The Hand We Are Dealt

The Hand We Are Dealt

(Offensive language from bullies toward persons with disabilities) “In nature, there’s no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.” – William Shakespeare

The high rollers in Vegas don’t all get the same hand. Same thing for kids.

It was a different time. Kids made the neighborhoods in the cities. Touch football, basketball, and games like Simon Says and Ghost were all played in the narrow alley behind modest, well-kept homes. Trick-or-Treating was done at homes known to their parents. Kids walked to school together and shoveled and mowed lawns for elderly residents. It was a special society comprised only of children.

Jackson was a good kid, so it made sense that his friends were good kids. Jackson, Tommy, and Ethan all lived on South 76th Street and were friends for as long as they could remember. Tight-knit groups of twelve-year-old boys sometimes fantasize about the significance of their bonds of friendship and give themselves a name.

“How about the Three Musketeers?”

“That’s taken, Tommy. We can’t just copy someone else’s name.”

“Then I guess the Three Stooges is out too, Jackson.”

“Very funny, Ethan. Taken.”

After some discussion and serious thought, a name popped up that seemed perfect. Considering all the time they spent in the alley, Jackson came up with the Alley Cats. The rules were quickly adopted.

-The very existence of the Alley Cats would remain a secret.

-Never tell on a fellow Alley Cat.

-They would be best friends forever.

-A secret handshake was adopted.

-No new members ever.

The exact purpose of their secret society would be decided at a later date.

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“Dad, there’s a moving truck in front of the Nelsons’ old house.”

“I heard it finally sold, Jackson. Ben Martin says it’s a couple coming up from Illinois.”

“I hope they have kids, especially a boy my age. We’re always a guy short for football in the alley.”

“It’s a four-bedroom house, so I’m guessing they have kids.”

That’s a truism in life. Whatever toys, games, gadgets, balls, or bats are given at Christmas or on birthdays, the best thing for kids’ play is another kid. One special kid would soon arrive who would take Jackson on an unforgettable journey. Fifty years later, Jackson remembered it like it was yesterday.

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Jackson was in his backyard shooting hoops when the big conversion van pulled into the driveway next door. Jackson was a friendly, confident kid, and he was soon standing alongside the passenger side of the van.

“Hi, I’m Jackson, Jackson Boyd. I live right next door.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jackson. I’m Jenny Crozier.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Crozier.”

Jack was peering into the van, looking for additional occupants.

“Do you have kids?”

“I sure do.”

One by one, children stepped out of the van: three little girls. Confident sometimes seeps into bold.

“Don’t you have any boys?”

“I sure do.”

Mrs. Crozier leaned into the van and appeared to be encountering some difficulty with whatever it was she was doing. Finally, she helped a boy about Jackson’s age out of the van. The boy needed help taking the long step down to the ground, and he rested a hand on the side of the van for stability. Jackson noticed one of his legs had a strange outward twist, and one arm seemed to curl in an unusual manner. His mother reached back into the van and pulled out two forearm crutches and helped the boy affix them to his arms.

“Jackson, this is Sawyer, and Sawyer, I’d like you to meet my new friend Jackson.”

Jackson’s brain went on pause. A boy his age on crutches surprised him. He had never met a person with a disability, and he wasn’t sure how to act or what to say. Sawyer, seemingly unaware of his circumstance, made it easy for Jackson.

“Hey, Jackson. Nice to meet you. Do you live nearby?”

Things suddenly became more “normal” for Jackson.

“Right next door.”

‘Awesome! I was hoping there’d be a boy my age in the neighborhood.”

“Not just one. There’s a whole bunch of us.”

“Great.”

Jackson, being only human, reflected for a moment on the fact he wasn’t getting the football player he hoped for.

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“Jackson, that new boy next door is in his backyard with his dad. Maybe this would be a good time to walk over and get to know him a little.”

Jackson had a better idea, a time-tested method for breaking the ice with a new potential friend.

