Last week, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) released suicide statistics about suicide in each of the 50 states as well as the District of Columbia. When I saw them putting them out on Twitter, I kept checking back and refreshing until they put up the Texas stats. I immediately saved the picture and then began to absorb the information.
For example, suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death among 15-34 year olds in the state and the third among persons 10-14. In cottage groups, a person is more likely to die by suicide than they are to be murdered. In fact, for the entire state of Texas, suicides outnumbered homicides 2 to 1. For those outside of the state, who envision Texas as the wild west, I am sure that comes as a surprise, and for those that live in the larger metropolitan areas such as Dallas, Houston and San Antonio, who are subjected to almost nightly reports of homicides on the evening news, might find that surprising as well.
In my school district, as a teacher, I am required to review the evacuation plan with all my classes on the first day in case of fire, the lock down plan in case of an intruder, even the policy if a student comes in late or has to pee, but there is no mention of what a student is to do if they feel sad, or left out, or hopeless, or in so much emotional pain that they don't feel that they can go on. Now entering my 25th year in the classroom, I can count on one hand the number of fires and lock downs I have experienced, but would need to take off my shoes and socks to count the number of students that have taken their lives.
Now the question here is why don't we know this? The answer is simple, no one wants to talk about this dirty little secret. I know that the news media, both print and broadcast, are hesitant to cover suicides, and if they do, the name of the deceased is rarely, if ever, published. Even if it is a suicide, it might be referred to as an accidental death. Incidents such as one car accidents, drug overdoses, even gun accidents might not be revealed for why they really are. Generally, unless the suicide is that of a celebrity such as Robin Williams, or some other high profile person, the public remains uninformed. This is a kind of double edged sword. On one hand, I can understand not wanting to bring any more pain to the family to any more than they have already endured, but at the same, that ignorance can be fatal.
The time has come to educate the masses. With 90% of suicides being carried out by people suffering from some sort of mental illness, the first step is removing the stigma. Let those who have spent their lives suffering know that they are not alone, and that help is available. Let the public know that those who do suffer are not the stereotypes that are common in the media and on TV. Let those who live with a mentally ill person know that there is nothing to be ashamed of, that it ins't their fault, and the worst thing they can do is to hide it.
As macabre as it sounds, despite the tragedy of Robin Williams's suicide, it was one of the best things that could have happened in the mental health community. Williams's death actually made it okay to talk about mental health. For the first time, people actually knew some one else that was dealing with the same demons they were. Others realized that despite fame and riches, people can suffer silently, and even more so, hide how they really feel from the world. Most of all, an uneducated public finally began talking about how real and crippling emotional pain can be.
Two months and two days after Robin Williams passed away after hanging himself, my son Peyton did the same thing. This time, there was no media coverage, no headlines, no talking heads on the evening news speaking to a mental health professional about the why's and what's of suicide. There was just me, a bald 49 year old high school English teacher. I made vow to educate as many as I could to avoid having to hear about another person dealing with so much pain that their desire to end it causes them to take their life, or for a parent to deal with the gut wrenching pain of losing a loved one to suicide. Thus far, the task has been difficult, and I have met with a great deal of resistance in my community, but if I can get a 16 year old to read, understand and even appreciate Whitman, Thoreau, Bierce, Crane and many others, then I can handle this as well.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Monday, June 22, 2015
God Trusts Me Too Much
There is an old adage that God will never give you more than you can handle. Over the last week, I discovered he either trusts me too much or has a seriously warped sense of humor. Over the span of eight days, I had to deal with three different days where I wish he didn't have so much faith in me.
