Here in Chicago, we have seen recent storms that have left some local areas with only pockets of electric service. Due to these "technical difficulties" we will be reposting a previous article that remains relevant.

Saving Jim, one day, one basket at a time

Every teacher knows that there will always be certain students who will tug at her or his heart strings, to remain there forever. They may be unusually bright or personable; often they will simply be the neediest. Such was a seventh grader, whom we'll name Jim.

School was about three weeks into the first semester when two of Jim's friends asked if they could see me in private. Immediately, I suspected they were going to plead for added gym time needed for basketball practice if the team were ever to compete for the city championship.

Rather, they came on behalf of their buddy, to alert me to the fact that all was not well at home. In that more innocent time, it took a while for them to explain that Jim's mother was, a uh, uh, well, a prostitute. There, it was out. Beyond that, she drank, and locked up the food, so Jim couldn't filch anything after school. Food costs money.

I thanked the boys for taking me into their confidence, and promised to do what I could to help their friend. Meanwhile, they were offered an extra after-school gym practice every week, so the three could work out their basketball strategy for the first game of the season, and grow in a friendship that was both healthy and safe.

Jim was a quiet boy, who used school as his home-away-from-home. With clock-work precision, he would arrive on his bike at 8:00 o'clock, greet me with a slight smile, then slide into his desk, from where he could look out at the mountains surrounding the small, university town. It was almost as though he needed the quiet of the empty classroom to de-compress before facing his more exuberant classmates.

He was a good B student, and, with the extra time he spent in school, could have risen to the A status, but I didn't push him. He was walking his own tight-rope, which he never shared with me. Eventually, however, he would ask for some help on a writing assignment, or a math problem, but I knew what he was looking for was a connection; studies weren't a mystery they were to others less gifted.

Around 8:30, Jim would rise, saunter toward the door, turn and wave, then head for the playground, where basketball held sway at the far end.

Every once in a while, I would catch an expression of frustration as the morning wore on, and would gradually make my way to his desk, glance over his work and say an encouraging word. That helped, but I knew of a better remedy. After lunch, fresh from playground activities, we would take ten minutes out for singing, not a formal music lesson, just singing any song they chose.

Jim had strong voice, a good ear, and he seemed to come alive then, as though all his problems faded away, note by note. Frequently, I breathed a grateful sigh of relief for those brief moments that brought a sense of release and fun into the youngster's life.

And I was also grateful for Jim's friends, who kept him together, and whose mothers often invited the boy for a good lunch. He didn't need pink or blue pills; friendships were his anti-depressants.

Through the work of the social worker and the police, Jim's mother found a more respectable line of work, and the kitchen was no longer off-limits to a hungry teen.

I often wonder what would have happened to Jim if he had had to cope with the present cultural situation in the U.S., where music, TV shows, movies, etc., offer no sustenance to the souls of our troubled youth. Drugs are plentiful, sex is often looked upon as an accepted recreational activity, and parents appear at times as confused as the teenagers.

We need to clean up our cultural environment before we sink into a pit from which there will be no escape, for the sake of all the Jims and Marys in the land.

Lord, give us wisdom and patience and love, a saving sense of humor to prevent mole hills from growing into the proverbial mountains, and, always, your guiding presence. Amen.

originally published here: February 13, 2004

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