Stories of Courage
Every program is a chance to change a life. These are a few of the moments that remind us why we do this work.
"You Saved Me!"
Sydney wrote her story on a white legal pad in her favorite pink ink. She was a high school freshman, and her letter began with a line I will never forget: "I didn't know Mr. Banks personally, but what he gave me was a chance to live a life of courage."
She explained that her best friend had been talking behind her back and starting rumors. "I can still remember pretending I was sick, so I could stay home from school and not see her."
Then she began a new paragraph: "FINALLY, ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH! I was not going to let this girl keep me from being happy."
What turned things around was a strategy she had learned six years earlier, in a 40-minute elementary school assembly. That one lesson marked the beginning of the end of her "friend's" bullying campaign, and the beginning of a confidence that carried her through middle school and high school.
If there was ever a question about whether this work makes a difference, it was answered by the last line of her letter:
When a letter says "You saved me," you pay attention. Every program is an opportunity to change a life.
Shared with permission.
"Thank you so much for saving ME, Mr. Banks!"
"And I Love You Too"
I was presenting my STAMP Out Bullying program at an inner-city middle school in Chicago. As always, I chose five students from the audience to join me on stage, one for the "S," one for the "T," and so on.
From the very beginning, the girl holding the "S" started showing off. She ignored instructions, made faces, laughed at me rather than with me, and disrupted me at every opportunity. Usually I would have replaced her, but something in my spirit told me to let her stay. Painstakingly, we got through the program. At the end, when I tell everyone in the audience that I love them, I turned to her on purpose and said, "And I love you too!"
That evening an email arrived with the subject line "I'm sorry."
"I want to apologize for the way I treated you during the program today," she wrote, "but you have to understand; I've been told all my life that white people are prejudiced."
I was stunned and heartbroken by her story, but it explained why she had acted the way she did. Then she closed with words that filled my eyes with tears: "Thank you for letting me stay on the stage and not embarrassing me."
That moment has become a cornerstone of everything we do. No matter where I am or who is in the audience, someone needs to be loved, and to hear it.
"And by the way, I LOVE YOU TOO!"
"Tears for Alex"
This story discusses the loss of a student to suicide.
When a school community is devastated by tragedy, I am sometimes asked to come and offer perspective and hope. That is how I came to sit with Jill and Jim Moore of Jemison, Alabama, after their daughter, Alex, died by suicide.
I don't remember where we met. I don't remember what we ate, if we ate at all. But I remember very well the story Jill and Jim told me.
Jill recalled that the funeral home was packed. "I appreciate everyone coming," she said, "but resented the fact that AFTER she was dead people wanted to show they cared and tell us everything that went on at school."
The Moores didn't want to relive the events leading up to Alex's death. They wanted to make sense of her life and find hope for the countless young people who are still struggling.
"Nobody out of ALL the kids at school that knew what she was going through did one thing to help her," Jill said.
Jill also had a message for students who are being bullied: tell someone what's going on (Alex didn't), and keep asking for help until you get it. Middle school and high school are temporary.
The week after our Sunday afternoon meeting, I presented 24 anti-bullying assemblies in 10 schools in just five days. I will never forget that week, and it is my hope and prayer that Alex will never be forgotten either.
You can learn more on the "Tears for Alex" Facebook page.
"If maybe just one person had stood up for her it might have made a difference. She would have known someone at that school cared."
If you or someone you know is struggling, call or text 988 to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7.