Hello, my name is Jake. Something happened to me in ninth grade that I will never forget. That year in school I had a few friends, but I certainly wasn't part of the cool crowd. Nobody paid much attention to me until a skinny, little kid named Paul showed up at the start of that school year.
Paul and his family had moved into the city from out in the farm country. The first day he came to school, he wore a Boy Scout blazer and a string tie. It must have been how kids dressed where he came from, but it looked real funny to all of us. We started making fun of him that first day, and we never stopped. Paul was so naive and gullible that it was easy to play tricks on him all the time. Tormenting Paul became part of my daily routine. It came easy to me. When I slammed him with a verbal put down, everyone laughed. When I played a trick on him, people would gather around to hear all the details of what happened. The more I goofed on him, the more popular I became. Everyone wanted to know what Jake was going to do to Paul. On a cold winter day we broke into his locker and filled the arms of his coat with shaving cream. The look on his face was priceless. As Paul walked to the bus that afternoon the whole school was laughing at him. Hardly a week went by when we didn't hide his clothes while he was in the shower after gym class. It became a game to torment him every day in the cafeteria by flipping food at him or tampering with what he was eating.
This really got out of hand at the end of the year. I almost got suspended from school for a prank that ruined his notebook and messed up his science project. I felt a little bad about it, but it wasn't just me. Everyone had joined in. The "Jake and Paul" stories became the talk of the school.
None of us saw Paul all summer. When school started in September, he didn't show up. Maybe it sounds a little sick to say this, but we were disappointed that he wasn't back for another year of fun--at his expense.
Just before Halloween someone saw Paul with his parents coming out of the hospital. That gave us plenty of joke material. Question: Why was Paul in the hospital? Answer: Brain implants are half price this month. You can see how bad we had gotten when it came to Paul.
One day in the cafeteria when we were telling "Paul stories," a girl interrupted us and announced that Paul was in the hospital because he had a bad kind of cancer. It was in his bones. Her parents told her that Paul probably had less than a year to live. That shut us up. After that day nobody said anything about Paul without getting a cold stare from everyone.
Early in December I started to get some strange feelings. For no apparent reason, the tricks and the nasty things I said to Paul would flash back in my mind. I never said anything to anyone else about it, but I would lay awake in bed at night and replay the Jake and Paul stories.
One afternoon I set off by myself to find Paul's house. It took me a long time to ring the bell. I felt pretty nervous standing there waiting for someone to answer the door. When the door opened a crack, there was Paul's face looking much thinner and very pale. The conversation was short and awkward. Before I could say much, he asked me if my visit was part of another prank I wanted to play on him. Before I could reply the door slammed in my face.
After Christmas vacation the announcer on the school PA asked for a moment of silence. A former student--Paul--had died during Christmas week. I walked home that day trying my best not to think about what I could not forget.
Later that month I was working in the supermarket when a man introduced himself to me as Paul's father. When he started to speak, I held my breath, waiting for what this man would say about what I had done to his son. "Paul always pointed you out when we drove by you," he said as his eyes filled up with water. My heart was pounding. "You know it was hard for Paul when we moved into this new school," he continued. "I just wanted to thank you for welcoming him and helping him enjoy his last year of school. He always said you were one of his friends." He shook my hand and walked away.
I am in college now. Years have passed, but I can't forget what happened in the ninth grade. The older I get, the more I am convinced that the real loser in the ninth grade was me, not Paul. I wish it was possible to go back and relive that year. I can think of a lot of things I would change.
With regrets,
Jake
(taken from page 63-64 in The Wounded Spirit Leader's Guide)
