I teach at an intermediate school. Sometimes the job is frustrating, thankless, asinine. Other times it’s humorous, uplifting—even inspiring. Occasionally, it’s heartbreaking.
While I was on vacation last week, a student died. He died doing something stupid: riding on top of a moving train with his friends while some other friends filmed it to post on TikTok.
The same thing happened a few years ago, to an eighth grader the day before graduation. It was horrible. Students were crying, teachers were somber. The whole building felt like a morgue. I didn’t know that kid, though. It was tragic, but distant—scarcely more real than reading about a child’s death in a Substack article.
This time, I knew the kid. I’ve joked with him, yelled at him, called the dean on him. I’ve given him disapproving glances when I’ve seen him on the street laughing with his friends after not showing up to school. Every time I’d pass him in the hallway, he’d greet me with a defiant smile, and I’d smile and think about what a good kid he’d be if he weren’t so hellbent on trying to be bad.
By today, everything was back to normal. In fact, if it weren’t for one email I received detailing his funeral plans, I might not have even realized he was gone. Everyone had already stopped talking about what happened. It’s crazy how quickly everyone forgets. How quickly I’ll forget, once I’ve adjusted to the idea. Headspace is too limited; life’s just too busy.
This kid’s going to make an impact, though. This is the first time I learned—not just intellectually, but viscerally—that children can die. It’s a harsh reality, made even harsher by the fact that they sometimes die precisely because of their childishness, the naive way they perceive themselves invincible.
I always wonder what’s going to happen to my students once they get past the age where they’re compelled to be troublemakers. I wonder whether they’ll get caught up in the life of deviance they think they want, or whether they’ll abandon it all, perhaps find some type of passion. I’ve never even considered the possibility that they might not get the chance.
I’ve heard the expression “God protects drunks and children.” It means that there’s supposed to be some sort of divine protection out there for those vulnerable enough to think it’s a good idea to jump on top of a moving train. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Or maybe it’s true to an extent, and occasionally, one or two just slip through the cracks.
The only possible response to either is, “it’s not fair.”
Thanks for sharing this difficult moment.
You kept me reading. Good observations.