For Jay Ray

I feel like I helped someone today. I know that I helped someone today. His name is Justine, and he’s a good 17 year-old kid. Manically and frantically moving from one thought to the other, he threw rhymes at me for over an hour about justice, about not being heard, and about being disrespected. He’s really very angry.

He told me about his passion for swimming. He told me about jumping into the water, being cut off from the world underneath the blanket of liquid, and the peace he found there. It is a gentle solitude away from the domestic violence in his home. Away from the labels of “crazy” and “nut job” his teachers and classmates give him. His mind moves so quickly from one subject to another. He wrote in journal after journal. His mind raced. He raced. We breathed deeply and slowly together.

He talked about being a non-conformist. He talked about being like his hero, Martin Luther King, Jr. He framed his non-conformism in terms of not taking the pills they offered, not following the dress code of the hospital, and of getting out of there. He kept paging through the “Patient Rights” pamphlet and pointing out sections. “See, it says here, it says it right here, that I don’t have to take this, I’m going to go call my lawyer right now!”

We ultimately talked about choices. When he refused to give up a rosary that could be used to hang himself or others, I asked, “Is this really the battle you want to be fighting?” We talked about laws and rules, and about the spirit of those laws and rules. We talked about the differing spirit of a law he did follow—stopping at stoplights so that there weren’t car accidents, and a law he didn’t follow—like upholding segregation laws. We talked about choices and how they are ours to make, but that there are consequences for every one.

I told him he was special. I told him he was unique. That no matter where he was, no matter what he was doing, no matter which medications he was or was not on, he would never lose that. We prayed.

In the end, he walked calmly up to the staff, told them he’d made his decision, and handed them his rosary. The staff woman looked shocked, thanked him for the decision he made, and carefully tucked his rosary away for him in a plastic bag with his name on it. He thanked me for listening to him, for helping him reason through his decision, for really hearing what he had so say. He asked me if it was okay to give me a hug, and I said it was.

I saw the staff person over his shoulder as he hugged me. She smiled a big, deep, true smile. For a moment, just a moment, she got a glimpse of the sweet boy beneath the layers of anxiety, fear, and anger that cause him to rock as he talks endlessly.

I think there might be a place for me someday in this world. I’ve worked with so many youth and children, and I honestly respect them and their view of the world. At any age, what children say matters. They are beautiful gifts to the world, and their vision and purpose is so powerful, so needed in this world. They are the prophets of the coming age.

I spent two hours with Justine, and they were wonderful. It was not two hours languishing in front of the T.V., or entering endless data into a computer, or stuck in some board meeting debating whether the parking lot should have gravel or be paved. They were two hours of connecting with someone. Of caring for them. Of making a difference, however small, in someone’s life. How lucky am I that I get to do this?