The Courage of Children: Boston and Beyond XXXIII

HADLEY RUBBICCO
SARA DEOREO, TEACHER
Proctor Elementary School, Topsfield, MA
Courage is something that not everyone is acquainted with. Courage takes time
to acquire. It is neither a privilege nor a right. Some people experience it and
some don’t. But that’s okay. The courage that I have gone through is something
I wish I hadn’t.
It all started January 6, 2022. I was walking to the park, and I got a text from
my mother. It read, “Do you want Auntie Kathleen to pick you up, or do you
want to go to Steward Station?” Back then, Steward Station was an afterschool
program, and I didn’t enjoy it, so naturally, I chose for my aunt to pick me up.
By the time she pulled into the driveway of my house, I could tell something
was wrong. My dad had been in the hospital for a few days because he had
COVID-19. I tried not to think the worst, but my mind immediately skipped
to that.
I walked through the door to see my close family all around, including my
grandmother, grandfather, and aunts and uncles. Then I saw the grim faces
spread across my close family. I looked over to my mother and brothers.
They brought me to my oldest brother’s room, their eyes glossy. My mother
looked into my innocent eyes and told me something I would never forget.
“I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry… but… Daddy is in a better place…”
There and then, I felt my world shatter. It had to be some sick joke. A prank?
Something. Anything but this. But no. Eight billion people in the world, and my
own father, my beloved and kind father, dead.
I couldn’t comprehend this tragedy. In a fit of melancholia, I sobbed;
everything blurred and spilled into reality and my own fake world.
As days droned on, my depression sank deeper than the pit I buried myself in.
I didn’t go to school; I stayed home and distracted myself. Anything to escape
from my own life; I thought, I’ll leave this all behind.
The days and nights fell into each other as I was slowly swallowed by sitting on
the couch and doing nothing but basking in my own guilt and anger.
“IT’S NOT MY FATHER’S
PASSING THAT MADE
ME COURAGEOUS,
BECAUSE I STILL HAVE
TO COPE WITH THAT.
THE REAL COURAGE
HERE WAS SHARING IT.”
I didn’t want to eat, drink, get up, or live. I fed myself only if I felt like it. If only
I could have been what I pretended I was.
Once I was forced back into the fourth grade, my days only got worse. I had to
deal with all the fake sympathy and figure out everything I had missed while
having this load of guilt on my back. I loathed my classmates, my teacher, the
questions, and this grief that was heavier than my deep anger.
I’m not afraid to say it: I wanted to die. I wanted to be with my dad, where my
problems and “imperfections” wouldn’t be missed.
I had angry outbursts all the time, and it got to the point where I wanted to
lash out at some of the kids in my class. I needed to purge my urges. I didn’t
even think; I didn’t even try. It was like I gave up on everything. It seemed as
if my future were static, as if it dripped on my floor.
One day in music class, everyone was playing a game. My friend and I were
messing around. Some of my classmates were getting ticked off by us, and they
would say things like, “JUST GET IN THE CIRCLE ALREADY!” Then, I
would simply refuse. I thought, If you’re not gonna be kind, I’m not gonna listen to
you. Then, after things heated up more, I started to cry from all the pressure.
The thing that filled me with the most fury was that all the kids who were
yelling at me tried to comfort me, as if I were their friend. It made me
extremely irate.
After many days, I was treated like a normal person, and no one paid attention
to me, but it got to the point where I was a ghost, invisible even. Then, people
talked about me behind my back. I was only a little girl, with few years spent
with her own father. But hey, if nobody hears you, are you really around?
THE COURAGE OF CHILDREN: BOSTON AND BEYOND
VOLUME XXXIII
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