“Hey, Sawyer, do you want to come over and pet my dog?”

There is such a thing as friends at first sight. There’s no definition behind it, just a certain chemistry, a sense of commonality and comfort, that makes something click. Jackson and Sawyer sat at the backyard picnic table for hours. Sawyer would be attending the same school, so Jackson gave him the complete rundown on everything he needed to know about St. Mary’s- class schedules, recess, easy graders, hard graders, and the priests who gave long or short sermons. All other topics dear to twelve-year-olds were discussed- favorite sports teams, best NFL quarterback, favorite food, coolest car, best TV show, and whether aliens walked amongst us. The bond was sealed.

Jackson’s parents first brought out snacks and then invited the Croziers over for hamburgers on the grill. Jackson’s two little sisters were delighted to meet the Crozier girls, and the yard was soon filled with motion, commotion, giggles and smiles. Sawyer laughed at Jackson’s repeated failed attempts to get his dog Shadow to perform a trick.

“Here, Jackson, I’ll put a potato chip on your nose and see if you can catch it before it hits the ground. Maybe Shadow just needs to see the trick performed before he can do it.”

It was one of the best days of Jackson’s life.

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“Jackson, what’s the new kid like?”

“He’s a Bear’s fan, Tommy, but other than that, he’s awesome.”

“A Bear’s fan?! Oh no. Well, at least he must like football. We need another guy.”

“Uh, Ethan, he might not be our guy for that. I don’t think he’ll be able to play.”

“Why not, Jackson?”

“He needs crutches to get around.”

“Like he has a broken leg or something?”

“No, Tommy, it’s those jobs that go up your arm. It’s some kind of disability. My dad talked to his parents, and I guess it’s cerebral palsy.”

“I’ve heard of that. Can he get better?”

“I don’t think so, Ethan.”

“So, what are we going to do with him?”

“Everything except football and basketball, I guess. You’re going to like him. He’s really funny, and he’s smart. He uses words I never heard of.”

“Maybe he can do our homework.”

“You mean help us with our homework, Tommy.”

“Oh, right… help. I’m good with that, Jackson. Maybe a study group like my mom always talks about.””

“I’m in. Sister Josephine will be surprised.”

“You mean shocked, Ethan.”

Laughter from all the Alley Cats.

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“We are going to have a new student in class tomorrow. His name is Sawyer. I want you all to give him a warm welcome. Sawyer has a disability. This will be a different experience for you. He’s one of God’s children, so I want you all to treat him with kindness and respect.”

Jackson found nothing to disagree with, but he didn’t understand the need for Sister Josephine to say it. He thought such things were already understood.

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The Alley Cats were impressed. Sawyer was a couple of light-years beyond smart.

“How do you know all this stuff, Sawyer?”

“I read a lot, Ethan. Books will tell you everything.”

It was a transformation the like of which had never been seen at St. Matthew’s. Sawyer did a little tutoring, especially in math, but it was more his ability to inspire by example.

“I don’t think I’m any smarter than anyone else. I just read a lot. Anyone can learn from that, Tommy.”

And read they did…

“You want to go where, Ethan?”

“To the library, Mom. Sawyer was telling me about a book about pirates. I want to check it out.”

“Want to play a little catch before dinner, Tommy?”

“Not right now, Dad. I want to finish this chapter in my history book first.”

“Dad, I was reading an article in school today about the ancient Greek ships that took their soldiers to Troy after the Persian Prince Paris took off with Helen. Do you think we could get a book about how those ships were built?”

“Huh?”

Sawyer had a peculiar love of ships. He read about them, he drew them, and he built them, model ships that is.

“What’s this one, Sawyer?”

“That’s the Santa Maria, the ship Columbus came over in, Ethan.”

“And this one?”

“That’s the Merrimac, a Union ship from the Civil War.”