The first was June 13th. That was the eight month anniversary of Peyton's death from suicide. In a way, it is strange that I still measure his passing in months. In a way, I feel like a new parent when you measure your child's age by months until they hit a year. I did the same thing with Peyton and Emmy, once they hit a year, I began to tell people they were a year, or just over a year, or almost two. I stopped counting off months. I wonder if I will do the same thing in October when the once year anniversary of his passing arrives. There really is no telling. Right now, with the wound so raw, I still count months. The day itself matched my mood. It was gray and dreary with rain off and on. I did my usual posting on Facebook and Twitter, but aside from that, I did nothing all day. In a lot of ways, it is still hard to believe that he is gone. I look at pictures and videos of him, and it is like he is still with us. The the realization will hit that he is never coming back, and that drops me deep down into depression. I hate that people are able to go on with their lives while I struggle with the day to day never knowing what will trigger the next breakdown, the next stream of tears.
Three days later, June 16th, was supposed to be Peyton's 14th birthday. Instead, based on what I have seen others do on various suicide based Facebook pages, I started calling it Payton's First "Forever 13" Birthday. It still sounds strange, but it seemed to fit the occasion. I knew I had to do something to recognize it, so I asked for suggestions from people that have traveled the same long road as me, and they suggested every thing from a balloon release to a grave side memorial. Because we had Peyton cremated and his ashes are sitting on my dresser (I'm not ready to let go), I decided to go with a balloon release. I posted the event on Facebook and Twitter and received a good reaction. Yes, there were those that were against it because of possible damage to the environment, and I understand, but I needed to do something, so that is what I went with. I ordered the balloons and encouraged others to come and join us. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had different plans, and they showed up in the the form of Tropical Storm Bill. Now the local news teams in the Houston area would have had you believing that it was the Apocalypse, and after the storms of Memorial Day weekend, no one wanted more rain. Fortunately, Bill turned out to be nothing more than a popcorn fart for most of the area. Yes, it was cloudy with intermittent rain, but not the gather the animals of the world by twos kind of weather we were told to prepare for. About 40 people braved the rain and warnings to show up for the release. As we all stood out in the field across the street, a cold rain began to fall, and upon release, many of the balloons headed straight to the ground where they popped unceremoniously. Yes, a few brave and hearty balloons made it, but they were the exception rather than the rule.
The biggest trail was yesterday, June 21st, Father's Day. Father's Day is perhaps the most ignored "Holiday" there is. Whereas Mother's Day is during the school year when kids make decorative cards and gifts, and husbands are forced to look for the Holy Grail of gifts because the asshole Bob down the street went all out in an effort to make the rest of us look like fools, and none of us want to be the douche bag that went cheap on his wife. No, Father's Day is usually a day when Dad is left alone to watch the US Open in peace, and the kids go out and do all the yard work poorly, thus creating more work for dear old Dad next weekend. For me, it was yet another reminder that Peyton was gone. I woke up and went out to the living room to sit on the coach and read. I liked the idea of silence, and enjoyed the time to myself. soon enough my wife and daughter were awake, and the day went on like another with the glaring exception of the missing boy that would have bitched and complained that he didn't want to watch golf all damn day. Instead, I let loose with the occasional stream of tears and self pity that goes along with being a suicide survivor.
Now that stretch is over. June 22nd is here, and my focus has shifted. I am trying to get the College Park High School branch of The Locker (www.thelocker.info) off the ground. I am bound and determined to get this going at CP knowing that it will benefit students as well as help carry on the goodwill that Peyton would have wanted.
Trust me God. I have this.
The first was June 13th. That was the eight month anniversary of Peyton's death from suicide. In a way, it is strange that I still measure his passing in months. In a way, I feel like a new parent when you measure your child's age by months until they hit a year. I did the same thing with Peyton and Emmy, once they hit a year, I began to tell people they were a year, or just over a year, or almost two. I stopped counting off months. I wonder if I will do the same thing in October when the once year anniversary of his passing arrives. There really is no telling. Right now, with the wound so raw, I still count months. The day itself matched my mood. It was gray and dreary with rain off and on. I did my usual posting on Facebook and Twitter, but aside from that, I did nothing all day. In a lot of ways, it is still hard to believe that he is gone. I look at pictures and videos of him, and it is like he is still with us. The the realization will hit that he is never coming back, and that drops me deep down into depression. I hate that people are able to go on with their lives while I struggle with the day to day never knowing what will trigger the next breakdown, the next stream of tears.
