“Freedom is the will to be responsible to ourselves.” John began, pausing for effect. Facing a silence so completely empty of interest, John could see a question appearing to float
across the sea of faces: “How long is this gonna last?” Fortunately, it was a pond, not a sea, but John had barely begun and was sinking fast into the mud of the middle-schoolers’ indifference. He was free to leave, and most of him wanted to. The kids were not. What had come over him to agree to speak to kids about „Freedom‟?
He wanted the word to mean more than flag waving and fireworks. Empty and erudite quotations began flitting about his head. One landed on his tongue, he let it fly. “Our country is built on freedom.” John continued, pausing again for effect.
“My momma says this country was built on the backs of black slaves,” a mocha colored child shouted.
“Uh, well…,”John looked down and stuck his white-knuckled hands into his pockets crinkling the candies he had planned to share, at the end. Attuned to the sound, a couple of kids chirped, “What‟s you got in your pocket?”
In the briefest of moments, John‟s respect for all teachers soared, as did his desire to have Mrs. Flager return to save him. John hesitated, then scooped up the candies and presented his sweet-filled palms. Instantly, a flutter of tiny hands plucked his own clean. Almost as fast, they flew back to their seats and began looking up, expectantly, at John.
“Like choosing a candy, sometimes it seems that there is not much choice.” John offered. Candies crackled against their teeth as the sweetness seeped into their smiles. “Freedom is being able to make up your own mind. Freedom is your ability to create choices,” John continued. A few heads nodded in agreement. “You can choose to listen and learn in school, or not. If you don‟t learn to think for yourself, you will always be a slave to someone else.” John concluded.
Mrs. Flager flitted into the room noticed her candy chomping class andexclaimed, “CANDIES?!”
The chewing ceased as the kids decided whether to swallow or spit it out before being scolded. “Where did you get them?” Mrs. Flager demanded. In unison, they lifted their arms and pointed their sticky fingers at John. “Well,” she implored John, “What were you thinking?”
“Freedom is easier to experience than to explain.” John admitted. “I choose to give them something they would want, in hopes they would want a little of what I came to give.”
Turning to the kids, Mrs. Flager asserted, “Mr. Wright is leaving now. Alex, please take the trash can around and make sure everyone spits out Mr. Wright‟s treat.”
Following Mrs. Flager‟s glare, John headed towards the door. A mulatto girl placed her finger in a quiet gesture across her smiling lips and revealed some candies in her palm. Quickly pocketing them, she whispered, “Thanks for coming, Mr. Wright, and for giving me something sweet to share with my momma.”