Purple Haze

8x10 oil

When I was a young twenty-something, there was a TV commercial for an invigorating after shave lotion where a guy would get slapped in the face, then shake his head and say to the slapper, “Thanks. I needed that.”

A few years ago, I got slapped in the face, myself. This was in Bend, Oregon, where, as an author, I’d been invited to speak to an entire elementary school. It was a cold and snowy day, and the kids were antsy. Over 500 of them sat cross-legged on the auditorium floor, barely containing their pent-up energy. For almost an hour, I did my dog and pony show, to their delight and my own. I always have as much fun as they do.

After my presentation, the kids were herded back to their classrooms, many slipping over to slap hands and ask how old I was and how much money I made, questions I’ve gotten at every presentation I have ever done. I told them I was as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth and that I made a million dollars a day, and they were as amazed as they were suspicious.

Anyway, a fifth grade boy bolted away from his class and came racing up to me as I stood near the door with the school librarian, my guide for the day. This boy was so excited he could not stand still. He told me that he loved my books and did I have any more that he could read. I just happened to have brought a couple along with me, so I autographed one of them and gave it to him. He snatched it out of my hand and rocketed out of there as if fearing I might change my mind and take it back.

The librarian laughed and said, “You could not have given that book to a more deserving kid. That boy is one of our homeless students.”

I cocked my head. “What? You have homeless kids here?”

“Several. That boy lives in his car with his mother. But he comes to school as much as he can. He loves it here. He has friends, and he’s hungry to learn.”

To say that I was stunned would be an understatement. Homeless? The librarian went on to tell me that there were all kinds of kids at the school who were living in difficult situations … one parent, no parents, foster kids, homeless, abused, ignored, unwanted and unsupported. “School offers them a place to be normal,” she went on. “It gives them a sense of stability and a chance to make friends.” 

Driving home, I could not get that out of my head. “One of our homeless students.”

Ever since that day I have made it my business to seek out these kids at every school I visit. I give them books. I talk with them. I show them that I care about them, because I do care. Some of their stories are heartbreaking at times, but also inspiring, because I’ve met kids who are so resilient, so determined to succeed, so on fire that nothing is going to keep them down.

That fifth grade boy’s lesson for me was to never assume anything about anyone. And to always, always be kind. Be generous, be compassionate. I think we were all designed to be that way … but maybe we sometimes forget and get lost in the purple haze of detachment and apathy. I know I let my guard down, and I got a clean slap in the face for it. Wake up, man, wake up!

Hey kid, wherever you are. “Thanks. I needed that.”