Three days later, June 16th, was supposed to be Peyton's 14th birthday. Instead, based on what I have seen others do on various suicide based Facebook pages, I started calling it Payton's First "Forever 13" Birthday. It still sounds strange, but it seemed to fit the occasion. I knew I had to do something to recognize it, so I asked for suggestions from people that have traveled the same long road as me, and they suggested every thing from a balloon release to a grave side memorial. Because we had Peyton cremated and his ashes are sitting on my dresser (I'm not ready to let go), I decided to go with a balloon release. I posted the event on Facebook and Twitter and received a good reaction. Yes, there were those that were against it because of possible damage to the environment, and I understand, but I needed to do something, so that is what I went with. I ordered the balloons and encouraged others to come and join us. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had different plans, and they showed up in the the form of Tropical Storm Bill. Now the local news teams in the Houston area would have had you believing that it was the Apocalypse, and after the storms of Memorial Day weekend, no one wanted more rain. Fortunately, Bill turned out to be nothing more than a popcorn fart for most of the area. Yes, it was cloudy with intermittent rain, but not the gather the animals of the world by twos kind of weather we were told to prepare for. About 40 people braved the rain and warnings to show up for the release. As we all stood out in the field across the street, a cold rain began to fall, and upon release, many of the balloons headed straight to the ground where they popped unceremoniously. Yes, a few brave and hearty balloons made it, but they were the exception rather than the rule.
The biggest trail was yesterday, June 21st, Father's Day. Father's Day is perhaps the most ignored "Holiday" there is. Whereas Mother's Day is during the school year when kids make decorative cards and gifts, and husbands are forced to look for the Holy Grail of gifts because the asshole Bob down the street went all out in an effort to make the rest of us look like fools, and none of us want to be the douche bag that went cheap on his wife. No, Father's Day is usually a day when Dad is left alone to watch the US Open in peace, and the kids go out and do all the yard work poorly, thus creating more work for dear old Dad next weekend. For me, it was yet another reminder that Peyton was gone. I woke up and went out to the living room to sit on the coach and read. I liked the idea of silence, and enjoyed the time to myself. soon enough my wife and daughter were awake, and the day went on like another with the glaring exception of the missing boy that would have bitched and complained that he didn't want to watch golf all damn day. Instead, I let loose with the occasional stream of tears and self pity that goes along with being a suicide survivor.
Now that stretch is over. June 22nd is here, and my focus has shifted. I am trying to get the College Park High School branch of The Locker (www.thelocker.info) off the ground. I am bound and determined to get this going at CP knowing that it will benefit students as well as help carry on the goodwill that Peyton would have wanted.
Trust me God. I have this.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
The Doctor, Donuts, and the Dead
Today is June 13, 2015, and it is eight months to the day that Peyton passed away after he hung himself on October 8th. Here in the Houston area, the weather matches my mood. It is a gray, cloudy day, and we have been hit with several showers already, and there is a promise of more on the way.
I came up to the office in our house to write. I had no idea what I wanted to say, but I felt the compulsion to write. As I sat at the desk, I look out the doors of the office to our play room at Ian, Peyton's step brother, playing lego Batman on the Xbox. It is the latest version, and I think about how much Peyton would have loved it. It was one of the few games we could play together without making each other crazy. In part because one of the goals is to collect other characters from the DC Universe. When we played the previous version, every time a character was collected, peyton would inevitably want to know who it was. I got in the habit of keeping my iPad with me so we could look the character up and look at their backstory. This was a big factor for him in the free play section of the game, as he would only use characters he felt were cool enough to play.
Super heroes were one of the bonds the two of us shared. We saw all the movies together and discussed the merits of each individual character. I think our favorite character was Batman. Maybe because he was a normal person, just like us, that saw a problem and decided to do something about it. We saw all the movies, even the wretched Batman and Robin (George Clooney? Really?), but we preferred the newer Christian Bale version. Most of all, we both liked to make the raspy voiced announcement that "I am Batman." At his funeral, I placed a small Lego Batman figure in his casket with him and identical to the one I keep on my keychain.
