a story

We all have stories. You should all know that I come to this site to read yours as much as I come for my own needs. So I want to share one today.

I teach at a lock up facility for teenage felon boys. I did not want the wards to know that I was battling cancer. Because I did not want to complicate their lives as our friendship is one of the building blocks of their education. Also, I did not feel like becoming a cancer role model. Maybe that is not good, but it is true. So, I tried to pass for healthy. For six months I have been wearing this shabby little wig with a hat or scarf over it. During chemo I hid in the classroom closet whenever I needed to cry (often). The wards didn't catch on. They just thought I had incredibly bad taste in head fashion. But yesterday that changed. I have become pretty close friends, as I often do, with a ward. He is from a group home and has seen his share of sorrows by age 17. He asked me, gently, "Ms. Z, do you wear scarves because you have cancer?" I instantly felt worlds collide. And, darn it, tears fell from my eyes. Maybe it was just a release of the pressure of the past months. "Yes", I told him. Then I lied (in a way) "But it is all gone. I have beat it and I am just waiting for my hair to grow back" The world stood still. I was afraid as I waited for his reply. And he said, "Aww, Ms. Z. don't cry" And then, I swear, a black teenage gang member orphan matched my tears.

There is no moral to this story. Just an incredible moment of contact that will be with me for a long time. Long after my hair has grown in and he has gone on to his future too. I just wanted to share that. I know you all have these moments too, with different circumstances, that take us into deep waters, but take us in flimsy, yet seaworthy, boats of compassion. Love to you all, Joyce