Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The Darkness of Heartless
Before school one day, that quiet time of 7:20 a.m.when all is peaceful, the school psychologist game into my classroom. He told me a story of a middle school kid who had the lower part of his right leg amputated after bone cancer was discovered. ‘He’s cool and likes baseball and football, ”Dave said to me. “You would like him. You should meet him.”
Translation: “Maybe you could help him?”
The next school year Chris was my student. I went right to it, in front of the class. Chris, I know part of the story. Which leg? “
“The left one, ’he said. “Take it off and pass it up here.” He did.
“I asked permission to pass it around the room. There was an athletic shoe fitted on the end. Al the kids were like, ”Cool.” Everyone liked Chris and all awkwardness and avoidance of "The Titanium Leg" were gone. But I was just getting started.”
A month later I asked Chris for permission to tell his story in the newspaper. I also asked written permission from his mother. I told Chris he was an inspiration to me and could be for others and that there was nothing he could do about that.”
The day we sat down during my free period. Chris was missing math and didn't ask or inform the teacher because she was a bitch. His teacher came looking for him. We were engaged in the story. I had tears in my eyes. She looked into my room like I had violated some serious protocol. “He has a test, ”she said. “I responded, ”He already passed a test we couldn’t. Today he won’t be coming to your class. Take it up with the principal.”
Chris had a bone cancer that started as a bump on the shin, a hospital visit confirmed cancer, a quick amputation was performed to prevent it from spreading and killing him. There was chemo and rides to the hospital. Chris talked of his mother pulling the car over so he could throw up on the side of the road. He talked of his absent dead beat father who was trying to rip off the family for insurance money heading their way.
Chris has been a third baseman and a linebacker. He had that kind of toughness. He told me a story of being in the hospital after the amputation and of the kid in the next bed who also had cancer.
“My leg was paid for because although I didn’t know it the boy had told the Make A Wish Foundation that what he wanted was to give Chris a leg. But the time the leg healed from surgery and the leg was fitted and the young man’s wish was granted he had died from his illness.
I started to cry. “Jesus what the hell are you trying to do to me. Don’t ever tell me a story like that again.”
Chris smiled, ”You are crazy Fredman.”
I wrote the story and got absorbed and possessed like I sometimes do. I finished with the prospect of Chris jogging a lap of the track his senior year like he said was his goal. I wrote that the entire school would be evacuated becuase I was pulling the fire alarm and 800 students would follow Chris in a victory lap that was a triumph of the human spirit. Once again I was crying over my own keyboard.
Two years later I asked my friend and vice principal-a rare double in my world-“where’s Chris I haven’t seen him around?” I was told to report to his office after school.
I didn’t want to hear it. I was afraid of the word recurrence or worse death.
“Chris was expelled, ”he said. I said nothing, just stared back.
“I know Fredman. It wasn’t easy but he left us no choice.”
“It is never easy expelling the one legged cancer survivor, ”I cracked. “It must have been so hard for all of you.”
“He was selling Oxycontin to his friends.”
“But his family has no money and the good news is that he had a free pass for pain medication addiction and chooses entrepreneurship instead. You expelled the cancer survivor. That is priceless!”
The heroic and tragic saga of the human condition, mans humanity and inhumanity to man, no matter “who da man”.
The Greater Society offers sympathy but doesn’t grant wavers except for license plates.
Freddogg
Translation: “Maybe you could help him?”
The next school year Chris was my student. I went right to it, in front of the class. Chris, I know part of the story. Which leg? “
“The left one, ’he said. “Take it off and pass it up here.” He did.
“I asked permission to pass it around the room. There was an athletic shoe fitted on the end. Al the kids were like, ”Cool.” Everyone liked Chris and all awkwardness and avoidance of "The Titanium Leg" were gone. But I was just getting started.”
A month later I asked Chris for permission to tell his story in the newspaper. I also asked written permission from his mother. I told Chris he was an inspiration to me and could be for others and that there was nothing he could do about that.”
The day we sat down during my free period. Chris was missing math and didn't ask or inform the teacher because she was a bitch. His teacher came looking for him. We were engaged in the story. I had tears in my eyes. She looked into my room like I had violated some serious protocol. “He has a test, ”she said. “I responded, ”He already passed a test we couldn’t. Today he won’t be coming to your class. Take it up with the principal.”
Chris had a bone cancer that started as a bump on the shin, a hospital visit confirmed cancer, a quick amputation was performed to prevent it from spreading and killing him. There was chemo and rides to the hospital. Chris talked of his mother pulling the car over so he could throw up on the side of the road. He talked of his absent dead beat father who was trying to rip off the family for insurance money heading their way.
Chris has been a third baseman and a linebacker. He had that kind of toughness. He told me a story of being in the hospital after the amputation and of the kid in the next bed who also had cancer.
“My leg was paid for because although I didn’t know it the boy had told the Make A Wish Foundation that what he wanted was to give Chris a leg. But the time the leg healed from surgery and the leg was fitted and the young man’s wish was granted he had died from his illness.
I started to cry. “Jesus what the hell are you trying to do to me. Don’t ever tell me a story like that again.”
Chris smiled, ”You are crazy Fredman.”
I wrote the story and got absorbed and possessed like I sometimes do. I finished with the prospect of Chris jogging a lap of the track his senior year like he said was his goal. I wrote that the entire school would be evacuated becuase I was pulling the fire alarm and 800 students would follow Chris in a victory lap that was a triumph of the human spirit. Once again I was crying over my own keyboard.
Two years later I asked my friend and vice principal-a rare double in my world-“where’s Chris I haven’t seen him around?” I was told to report to his office after school.
I didn’t want to hear it. I was afraid of the word recurrence or worse death.
“Chris was expelled, ”he said. I said nothing, just stared back.
“I know Fredman. It wasn’t easy but he left us no choice.”
“It is never easy expelling the one legged cancer survivor, ”I cracked. “It must have been so hard for all of you.”
“He was selling Oxycontin to his friends.”
“But his family has no money and the good news is that he had a free pass for pain medication addiction and chooses entrepreneurship instead. You expelled the cancer survivor. That is priceless!”
The heroic and tragic saga of the human condition, mans humanity and inhumanity to man, no matter “who da man”.
The Greater Society offers sympathy but doesn’t grant wavers except for license plates.
Freddogg
