M
y sophomore year was a profound one for me and during those times high school didn’t start until you were in the 10th grade. I was in a new school with new people and new possibilities and I was ecstatic. I was attending a premier high school that was an epicenter of inclusion with students of different religions, different races, skin tones and belief systems. I was a member of the one thousand strong1987 -Cleveland Heights High Class of Opportunity and I easily blended into the fusion of diversity that was representative of my class. My teachers were constantly urging me and my classmates to take advantage of the opportunities that were available to us within our school and our community and this message was reinforced by our unit principal Dr. Patricia Ackerman during our daily announcements. In 1985, life was not like what we know today in respect to technology. My peers and I didn’t have cell phones, social media or home computers because these things did not yet exist. However, I knew that one day computers would be a big part of our world and thought that I might want to one day work as a computer programmer, so I took advantage of the opportunity to learn more about the subject and took a computer class. I was a decent student who earned above average grades, I had lots of friends and acquaintances in all grades, who represented all kinds of backgrounds, races and religions but I also had a few foes. On the first day of my computer class my teacher assigned us seats and when I turned to my immediate left, I spotted her. She had attended three years of junior high school with me and we were very well acquainted because we had been in many of the same classes together. We were never really friends, but we were always cordial to each other. Our civility came to an end when we had an argument over a boy who didn’t even attend school with us. I was angry because it had gotten back to me that she had made disparaging comments about the complexion of my skin. I had been told that she said that I was too dark to be with the boy who had a light skin tone. The young man had travelled from another school to take me to lunch and the incident was the talk of the Sophomore class. I confronted her and let her know that I was offended by her alleged comments. We were of the same race and the pain that I felt from the sharp sting of colorism directed towards me from a member of my own group precipitated our argument. For the next four months we attended computer class without speaking. Soon it was April, the flowers were blooming, and the teachers and student body were beginning to wind down the semester. I was in my computer class peering out the window lost in deep thought. Our teacher had given our class quiet time to work independently on the computers or do whatever we wanted. I was busy planning in my head on where to apply for summer employment when out of
the clear blue she approached me. “Do you have a moment?” She tentatively asked. “I wanted to apologize to you. I was wrong to talk about you behind your back. I am hoping that you will accept my apology and I am also hoping that we can be friends,” she said. I was rendered speechless because I was not expecting her to apologize but I soon found my words. “Yes, I accept your apology and yes we can be friends,” I said with a wide smile. We briefly hugged and she went back to her desk. Three days later I was walking up the stairs that led to the entrance of our school when I heard the whispers. “Can you believe it? She’s dead.” I was trying to figure out who was dead and what they died from when I heard her name and my heart stopped. I wondered to myself, “what happened?” “She killed herself. Put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger,” I heard someone say. I broke down in tears and was engulfed in a bear hug, a merger of students of different races, genders and religions. We hugged, our tears falling on each other as we cried together, comforting each other, mourning the loss of our classmate who would never have the opportunity to grow old. Dr. Ackerman told the whole class about her suicide during our daily announcements. Immediately after, I went to my computer class and for 45 minutes my grief became one with my class. We did not speak one solitary word and there were no other sounds, with the exception of the blend of different pitches of cries that came from me and my fellow classmates and served as the background to our teacher’s loud sobs. I looked at her empty seat through my blurry tears and at that moment I realized that when my teachers and unit principal referred to the opportunities that were available to my class, they meant much more than just jobs, colleges and career choices. They were talking about being that person to offer a comforting shoulder to someone in need and taking the opportunity to treat the people around us with kindness while also being a listening ear. It is through her death that I had an epiphany. I no longer wanted to be a computer programmer, I now wanted to be a mental health professional. At that moment I decided that I would use this traumatic experience to help other kids who were feeling lost, hopeless and confused. I am proud to say that I took the advice of my teachers and unit principal and used every available opportunity presented to me to reach my goals. I will never forget her or the lessons that were reinforced by her untimely death: that we have the opportunity to decide how we want to live our lives, how we want to treat others, and it is up to us to seize the moment and make every opportunity count. By Judy Jackson Winston, Class of 1987, MSSA, LISW-S, Esq., who is also known as JJ Winston the author of fiction novels, The Anniversary and The Commemoration and the non-fiction The Anniversary Behavioral Health Guide and Workbook. Connect with JJ Winston by visiting her website at novelistjjwinston.com or follow her on social media@novelistjjwinston.
APRIL 2021
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