I went to a small rural grade school; it was a wonderful setting to learn in, the teachers were home grown, they didn't just teach a year or so and leave, and they taught whole generations and then some. 

But, as I was remembering that wonderful time in my life, my mind was brought back to my fourth grade year and a new boy name Jimmy C.
The school was a brick two story building holding grades one through six. The fourth grade class was joined by a wall to the principal's office.  Back in 1970, the principal, Mr. Watson, walked soft and carried a big paddle.  Yes, he spanked.  We all knew about the paddle in his office and some had even seen it up close!  I was pleased to say I had never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Watson on anything but good terms.  Jimmy, however, couldn't say the same.

Jimmy was a wild boy who didn't make many friends.  Our class was close, as was the rest of the school, we were practically raised together, and Jimmy was an outsider.   My mom had a friend who knew Jimmy's parents who recounted some very wild and turbulent happenings in Jimmy's home.  As small towns go, ours was about as small as it got, so I am sure Jimmy's family had a reputation among the neighbors.

My recollections about Jimmy are few but all very powerful.  He drug one of the girls (a new girl) around by her ankles in the gym during recess so he could look up her dress.  I don’t know who the fourth grade girls were more disgusted with: Jimmy or the girl who let him look up her dress, but she is another story. He was a terror on the play ground, not playing fair or nicely.  He was slower in class then most of us when it came to school work.  To make matters worse, he was disobedient to the teacher and was always getting in trouble.  In 1970 in a small rural school, you did not cause trouble, if you knew what was good for you.  Apparently, Jimmy either didn’t know, or didn’t care.  Either way, one day, he did the unthinkable.

It was after lunch and we were in the middle of a lesson when all of the sudden a river of water started to run down the wooden floors of our classroom underneath our desks and right through our feet.  It took us a few seconds to catch on, but soon, all the girls were screaming and flying on top of their desks, the boys were laughing and the teacher was steaming.  Our neat rows were in total confusion as desks were hurled out of the torrents path.  The source of the problem was not hard to detect, the floor of the seat in front of Jimmy was dry.  Jimmy had peed right in his chair, in the middle of class!  Oh! The humanity!  In seconds, he was escorted into Mr. Watson’s office and what we heard minutes later put the fear of God (and Mr. Watson) into the hearts of every fourth grader in our class.  Five thunderous thuds followed by horrible wailing on Jimmy’s part.  What had possessed this young man to open himself up to be humiliated and ridiculed let alone a trip to the principal’s office?

I had seen all of this as a fourth grade child full of all the knowledge and wisdom of a nine year old.  Now, I see this incident from an adult’s eyes, with all the knowledge and wisdom of mature woman of God. 

I no longer hold disgust for this poor boy; instead, I pity him and find myself praying for him.  He was, after all a product of his home life.  His parents fought on a daily basis, his father drank and it was rumored that he physically abused his wife.  They didn’t attend church nor did they care to discuss it. They had money problems along with everything that entailed.  Jimmy’s life was a nightmare that the rest of us had never even thought of dreaming.  We had no idea the horror he lived though on a daily basis.

I hope I get a pass for passing judgment on Jimmy, I didn’t know any better (although I have repented).  But what about the adults in his life, who was there for Jimmy?  I can point to that one episode in his life, in that classroom, on that winter day and say, no one.  He acted out because he was dying inside and no one would listen, no one took notice of his outbursts, his inability to concentrate, but that day, they took notice.  And what did they do? Council him, call DCF? No, they punished him for being a lost little boy. In that room that day as that paddle came down, it should have been his parents that felt the weight.  It was their problems that had led him to that room, not his own. 

I don’t remember Jimmy staying for the entire year. But, in that short time, he made an impression on me.  Perhaps that is why I passionately fight for children to be raised in a loving, Godly environment and why I fervently teach and reach out to retrain parents in trouble: to keep the Jimmys of the world safe.

 I wonder how Jimmy turned out; it goes without saying that he had some issues to overcome.  Did his parents ever get help? Did he ever find someone who would listen?  Did he ever find someone to speak up for him?  I have learned a lot in my years on this earth, not every child needs punishment, look at the parents, and look at the family, look and listen. I am listening and I will never be silent when it comes to the Jimmys of this world. 

Jimmy, if you are out there, God loves you and so do I, and there is hope.

 

 

Hey,
I just got set up with this blog and I am trying to figure it out.  Please be patient with me as I am new to all things in the blogging world.  A big thank you to my sons, Mark and Timothy who made this happen.  This should be fun.  I am interested in what you think so, if you have a comment, feel free to let me know.


Be Blessed!
Linda

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