The Alley Cats were hooked, and soon they went from admiring Sawyer’s ships to building their own. Battleships, destroyers, aircraft carriers, submarines, and Jackson’s personal favorite, the Titanic. Sawyer couldn’t run a deep out or dribble behind his back, but he was sure fun to have around.

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“I’m going to be gone for a few days, Jackson.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to have another surgery.”

“Sugery? Are they going to fix you up?”

“I don’t think they can fix me, Jackson. I guess they try to keep it from getting worse… and maybe do something about the pain.”

“Pain? You never said anything about pain.”

“Yeah, sometimes it hurts in different places, usually my legs and knees. It’s not so bad. Things could always be worse.”

Jackson had never heard Sawyer mention pain. He felt bad that he never asked.

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“You’re sure it’s ok, Jackson? Can we break a sacred oath?”

“I don’t know, Tommy. What do you think, Ethan?”

“We’d be breaking our word, but it does sort of seem like the right thing to do.”

“Let’s vote on it.”

“Aye.”

“Aye”

“Aye.”

“It’s settled. We’ll have one more Alley Cat. I’ll ask him tonight.”

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“An Alley Cat? What exactly do you Alley Cats do?”

This was a tough one for Jackson. As far as he knew, their secret society was more a matter of being than action.

“We’re not sure yet, Sawyer. Right now, I guess it just means we’re best friends… forever.”

“Do you have a charter or anything like that?”

“No.”

“How about any service projects?”

“No… Jesus Christ, Sawyer, do you want in or not?!”

“Ok, ok, I’m in. Don’t get your undies in a bundle.”

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Sawyer didn’t just fit in at St. Matthew’s; he captured the class. Everyone liked Sawyer. At first, some of his popularity may have derived from the sympathy of compassionate children. It didn’t take long, however, for his classmates to realize Sawyer didn’t need their sympathy. This kid stood tall on his own. Day one, they realized he was the smartest kid in the class. Day two, they realized he was the funniest kid in class. Day three, and every day thereafter, they realized he was the nicest kid in class.

Jackson was proud… proud of his friend and proud that he was the first to “find” him. He felt his own status rise as he basked in the glow of this very special kid.

Sawyer couldn’t play, but he went to every one of Jackson’s basketball games.

“I know why you’re having trouble with your game, Jackson.”

“Why?”

“Your shot sucks.”

“How kind of you to notice.”

“No, seriously, I knew you were having trouble with your shot, so I had my dad take me to a bookstore, and I got a book on basketball skills.”

“You did that for me?”

“There was no one else to do it for.”

Jackson smiled and gave his best friend a bro-hug.

“Thanks.”

That night, Sawyer sat in his living room with the book in front of him. His student stood nearby with a basketball.

“Like this, Jackson, your arm movement is up and out. It says here pretend you’re shooting out of a phone booth. And when you release the ball, wave at the basket.”

Sawyer’s “shot” looked perfect to Jackson, and it hurt him to think his friend couldn’t be out there with him on the court. It was all so unfair. He knew Sawyer loved sports, especially basketball, and he was cheated out of so much that should have been part of a boy’s life. St. Matthew's was all about a loving God, and Jackson couldn’t understand how such things could happen.

“Just don’t look like Ma Kettle out there in your game this Saturday, Jackson. If you do, I’m going to tell people I don’t know you.”

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Summer. Fishing at the City Park pond, expanding their creative talents by adding airplanes to the model-building efforts, a shocking (in the minds of Jackson’s parents) number of visits to the city library, and hours upon hours of discussing the inconsequential issues of the day. Jackson and Sawyer were inseparable. Jackson’s parents couldn’t help but notice that it took a boy on crutches to get their son moving.

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Seventh and eighth grade sailed by smoothly for Jackson and Sawyer as their friendship grew right along with Jackson’s grade point and his shooting percentage on the basketball court. Changes were on the horizon.