I also started thinking about how diverse the two of us were. I have been a coach at the high school and junior high for over 20 years. Athletics make up a big part of my life, but for Peyton, they were something he would try, but quickly lose interest in. He played basketball and t-ball through the YMCA, but didn't care for either, as games with a strict set of rules didn't interest him. If he wasn't able to create his own rules, or find some wiggle room in them, then he chose to pass. He was on a summer league swim team for a season, even received the Most Improved Swimmer trophy, but to him, pools were for playing not working. He even tried out for the track team in 7th grade, but never made it to a meet.
Throughout my career, Peyton spent many Friday nights in the bleachers, but the game on the field held no interest compared to running around on the field and wrestling with Ian (a perk of being a coaches kid) after the game. Track meets for him meant either discussing video and computer games with my athletes in the know, or educating the uninformed. He would even volunteer to time at swim meets, but was more interested in seeing how quickly he could start and stop the watch or how many times he could stop it at exactly one second.
We were both obsessive over the pop culture we loved. One time, after and intense Nerf gun war, I stood over him, pointed my gun at him and asked if he was ready to surrender. He responded with "What?" to which I quickly responded, "Say 'what' again. Say 'what' again, I dare you, I double dare you, say what one more time!" Unfortunately, and thankfully, he had no clue as to what I was talking about. Peyton had no use for any movie that made you think or have a knowledge base deep enough for allusions. He loved the potty humor of Family Guy and The Simpsons, but was clueless about some of the other references which would explain why we would laugh at different times.
After his death, I wanted to understand Peyton more. The first thing I tried was Dr. Who. He was obsessed with the show. He could quote the show, tell you history of all the characters, even understand the back stories that seemed to populate the show. He would borrow my iPad and wear down the battery watching the older shows on Netflix or Amazon Prime, stopping them to give me a blow by blow account of what he had just seen. I tried to watch it with him, but I could not get into the show. There was too much background for me to truly understand, and I didn't really know where to start. He had a Dr. Who encyclopedia he had begged me to buy for him at a Half Priced Books store, but even that was no help. I just couldn't get into the show. Now I know how he felt when I made him watch Lost.
The first real connection I made with him after his death was at a place called Round Rock Donuts. Since he and his mother had moved to Round Rock, he kept telling us all about this incredible Donut Shop. To me, donuts were donuts, especially the glazed donut. Peyton kept insisting I was wrong, to the point that when we did get donuts, he wouldn't eat the glazed because they weren't as good as Round Rock Donuts.
About three weeks after Peyton's death, Lisa, Emmy and I went to Round Rock for the State Cross Country Championships. The College Park team had a good shot at the state title, and having worked with the coaches for for so long, wanted to be there to share in the joy. Alas, the title eluded them (they finished third). We had decided to spend the night and drive into Austin the next day to spend some time exploring South Congress Avenue and the various stores there. When Sunday morning dawned, we decided to visit the now infamous Round Rock Donuts to see what Peyton was so obsessed with. What we expected and what we got were two different things. I'm used to a donut store being in a strip mall of some kind with each one being relatively the same and offering the same basic fare as any other. What we found was a free standing structure that required us to park a couple of blocks away, and then stand in a line that stretched out the door. At first, I thought its location next to a church may have had something to do with the line, but judging by the clientele, that was not the case. We ordered the glazed donuts Peyton had preached about for several years and found a table outside to eat. OMG!!! he was so right. The donuts, still warm, were a far above anything I had ever tried before. They melted in my mouth, and despite having already eaten at the hotel, I ate all of them and contemplated getting back in the ever growing line to get more. As I sat there, I felt a bond with Peyton that had been missing since his death. I could picture him sitting there gloating about how good they were, and how I should have listened to him sooner.
