He sat on the bench, intently looking at his feet. Locals call them tennis shoes. I’ve always known them as sneakers. The difference between us is greater than the terms we use to describe footwear. Our similarities tie us together like shoelaces.
Is his downward glance due to embarrassment, irritation, or disassociation? Three adults surround this young man, this Middle School student. One in a tie, one jeans, one in a skirt. He could easily identify the triangular shape around him, but possibly not the depth of our ability to believe in him.
My magic wand is simply words and actions. My gift to him is the same to all. I share my wish with him.
“If I could give you a gift, I would give you the ability to wake up every day, to walk out of your house, knowing who you are, respecting yourself so much that no one, no thing, could distract you from being the person you want and choose to be.”
Three is a magic number in mythology and spirituality. This young man, with potential locked between the worlds of elementary and high school, between childhood and manhood. Looking as his feet, surrounded by three, he lifts his head.