St. Matthew’s had 107 students, grades first through eighth. Central High School had 1700. The transition can be daunting, and the social interactions are more complex and challenging.

Who knows how kids are made? Some are tall, some short; some brilliant, some not too bright; some like spinach, some don’t; some healthy and strong, some not so much; some nice, and unfortunately, some not so nice. However they were born, every kid at St. Mathew’s was treated with kindness and respect. Maybe it was the faith-based school. Maybe it was the nuns running around with rulers, compelling good behavior. Maybe it was simply the size of the school, the closeness of the students, and the lack of anonymity which can sometimes shield bad behavior. Or, maybe the hearts in some kids grow a little bit smaller as they grow older.

“Hey, what’s your time in the hundred? Ha, ha, ha.”

“Can you use those things like pogo sticks and hop like a bunny? Ha, ha, ha.”

“Hey, pretzel boy!”

Sawyer was stunned, hurt, and shaken. He wanted to disappear. He had never encountered such treatment. He desperately looked around for a familiar St. Matthew’s face, but none were there. It was a handful of bullies who threw out their disgusting insults, but it was a larger group that joined in the laughter.

Jackson heard about it between classes. He was upset and angry, but mostly he felt bad for his friend. With tears running down his cheeks, he ran to Sawyer’s next scheduled class. He wasn’t there. Jackson skipped class and ran through the building until he found Sawyer sitting on the steps leading to the second floor.

Sawyer didn’t move as Jackson approached. He just sat there, staring blankly at the space in front of him. Jackson sat down and put his arm around Sawyer.

“I’m sorry, Sawyer. Those guys are just jerks. Don’t let it bother you.”

‘Don’t let it bother you.’ Easier said than done. Only the bullied can truly understand the impact of being bullied.

“I never ran into that before, Jackson. How can some people be so cruel?”

Jackson again reflected on the topic. He couldn’t understand how God could allow for disabilities like Sawyer’s, and now he wondered why God put such meanness into this world.

Sawyer didn’t want to get up, but he did. He went to his remaining classes, caught a few more shots from the ignorant bullies, and rode home with Jackson in his mom’s van without saying a word.

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Things were different after that terrible day. The school’s teachers and administrators tried to stop it, but the bullying continued, sometimes in subtle ways but always hurtful. Society wasn’t as enlightened back then as to the harmful effects of verbal abuse on kids. The Alley Cats tried, but failed.

“Knock it off, you guys. He never did anything to you.”

Three average to undersized freshmen weren’t going to alter the boorish behavior of a bunch of the senior jocks bent on entertaining themselves at someone else’s expense.

Sawyer’s spirits sank day by day. The bullies picked it up a notch, jackals sensing wounded prey. Jackson wanted his friend back.

“Sawyer, check this out. Two World War II fighter jets. We could get started on them tonight.”

“Not tonight, Jackson. I don’t feel so hot.”

He didn’t feel so hot. Sawyer had two more surgeries coming up.

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Physical pain plus emotional distress. That’s a tough equation for anyone. Thirteen-year-olds aren’t always equipped to handle it.

“If God got you to it, He’ll get you through it.” Maybe… maybe not.

A knock at the door at 10:00PM was unusual. Jackson’s mother opened the door and stood there for a moment. When she returned, she was taking deep breaths and fighting off tears.

“Jackson, that was Sawyer’s dad. I don’t know any other way to tell you, but Sawyer’s gone. You’ll eventually find out, so I’ll tell you now. He took his own life.”

Jackson was frozen in place. He had just heard the unbelievable, the unbearable, the unacceptable. His body tightened, and tears welled up in his eyes. He got up and walked across the room, picked up his Titanic model from the fireplace mantle, and threw it with all his might against the wall. He fell to the floor and screamed, “No!!”.

Two years back in the 60’s, Jackson met the best and the worst that life has to offer. He remembered it all like it was yesterday because he couldn’t forget.