Listening Between the Lines

Sometimes kids tell us they’re struggling without ever saying the words.

When my son was in sixth grade, he told me he had started keeping a journal and offered me the login to his Google Drive.

I told him no.

“That’s private. That’s for you, buddy.”

At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. Giving him room to have thoughts that belonged only to him, and allowing him figure himself out without feeling watched.

He had started writing after an English teacher encouraged students to journal once they finished assignments. And apparently, he kept going.

It took me more than a year to realize he actually wanted me to read it.

That offering wasn’t random. It was him trying to hand me something he didn’t know how to say directly.

So eventually, I logged in.

Some of it was funny. Some awkward. Some angry. Some surprisingly thoughtful and sweet. And some of it stopped me cold.

Because once I started reading, I realized my son had been trying to tell me he was hurting.

It wasn’t dramatic or in a way that would alarm a parent at first glance. Just in the way kids sometimes do when they don’t yet have the language for what they’re feeling.

Hints.
Patterns.
Pieces.

One would think having a direct connection in to a person’s innermost thoughts would magically fixe everything. But life doesn’t work that way. However, I do think it helped me understand him better. And I absolutely pay closer attention.

Things still aren’t perfect, but he smiles more now. He has people around him who care about him deeply. Good friends. Support. Connection.

Recently, I came across a poem he wrote in eighth grade, and with his permission, I wanted to share it.

Because I suspect more kids feel this way than we realize.

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Being made fun of for whatever you do wrong,
That’s Life.
Accidentally doing something that's bad,
That’s Life.
Losing someone you love.
That’s Life.
Making a bad decision and it ruins almost everything,
That’s Life.
Feeling sadness because you're alone,
That’s Life.
Having a lack of motivation,
That’s Life.
Feeling bored because you have nothing to do,
That’s Life.
Wanting to end it all, because you feel you’re useless.
That’s Life.
But don’t do it.
After all,
That’s Death.

- Fletcher B., 14

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Sarah Scull is a former journalist and proud member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative.

If you want to know what Iowa actually sounds like right now, follow the weekly roundups from the Iowa Writers Collaborative. We do what newspapers rarely can anymore: move easily from politics to poetry, from sports to sharp human stories, capturing the full, complicated life of the state in one thoughtful sweep. It’s Iowa, reported and reflected by people who live here and pay attention.