When season five of The Walking Dead premiered, Peyton's mother Jacki had posted on Facebook how much Peyton had loved this show and that they had always watched it together, but he wouldn't be there to see this one. I remember how he had talked about this show, but I had never seen it. For one, AMC had not been an HD channel on our cable service, and I was never really a fan of zombie movies. I did like Zombieland, but that was more because of the humor behind the premise than anything. Once again, seeing an opportunity to bond with Peyton, I started to watch it on Netflix. After one episode, I was hooked. Soon, I became as engrossed in the lives of Daryl, Rick, Carl and Carol as Peyton was. I could see why it appealed to him, and thought how much I would have loved to sit there with him and hate on Carl together just like every one else.
There are still things that I think about that bring me close to Peyton. I know he would love the new Jurassic World movie, or The Avengers, or Star Wars. He would love going with me to take Emmy to story time so he could wander off to his own section of the library in search of books. Most of all, I think he would hold over me the fact that he was right about so many things and never let me forget it.
I came up to the office in our house to write. I had no idea what I wanted to say, but I felt the compulsion to write. As I sat at the desk, I look out the doors of the office to our play room at Ian, Peyton's step brother, playing lego Batman on the Xbox. It is the latest version, and I think about how much Peyton would have loved it. It was one of the few games we could play together without making each other crazy. In part because one of the goals is to collect other characters from the DC Universe. When we played the previous version, every time a character was collected, peyton would inevitably want to know who it was. I got in the habit of keeping my iPad with me so we could look the character up and look at their backstory. This was a big factor for him in the free play section of the game, as he would only use characters he felt were cool enough to play.
Super heroes were one of the bonds the two of us shared. We saw all the movies together and discussed the merits of each individual character. I think our favorite character was Batman. Maybe because he was a normal person, just like us, that saw a problem and decided to do something about it. We saw all the movies, even the wretched Batman and Robin (George Clooney? Really?), but we preferred the newer Christian Bale version. Most of all, we both liked to make the raspy voiced announcement that "I am Batman." At his funeral, I placed a small Lego Batman figure in his casket with him and identical to the one I keep on my keychain.
I also started thinking about how diverse the two of us were. I have been a coach at the high school and junior high for over 20 years. Athletics make up a big part of my life, but for Peyton, they were something he would try, but quickly lose interest in. He played basketball and t-ball through the YMCA, but didn't care for either, as games with a strict set of rules didn't interest him. If he wasn't able to create his own rules, or find some wiggle room in them, then he chose to pass. He was on a summer league swim team for a season, even received the Most Improved Swimmer trophy, but to him, pools were for playing not working. He even tried out for the track team in 7th grade, but never made it to a meet.
Throughout my career, Peyton spent many Friday nights in the bleachers, but the game on the field held no interest compared to running around on the field and wrestling with Ian (a perk of being a coaches kid) after the game. Track meets for him meant either discussing video and computer games with my athletes in the know, or educating the uninformed. He would even volunteer to time at swim meets, but was more interested in seeing how quickly he could start and stop the watch or how many times he could stop it at exactly one second.
We were both obsessive over the pop culture we loved. One time, after and intense Nerf gun war, I stood over him, pointed my gun at him and asked if he was ready to surrender. He responded with "What?" to which I quickly responded, "Say 'what' again. Say 'what' again, I dare you, I double dare you, say what one more time!" Unfortunately, and thankfully, he had no clue as to what I was talking about. Peyton had no use for any movie that made you think or have a knowledge base deep enough for allusions. He loved the potty humor of Family Guy and The Simpsons, but was clueless about some of the other references which would explain why we would laugh at different times.
After his death, I wanted to understand Peyton more. The first thing I tried was Dr. Who. He was obsessed with the show. He could quote the show, tell you history of all the characters, even understand the back stories that seemed to populate the show. He would borrow my iPad and wear down the battery watching the older shows on Netflix or Amazon Prime, stopping them to give me a blow by blow account of what he had just seen. I tried to watch it with him, but I could not get into the show. There was too much background for me to truly understand, and I didn't really know where to start. He had a Dr. Who encyclopedia he had begged me to buy for him at a Half Priced Books store, but even that was no help. I just couldn't get into the show. Now I know how he felt when I made him watch Lost.
