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Description
He had three inch spikes glued off his head. His shirt read Slipknot. Chains. CD player blaring. Piercings. Everything.
I noticed him the second he walked into the oval conference room. He sat back in the corner behind about twenty five other kids. As soon as he sat, he looked down and adjusted his CD player so everyone in the room could have made out the music he was listening too.
"This is our third and final day. I know all of you went to your hotel rooms on last night's summer eve and did your homework as assigned," our instuctor John said. A slight laugh let out across the room.
"Well let's continue being the journalists, or more specifically, the writers we all are, and share what I know we have all written. Who would like to be first?"
Without hesitation Ashley, from North Dakota, jumped right into her writing as had become quite ritualistic the last three days. She was always the first to volunteer.
After about ten minutes of non stop reading she ended her piece asking for compliments, first, and then suggestions, our other new ritual.
The beginning of yet another boring day of journalism camp.
Trina began her's next. Then Richard. Myself. Craig. Mallory. Jordan. On and on. But then someone I was sure would never raise his hand, did just that. It was the kid with spikes and chains. This is going to be funny, I heard someone whisper across the room.
He began by holding up his cross and praying "Lord have mercy."
"My mother is a drunk..." A tear came to his eyes.
Their was not a sound in the room. He continued telling his story of life. A story of physical, sexual and mental abuse. A life of drifting from home to home. School to school. Watching his mother come home from work to be beat by a new man every week.
The tear became a sob, and then he just openly began to weep while telling 80 strangers about his "battered" life.
I could not believe it. Looking over at him while he continued, I couldn't hold back a tear of despair.
But then the story changed. He told of moving in with his father, and being enrolled into a private school in San Antonio. He got a job at the local Domino's Pizza. He took all AP courses. He joined the newspaper and after only a year became the editor. Wow. I was astonished.
"Lord have mercy," he finally let out. Four listeners stood up and walked over to him. They bear hugged. Grabbed him right up and hugged him for a minute. Grown teenage men. I had never seen anything like this.
"Honesty. Courageousness. Integrity. Motivation. This is what seperates a good writer from an excellent writer," John said. "This stereotyped young man is a great writer."
The room let out a cheer of clapping. Not only had he changed his own life. He had changed the 80 students he read this too. I have no battered mother. No abused brothers and sisters. I have a stationary family and home. I have so much more than he had. And still I have achieved nothing more than him. The is no beginning to change.
This was not only the most important lesson in writing I have ever learned, more the most important lesson in life.
"Lord have mercy."

Description
He had three inch spikes glued off his head. His shirt read Slipknot. Chains. CD player blaring. Piercings. Everything.
I noticed him the second he walked into the oval conference room. He sat back in the corner behind about twenty five other kids. As soon as he sat, he looked down and adjusted his CD player so everyone in the room could have made out the music he was listening too.
"This is our third and final day. I know all of you went to your hotel rooms on last night's summer eve and did your homework as assigned," our instuctor John said. A slight laugh let out across the room.
"Well let's continue being the journalists, or more specifically, the writers we all are, and share what I know we have all written. Who would like to be first?"
Without hesitation Ashley, from North Dakota, jumped right into her writing as had become quite ritualistic the last three days. She was always the first to volunteer.
After about ten minutes of non stop reading she ended her piece asking for compliments, first, and then suggestions, our other new ritual.
The beginning of yet another boring day of journalism camp.
Trina began her's next. Then Richard. Myself. Craig. Mallory. Jordan. On and on. But then someone I was sure would never raise his hand, did just that. It was the kid with spikes and chains. This is going to be funny, I heard someone whisper across the room.
He began by holding up his cross and praying "Lord have mercy."
"My mother is a drunk..." A tear came to his eyes.
Their was not a sound in the room. He continued telling his story of life. A story of physical, sexual and mental abuse. A life of drifting from home to home. School to school. Watching his mother come home from work to be beat by a new man every week.
The tear became a sob, and then he just openly began to weep while telling 80 strangers about his "battered" life.
I could not believe it. Looking over at him while he continued, I couldn't hold back a tear of despair.
But then the story changed. He told of moving in with his father, and being enrolled into a private school in San Antonio. He got a job at the local Domino's Pizza. He took all AP courses. He joined the newspaper and after only a year became the editor. Wow. I was astonished.
"Lord have mercy," he finally let out. Four listeners stood up and walked over to him. They bear hugged. Grabbed him right up and hugged him for a minute. Grown teenage men. I had never seen anything like this.
"Honesty. Courageousness. Integrity. Motivation. This is what seperates a good writer from an excellent writer," John said. "This stereotyped young man is a great writer."
The room let out a cheer of clapping. Not only had he changed his own life. He had changed the 80 students he read this too. I have no battered mother. No abused brothers and sisters. I have a stationary family and home. I have so much more than he had. And still I have achieved nothing more than him. The is no beginning to change.
This was not only the most important lesson in writing I have ever learned, more the most important lesson in life.
"Lord have mercy."