Bouncing Back

At the beginning of the year, as we teachers were busy setting up our classrooms, I stopped by to see how the third grade was shaping up. The lady who has been at the school longer than me pointed to the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. "Notice anything different?" I stared blankly for a moment, then smiled: "The paper airplane isn't there anymore." She was glad that I noticed. Thomas, a student that she had shepherded through the first grade, then the third grade before moving along to my fourth grade class, had tossed it up there years before. It had stayed as a reminder of his manic presence. Even after he had moved on.
Last week he came back. He was doing that thing that a lot of kids do when they get to middle school. He had come back to see if we were all still standing. He was looking for some permanence. He seemed much calmer and mature. The three years we had spent apart allowed us to meet again and shake hands. All of those frustrations and challenges were behind us. Not gone. Not forgotten. Just behind us.
He asked me about who was still at the school that he might remember. I asked him who he still saw from his old crew. We talked about his family. His sister was pregnant. His brother had just been released from juvenile hall and was sporting a number of new tattoos, including one on each hand: "Jail" and "Free." His brother was two years older and had been in my class too. I tried to imagine the curve of life that would take him from the mischief in my room to juvenile hall. I thought about the neighborhood and realized it wasn't a stretch. The fact that I was talking with Thomas in this relaxed manner was probably the surprise. He let me know that he and his family were living "across the street" from the school now. It made me wonder how long it might be before we saw his niece or nephew coming through our doors. It made me think about patterns and how hard they are to change. It made me think of paper airplanes.