K M Walker

What Sarah Said

My usually sunny 13 year-old daughter, Sarah came home from school and said, "Mom, I need to tell you about something that happened today.” Clearly distressed, she was mangling the end of her pencil. She is a kid who usually floats through seventh grade with pixie-haired grace, easily avoiding its many, many social land mines. So I felt the earth shift a little under my feet, bracing for her story.

A boy who is "really annoying" came up to her during study hall and started talking smack about her twin brother. Her twin is ingeniously funny, has awkward, repetitive behaviors and is often bewildered by the convoluted social rules of middle school - all courtesy of his autism spectrum disorder. The boy said he was weird and worse.

After being bombarded by the boy’s tirade for a few minutes, my daughter felt a hot flush march from her neck to her ears, like an angry mob on the move. She told the boy, "You know what? You're right - he is weird. And I'm weird and we are all weird. And what about you - are you perfect? No? Well, then until God chooses you to be judge and jury for the rest of us, you can just be nice. And when some people struggle more than others, maybe you should try being extra kind to them."

At this point Sarah noticed she was standing up and had raised her voice. She said the room had gone quiet and the teacher was looking at her.

She was so worked up, she couldn’t stop - even though she knew she would likely get a lunch detention. "And by the way - Cindi* doesn't like you. You've asked to sit with her and hang out with her and go to the dance with her a hundred times. She has politely told you no a hundred times. If you ask a girl something more than once and she says no, then STOP ASKING. That's called harassment!"

Shaking, she took her seat. When the teacher came over, Sarah put her hand up preemptively and said, "I know - I'll stay in for lunch." The teacher smiled and told her, "No, I brought you the candy jar - pick whatever you'd like."

The boy got a lunch detention and a chat with the vice principal. (To be clear, that doesn't mean he's a bad kid. I've had that call from the VP too.) My daughter’s classmates crowded around and thanked her for her words.

My son is truly fortunate to have such an eloquent, peaceful defender in his camp. I doubt I could have come up with what Sarah said, on the spot and exactly when her class needed to hear it. Her words rang clear and true, coming from one of their own. She lives in the same trenches as her classmates, yet had the courage to call out their better angels.

I wonder how our world would change if more people like Sarah were in charge.

* Name changed. / K M Walker / KMWalkerAuthor.com