I remember Randall

I remember a small, wiry boy with locs, who bounced into my classroom as a five year old. He sang with gusto, was a class clown, and made me laugh even when he was disrupting my ‘teacher’s flow.’

I remember his big round eyes that took everything in. I remember an infectious, impish grin that showed that he got the joke. I remember him sometimes wanting to sing in my chorus, sometimes not; when he did, all eyes turned to the skinny boy with the big smile and saucer eyes that peeked through the floppy, beautiful locs.

I remember watching him run 5k races with his up-and-down stride that still managed to propel him forward. I remember every hug, every high-five, and every field trip. What I don’t remember is anything in him that would cause him to take his own life before his 20th birthday. Rest in Peace, Randall; I hope you know how much you were loved.

My lessons from this? Always listen to every kid. There’s a girl I spend time with at the school bus stop every morning. She has a habit of telling me every detail of every minute of her life each day, while standing so close that I can feel her breath (if you know me, you know that I’m a toucher/hugger and my personal space cushion is very small, so if this is making me uneasy, you KNOW she’s too close for comfort!). This week I’ve made a real effort to pay close attention to her, to take slow deep breaths when I feel my space encroached and to just relax. I wonder: if a few more people had listened to Randall, would that have made a difference?

It also was, as these tragedies tend to be, a mighty perspective check. Really, when things like this are happening, is whatever I’m worrying/arguing/bitching about really a 10 on the emotional Richter scale? Of course not. Randall’s battle wasn’t about healthcare, partisan politics, talk radio ping-pong, global warming, or who deserved a Nobel Peace Prize. Randall’s battle was about survival, and he lost. So did the world.

Maybe, the next time any of us feel like criticizing someone, making an unkind remark, or flying off the handle about something, we could stop and ask ourselves, “Is this a 10?” If not, maybe it doesn’t need to be released into the universe. Maybe a deep breath, a quick perspective check, and a prayer would restore patience and compassion. Who knows?  That peaceful pause might save a life.

Peace, friends.

3 thoughts on “I remember Randall

  1. What a beautiful post Robin and very timely for me as I often wonder how important *really* any given thing is that angers me or whether I’m really spending enough time just enjoying people, whether I know them or not or whether it was really necessary to tear apart someone for some offense they probably didn’t even know they committed. Lots to think about here.


  2. I left the following as a comment under “About” instead of here (couldn’t find where to leave a comment at first:-)

    I loved reading every word. You painted such a poignant picture with entrance points for everyone to enter and connect. I look forward to reading all your stories, observations and beautiful truths. Keep on writing!


  3. I remember Randall. I remember the wiry, smiling, dreadlock wearing boy you described. I remember a boy who loved to draw pokemon characters and was always willing to teach others how to draw the hair just right. I remember a boy who liked to write and was so proud of the 5 he made on his writing test. I remember a boy who would wait for his sister after school. I remember a boy who made a balloon and string x-mas ornament in my classroom and made my husband laugh out loud when the balloon popped and the ornament started to sag. I remember a boy who had charm and charisma and always made me smile. I remember a boy…who will now always be a boy…a boy I once loved…and will always love even through the tears I cry. I remember a boy…I remember Randall.


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