<input id="csi" type="hidden" /> Note: I was tagged this morning on Facebook from my friend Kathy who linked to this essay. It made me super emotional and sad in the way that makes me feel deeply alive. I'm so glad she shared it with me. I'm so glad she didn't worry if it would "trigger" or upset me as a trauma survivor with a high ACE score. It did the total opposite.
It's written by MATT DE LA PEÑA and published in Time. Although it doesn't discuss ACEs it's relevant because I think some of us have the idea that not mentioning or discussing ACEs is somehow kind or protective, in private and in the doctor's office, as though to do so is too hard or triggering, when for many, it's the exact opposite and not talking robs every one of deeper connection - those resiliency/relationship building things. I hear so much good press about It makes sense that we're nervous sometimes but I think we just need more practice and to share how wonderful and moving these moments can be for all.
I was visiting an elementary school in Rome, Georgia, where I read and discussed one of my older books, Last Stop on Market Street, as I usually do. But at the end of the presentation I decided, on a whim, to read Love to them, too, even though it wasn’t out yet. I projected Loren’s illustrations as I recited the poem from memory, and after I finished, something remarkable happened. A boy immediately raised his hand, and I called on him, and he told me in front of the entire group, “When you just read that to us I got this feeling. In my heart. And I thought of my ancestors. Mostly my grandma, though … because she always gave us so much love. And she’s gone now.”
And then he started quietly crying.
And a handful of the teachers started crying, too.
I nearly lost it myself. Right there in front of 150 third graders. It took me several minutes to compose myself and thank him for his comment.
On the way back to my hotel, I was still thinking about that boy, and his raw emotional response. I felt so lucky to have been there to witness it. I thought of all the boys growing up in working-class neighborhoods around the country who are terrified to show any emotion. Because that’s how I grew up, too — terrified. Yet this young guy was brave enough to raise his hand, in front of everyone, and share how he felt after listening to me read a book. And when he began to cry a few of his classmates patted his little shoulders in a show of support. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so moved inside the walls of a school.
Comments (1)