just as he cursed and struck out at me. I sat up, and he ran back under the table. But I knew I had finally broken through, and tears came to my eyes.

As the weeks went by, James began speaking gibberish from under the table, venturing out from time to time only to scamper back to safety if anyone moved toward him. Still, I never gave up my vision of James coming to me to be held. More weeks passed; then one day, I looked up to see James creeping out from his safe place and slowly moving toward me. I continued what I was doing, but watched him from the corner of my eye, not wanting to look directly at him and scare him away.

James moved closer and closer until he was right beside me. I turned very slowly toward him, and for the first time, his eyes were free of fear. As he continued to look into my face, he pointed to his safe place under the table and said, “I don’t have to hide in there anymore.”

After that, James came out more and more. At first, only when we were alone as a class, but eventually, he ventured out even when we had a visitor. As the year wore on and James came to trust that the classroom truly was a safe place, he continued to make slow, steady progress.

Still, when the last day of school arrived, James and I were far from my vision of him coming to me to be held. Late in the day, as I sat in my chair pondering this and watching the children, I noticed James beginning to move slowly toward me. My heart beat faster as he finally drew near enough and held his arms out for me to pick him up and settle him into my lap. He snuggled into my arms, looking up at me with eyes full of childhood innocence, and clearly spoke these words: “You know what? You’re special. I’m special, too.”

Tears streamed from my eyes, and my heart rejoiced with the pure pleasure of finally connecting with James.

On this very last day that I was ever to see James, he had come to me and manifested the miracle I had hoped for.

- Lynea Corson-Hadley