Short Story: Saving Alejandro

“Boys and girls, I am excited to announce that today, in our writing workshop, we will have the chance to share our published stories.” I could feel the energy rising in the room.

The students in my classroom love to share. I have instilled in our workshop a climate of acceptance and of community. We are all partners in this “thing called writing” and never targets. In a nutshell, my students feel safe. It is this feeling of safety that led one of my students to share a painful moment in his life.

Alejandro was a shy child. He was withdrawn and didn’t have many friends. His outbursts of anger one minute and an introverted personality the next kept me, and my other students, on our toes. We never knew what to expect when Alejandro arrived to class each day.

As the class settled in I heard a faint, “Ms. Morris, I would like to share first today if that is okay with you.” I looked up from my clipboard to identify the voice to the face and was pleasantly surprised to find it was Alejandro.

“Why that would be terrific Alejandro. I am thrilled that you have offered to go first. Why don’t you come over here to the Author’s Chair and get started? I will grab my sticky notes and a pen.”

As Alejandro sat down in the Author’s Chair, his piece of writing clenched in his hands, the other students eagerly sat around him. Alejandro began to read. The beginning was pretty basic, but as Alejandro reached the heart of his story, a story about his father, I could sense a new direction about to turn. He hesitated for just a moment and then continued:

“I still can’t believe I almost rode my bike into the wall that day. If it hadn’t been for my dad, I probably would have crashed. But he saved me.”

The slight trembling in his voice did not go unnoticed by me or my students. The air was almost thick with anticipation.

“Yep, my dad ran after my bike, grabbed it by the seat and yanked back hard, just in time. We laughed but I told him I was done riding for the day. He glanced at his watch and agreed. He had to go to work. Then I decided to take a nap.”

Complete stillness enveloped the room. Alejandro stopped and looked at me with uncertainty in his eyes. I admit there was a part of me that wanted to say “Thank you for sharing…next.” Not because I didn’t care, but because I did. I love my students and there is an instinct to protect them. But there was another side of me that said, “Let this one ride out, this piece of writing is going to make a difference.” I chose to let him continue. And with a gentle smile and nod of my head, he understood and kept reading.

“After awhile, my mom came in and woke me up. I could hear voices downstairs and it was dark outside. She helped me get up and then cupped my face. ‘Alejandro, there has been an accident. Your father had a wreck on his way to work- and sweetie, he is dead…’ “

Tears began to fill Alejandro’s eyes, as well as my own. To see a student curl up in a fetal position from pain and sorrow hurts your heart. As I went to comfort Alejandro, I found I was last in line. The other students were already right by his side- hugging him and crying themselves. This comforting seemed to last for hours, but I know it was only moments.

When Alejandro regained his composure he looked at me, smiled, and simply said, “Thank you for letting me share.”

I rushed over and giving him a bear hug beyond belief I replied, "No Alejandro, thank you. Thank you for trusting us with a piece of your heart."

The rest of that year, there were no more outbreaks of rage, no more withdrawal from others, and we always knew where we stood with Alejandro. I firmly believe that writing saved his life. Alejandro learned the magic that writing holds and the release it provides.

And I, a mere fourth grade writing teacher, became forever changed because of the simple words he wrote and shared that day. I learned that writing can make a life-long difference in even the youngest of students…like Alejandro.

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