Today one of my babies, one of my former students was shot and killed, probably by one of my other former students. He probably knew, no, he definitely knew who did this to him. His family probably knows. I have my suspicions. Although it will undoubtedly offend, most of you readers probably would have judged him. He was a good boy. Very special. Really, he was. I'm not one to say it if it isn't true, not even in death. He was smart, witty, slightly self-deprecating, and pensive, very thoughtful. He participated in a summer program I created and I used to drive him home during the summer of 2002 a few times each week. He always called the front seat before the other students and I remember him singing this song one day "That's my jam..." he said. I'm sorry Greg.
This has made me think, for the first time, that I rather it had been me. Or, I wish I could have protected him. Senseless. There are no words to describe it all. Not because I'd been particularly close to this child, or that I 'd taken him under my wing or anything. Certainly, I saw him as a special one. I can honestly say, that when I worked at that school just knowing he was in the building made me feel better. I don't know how to explain. I watched over him, even though, he probably had no idea. He was a good one. It's not necessarily that he would have been a Nobel Prize winner or a world-reknowned mathemetician (he was really good at math), it's just that he made the world a better place somehow, believe me. But maybe he would have been those things on top of being a gift from the universe. He was a gift to us all, even though I'm not sure he really knew that.
I could say something cliché like 'this whole thing makes me see how insignificant my problems are' or 'I can't waste another moment because life can be snatched from you in an instant' but I won't, because frankly, I knew that before Greg was taken from this world. I will only say, I don't understand the ways of this world, I think I never will.