Dark eyes glistening with tears, he stands, and his chin quivers. He shuffles his feet, uncomfortable, and says, “Um, Mrs. Bryant, those symptoms for a girl, do guys have the same symptoms for that STD?”
My heart starts beating a little faster, dreading what might come next, I say, “You know, bud, we’ll talk about that tomorrow. We’ll get there. Tomorrow when you come to class we’ll discuss the impact of that STD on a male’s reproductive system… tomorrow.”
“But, Mrs. Bryant, I need to know, like now. Would the symptoms be…” and He begins to list them one after another. My heart sinks to the floor and I think; I want to pick him up and I just want to run with him. I want to run back in time to when he was a little boy and he needed someone to stand with him and say, “You are loved. You are so valuable. Your future is so important. I know you can make the right choices because you are too important not to.” I want to take him back in time to a place before he began looking for his value, significance or acceptance through his sex. I want to take him back in time to a place before his life was touched with this choice.
He goes home and thoughts of this STD dominate his whole mind. He prays all night, “God show me a sign I don’t have this. God give me a sign I’m okay.” It may be the first time he’s prayed in years. He begs, “Please, God, let me know I don’t have this.”
The next morning, he’s not in class. I’m wondering, “Where are you. Where are you… you needed this information.” He got into a fight. Because anger and pain, those are emotions he understands. He knows how to deal with those. He started dealing with those years ago when his dad walked out on him. He’s dealt with that for so long that it’s become his comfort area. When you’re fighting, that’s something tangible. This new fear, this unknown “What if…” that dominates him, is an enemy he is not comfortable with. And so, he fights.
They allow him to stay so I can talk with him after class. He is waiting, expectantly. I ask him, “Do you really want to go over this information?” He says, “Yeah, please, I need to know. What did you teach today?” I went line by line through information on a few more STDs and I watch as fear just sweeps his face. I began talking about one particular STD and he says, “Mrs. Bryant, are the symptoms this, and this, and this…” and I say, “Yes they are.” And again, I know in my heart, this young boy isn’t dealing with one, he is dealing with multiple sexually transmitted diseases. This is made more difficult because he’s also dealing with a whole host of emotional baggage that has been building because of the hopelessness of his perception that he has no one in his life he can talk to. He’s 14, he’s a little boy and yet he has man size issues and no man in the home to help him deal with that.
“But, Mrs. Bryant, I used a condom.” “I know. I know, I’m sorry.” HPV doesn’t care when it lives outside the area a condom covers. What does it matter if you don’t get it in one specific place, if you have it everywhere else?
He’s going to the doctor, going to find out for sure. He sits in class, that confidence, that swagger he had when he walked into class that first day, gone… in its place, sits a wiser but wounded child. Where are the adults who will help him walk through this? Who will step up and help him move forward? Who will make sure that we are there to talk to him again next year to encourage him in his walk? Because that’s part of what Reality Check does; gives kids that support, gives them that encouragement, gives them someone on their team that says, “I believe in you, I know you can make the wise decisions.” And then holds them to that standard, and encourages them when they fall down to get back up and move forward.
Does he live next door to you? Is that the boy you’ve seen outside throwing or kicking the ball against the house because there is no one opposite him to throw, or kick to? Will you walk across your yard and put your arm around him and let him know you care about him? You believe he matters. Will you be Jesus with skin on?
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