Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Words Can... Break My Heart

Imagine the following words being chanted by a group of third-grade girls with singsong voices as they spin on an elementary school merry-go-round. Be sure to add giggles of mockery to the soundtrack in your mind.

"Mikey's under the cooler. We hit him with a ruler. Now he is a fooler."

(Repeat to the rhythm of the merry-go-round rotation.)

About twenty yards away from the sounds of the merry-go-round mantra, picture an overweight fifth-grade boy named Mikey. Placing distance between himself and his schoolmates, he sits smiling in the shelter of the shade of an evaporative cooler that protrudes from one of the old brick buildings at Westside Elementary School.

As the twirling motion of the merry-go-round comes to a stop, look a little closer at one of the girls, the one wearing the white blouse and green jumper. See her face... my face... the face of an orchestrator of torment. Welcome to one of the worst, and best, days of my life.

Mikey had transferred to Westside Elementary School at the beginning of my third-grade year. He loved to chase girls and try to make them laugh. When he would catch up to one of us, Mikey would always ask, "Will you be my friend?" I remember how his curly hair sometimes flipped over his forehead and framed the twinkle in his eyes. I remember his enduring smile. I remember that Mikey was mentally retarded.

After my friends and I spent our morning recess "playing" with Mikey, the bell rang and summoned us to return to our classrooms. As I was skipping back into the building, still quietly singing, "Mikey's under the cooler. We hit him with a ruler. Now he is a fooler," a firm hand touched the back of my shoulder. When I looked up to see who was there, I felt as though all of the air was being sucked out of my lungs.

Mrs Gray! She was my math group instructor, and Mikey's homeroom teacher. She was a tall woman with an even taller presence. She always wore dress suits to school, and opaque nylons that never dared to wrinkle. Mrs. Gray had special shoes on her feet because she had one wooden leg. (At least that's what her leg looked liked to elementary school students.) She walked through the halls with the attitude of a giant and everyone, except her homeroom students, said she was the meanest teacher in the school. I believed them, although she had never done anything in my presence that would prove it.

Mrs. Gray looked down into my startled eyes and said in a stern, yet calm, voice, "Janice, I would like you to come to my room during your afternoon recess." I managed to sputter out, "O.k., Mrs. Gray." It would not be an understatement to say that for the rest of the morning I was pretty much convinced my life was over.

After I finished eating my hot lunch from the school cafeteria, I walked down the hall that led to Mrs. Gray's room. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest as I approached Room 24. I slowly opened the door and peeked in. There stood Mrs. Gray, looking more like a giant than ever. She began walking towards me and then, it happened. Mrs. Gray held out her hand and said in a surprisingly kind voice, "Thank you for coming, Janice. Come on in. I want to show you something."

Mrs. Gray gently placed her hand on mine and walked me over to her classroom bulletin board where the papers from all of her math groups were posted. She pointed to my paper and asked me to tell her what score was written at the top of the page. "80 percent," I answered. Then she said, "Look at Mikey's score from the same assignment. Please tell me what you see." I stared up at the paper covered with so many smudged eraser marks that it was difficult to read and whispered, "95 percent." Mrs. Gray asked me to sit down. She positioned herself so she was looking directly into my soul and responded, "That's right, and now it is very important for you to listen closely to what I'm going to say."

"Janice, I understand that this morning, when you were on the merry-go-round teasing Mikey, you were not really thinking about your words or actions. People do that a lot, even adults, but that does not make it right. Inside every person there is a heart, and you can break that heart. You are breaking Mikey's heart. Did you know that even though Mikey smiles when children tease him on the playground, he then comes in to my classroom and sits with me and cries?" I did not know that. To be honest, up until that moment, I had never given my words too much thought. It was all just in fun, right? As Mrs. Gray continued to speak to me about my hurtful behavior, it was as though my heart was being pierced and released at the same time.

Mrs. Gray continued, "You see, Janice, Mikey is mentally retarded. While he is no different than other children in many ways, when it comes to completing some tasks, Mikey has to work twice, maybe three times, as hard as they do. The math paper I pointed out to you shows heart. Mikey worked for 3 hours on a paper that took you 30 minutes, and in the end, he scored a 95%. Mikey puts that same amount of work and heart into trying to be a caring person and friend. What do you think might happen if we all tried to do the same?"

That moment has played over and over again in my mind like a timeless melody. Words cannot express the power of that experience and how it changed the course of my soul. I wanted to be a listener. Not only did I begin to really hear words as they were being spoken, I also had a new sensitivity to look for what might lie beneath the surface of language. That point in time also marked the beginning of my awareness as to what it means to speak the truth in love, as Mrs. Gray had modeled so beautifully.

Ten years ago, this story traveled full-circle when I was entrusted with a third-grade classroom of my own. I was the teacher, and I had the opportunity to impart the gift of the message I had received through Mikey and Mrs. Gray to a new generation of elementary school children. I continue to do so. Words matter. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can break your heart.