The little boy who helped himself

Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, potato casserole, baked beans, collards, cornbread, dirty rice, salads, and an entire table of desserts. That’s how Jordan High says hello to summer.

The last day of post planning for most teachers is just a day for final cleaning out, maybe a few meetings, but definitely a bunch of food. Even the most passionate, influential, dedicated teacher would admit the last day of school for the classroom teacher is by far the most coveted.

Ms. Moore has taught at Jordan High for 28 years, and she is the event planner for the faculty. She organizes everything to the smallest detail. It was lunchtime, and we all piled into a cafeteria beautifully decorated with tablecloths and flower arrangements and that spread of vittles fit for a king.

Customary to this Southern school, ladies hit the plates first, while the gentlemen wait, jabbering about sports or hunting or whatever boys jabber about. Some of my buds and I sat before our chicken and potatoes and Mrs. Anthony’s famous banana pudding and noticed a young boy standing in line among the men. We brushed it off, thinking it was the son of one of our teachers. But when he filled his plate, he took his seat at the other side of the cafeteria, far from the rest of us.

I watched that little kid eat. It was a sight to see, and I wasn’t the only one to notice him. Other women at my table noticed the boy as well. So, we asked about him.

The young boy was not a teacher’s son. He was simply a neighborhood kid who happened by and noticed the spread of food. He got in line like he belonged, helped himself to the food, and ate like he hadn’t eaten in a few days. When he swallowed his last bite, off he went – back into his neighborhood.

Isn’t it fitting, though? A hungry little boy haphazardly joining our celebration of a school year we spent sowing into the lives of the neighborhood kids.

There he was, confidently unaware of the social graces that might have prevented most of us from filling our bellies with good fried chicken. But why? Why did he not deserve a hot meal and some good banana pudding? After all, he is the reason we get up in the morning and drag ourselves to work. He is the reason we slave over lesson plans and piles of papers to grade. He is the reason there is cause to celebrate.

I’ve thought about that little boy since then, and I can’t help but wonder what his full story is. The sad reality is, I’ll probably never know, until maybe he shows up in my classroom one day.

In the 21st century public school classroom, kids like this little boy fill our desks way too often. Unable to concentrate because their bellies are empty. Unaware of society’s shock at their behavior because basic needs fuel their actions. These are neighborhood children who are just looking for nourishment, of any and all kinds. Most times, their needs can be met very simply because their voids are so deep.

I learned two very important lessons from this uninvited yet extremely welcomed little boy. Lesson No. 1: Remember why you’re here and what you’re celebrating. I’m no longer talking about the classroom. I’m talking about why you’re here on this earth. What purpose do you play? What good deeds can you celebrate? Do something worth celebrating, and then celebrate. Grab a bucket of chicken and rejoice.

Lesson No. 2: Have a boldness and a confidence to feel worthy. The little guy just walked in as if he belonged. He had no inhibitions and he acted. The result was a bowl full of Mrs. Anthony’s banana pudding.

Have fun finding your place. Once you do, there’s a sweet reward awaiting.

This story was originally published May 31, 2016 at 5:10 PM with the headline "The little boy who helped himself."