An Urge

Not really sure how to get this one down. Nevertheless, it should be written. Twice a week, I go and "help out" a 6th grade Language Arts classroom in Harrisonburg, Virginia. I stand in the corner and talk to them like they were my little brothers and sisters, occasionally assuming the professional status and teaching a lesson or two. Very simple stuff. But sometimes, I stand in the back or in the corner and feel an incredible desire to reach out and warn these kids. They stand at the brink of their childhoods, getting ready to say goodbye (forever) to the innocence they are too ignorant to realize they have. I want to stand behind them and kiss them on the backs of their necks, in a feeble attempt to express my sadness for something they cannot possibly know. A life of sadness, grief, heartbreak, death, regret, loss, betrayal, and failure awaits them. It awaits like a monster in the dark. I watch them talk about their lives, about the meager struggles of living, and I want to reach out to them. I wish them the best of luck in a world that will ultimately offer them up to chance, which may be interpreted as fate. I want to visit them in their dreams and assure that in spite of everythign they are about to give up, and everything they are about to face, to go ahead and go on living. Go ahead and face the world and its obstacles. Don't be afraid to walk along the sidewalks with tears streaming down your face. Don't be afraid to sit in the back of a movie theater and weep uncontrollably. Don't be afraid to love someone so much that the world blurs around you, that the very idea of logic defies the fire that seethes in your veins. Live in this world because you have no other choice. Because of the simple absurdity that you somehow managed to make it into this world, into this life, into these predicaments, has to mean something. It has to.