Where Does Love Go?

This was the last Furlough Friday. Hopefully. And I intended to make it count. We've been taking some of our kids on trips around the island on the Fridays that school has been canceled all year, and it's been a pretty great journey. Throughout the year, I kept talking about bringing the students out to Kamaile Academy, a charter school in Waianae, to work with their kids and learn more about a culture that they hadn't seen before. Despite some hitches and glitches, me and Kathryn, who teaches a second grade class at that school, finally made it happen.

Only five of our students were able to make the trip, and when we showed up in Ms. Zielony's classroom, the kids were just coming back from recess. My kids got really excited when they saw the tiny desks and chairs, as it brought back memories of their grade school experiences. We went to a back table and picked out books that they would read to the students. Where The Wild Things Were. The Giving Tree. They each chose one to read and we were set.

Unsurprisingly, Kathryn's room was meticulously clean and organized and her kids were perfectly disciplined. About 15 happy second graders walked in, gazed at us in awe, took their spots on the center carpet, and sat quietly in anticipation of asking us questions about our lives. Every answer was met with enthusiasm and amazement.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Red."

"Oooooooh! THAT'S MY FAVORITE COLOR TOO!!!"
"THAT'S MY UNCLE'S FAVORITE COLOR!!!"

Cute wouldn't even give them justice. These kids could make you smile, laugh, and melt your heart with one blink of an eye. In their eyes, the slightest glint of happiness could change the world. And if you knew their world, outside of Kathryn's classroom, beyond Kamaile, you would understand how significant that really was.

When we read the stories, they clung to every word, even though they had heard the same stories several times before and knew most of the words. I was so proud of my own students, who took on roles of leadership and read to the kids with confidence and poise. When storytime was over, we lined up to go outside, and about five kids mobbed me. "Mr. T, will you walk with me?!" "Walk with me, Mr. T!" The others went to my students, the other visitors, bringing them into the line and clinging to them. They grabbed, hugged, and held us as if they had known us all their lives. It had only been about 20 minutes since we'd met, but they displayed nothing but love.

Unconditional.

It made me wonder: At what point in our lives do we lose the ability to love in that way? In Kathryn's room, her kids seemed to love everything good that was put in front of them. If they saw something they liked, they would love it, and they would show no hesitation in expressing that. They grabbed your arm, hugged you, and told you their life stories as if you were the most important person to them. When we left, they clung to us and begged us to stay. The sky was the limit for the path they would take in their lives, and they were going to love every part of it.

Is that just how young kids act? Do they really mean to love everything so innocently, so sincerely, without hesitation or boundaries? I think they do. But then I look at the middle schoolers I teach, or hear about the high schoolers my friends teach. That sort of love and sincerity is definitely not always there. And then I look at myself. And other adults. Gone.

The hope for Kathryn's students- like Nainoa, Kanoa, Kevin, Pua, K-Lin, Ronnie- is that next year, their little brown eyes will still gleam with hope, sincerity, and unconditional love thanks to another teacher that will inspire them and keep them on course. And then the next year the same thing will happen. And the next year. And the next. If you water a plant every day, it will grow beautiful flowers. But if at some point you neglect it, forget about it, it may wilt. I hope that every day of every school year, these kids will have someone there for them to keep their spark alive. I hope that they won't stop clinging to every single bright thing that they see in front of them. By the time they reach middle school, and then high school, I hope that they will continue to gawk at anyone who comes to visit, and beg them not to leave. I hope that by the time they leave high school, they will still hold so much love in their hearts that they will be able to use it as fuel to fulfill their greatest dreams.

And I hope that we, as adults, who have somehow lost a little or a lot of this ability to love unconditionally, can stop, take a step back, and realize just how phenomenal everything in front of us truly is. I hope that when something comes our way, we can ask questions, respond in awe, cling to it, and beg it to stay.