The first real connection I made with him after his death was at a place called Round Rock Donuts. Since he and his mother had moved to Round Rock, he kept telling us all about this incredible Donut Shop. To me, donuts were donuts, especially the glazed donut. Peyton kept insisting I was wrong, to the point that when we did get donuts, he wouldn't eat the glazed because they weren't as good as Round Rock Donuts.
About three weeks after Peyton's death, Lisa, Emmy and I went to Round Rock for the State Cross Country Championships. The College Park team had a good shot at the state title, and having worked with the coaches for for so long, wanted to be there to share in the joy. Alas, the title eluded them (they finished third). We had decided to spend the night and drive into Austin the next day to spend some time exploring South Congress Avenue and the various stores there. When Sunday morning dawned, we decided to visit the now infamous Round Rock Donuts to see what Peyton was so obsessed with. What we expected and what we got were two different things. I'm used to a donut store being in a strip mall of some kind with each one being relatively the same and offering the same basic fare as any other. What we found was a free standing structure that required us to park a couple of blocks away, and then stand in a line that stretched out the door. At first, I thought its location next to a church may have had something to do with the line, but judging by the clientele, that was not the case. We ordered the glazed donuts Peyton had preached about for several years and found a table outside to eat. OMG!!! he was so right. The donuts, still warm, were a far above anything I had ever tried before. They melted in my mouth, and despite having already eaten at the hotel, I ate all of them and contemplated getting back in the ever growing line to get more. As I sat there, I felt a bond with Peyton that had been missing since his death. I could picture him sitting there gloating about how good they were, and how I should have listened to him sooner.
When season five of The Walking Dead premiered, Peyton's mother Jacki had posted on Facebook how much Peyton had loved this show and that they had always watched it together, but he wouldn't be there to see this one. I remember how he had talked about this show, but I had never seen it. For one, AMC had not been an HD channel on our cable service, and I was never really a fan of zombie movies. I did like Zombieland, but that was more because of the humor behind the premise than anything. Once again, seeing an opportunity to bond with Peyton, I started to watch it on Netflix. After one episode, I was hooked. Soon, I became as engrossed in the lives of Daryl, Rick, Carl and Carol as Peyton was. I could see why it appealed to him, and thought how much I would have loved to sit there with him and hate on Carl together just like every one else.
There are still things that I think about that bring me close to Peyton. I know he would love the new Jurassic World movie, or The Avengers, or Star Wars. He would love going with me to take Emmy to story time so he could wander off to his own section of the library in search of books. Most of all, I think he would hold over me the fact that he was right about so many things and never let me forget it.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
School's Out For Summer
Today is the last day of school. For students across the district, there is an air of excitement and anticipation. Unfortunately for me, there is a great deal of dread and angst. This will be my first summer without Peyton. My wife Lisa just posted a picture to Facebook of Ian and Emmy on their last day, and it made me think about how difficult this summer is going to be for me.
His district got out last week, so he should have already been with me. For him that meant staying at the house all day playing XBox and loving the fact that his step brother had to go today. Last year was the same thing, but Peyton had to come with me and be put to work to pay off the bill for the downloadable content he wracked up. Right now, I would give anything to have him here complaining about having to do the work.
As I sit here, I think about all the things we won't be doing. He would have gone to indoor skydiving today with Ian to help celebrate Ian's birthday. He would have gotten to complain about having to go to the library with Emmy and me for story time. He would have been arguing with me about whose turn it was on the XBox. We could have gone to the movies, the mall, the book store (he would never leave the Dr. Who display). He would have had the whole family over to celebrate his 14th birthday. Instead, I face the prospect of my first summer without him in 14 years.
About this time 14 years ago, I was pacing the halls of St. Joseph's hospital in Houston. His mother, Jacki had been admitted with preeclampsia when she was 29 weeks pregnant with Peyton. The doctors originally thought they were going to have to deliver Peyton that night. Thankfully for us, they were wrong. He held out for another four weeks, and was born on June 16, 2001, the day before Father's Day. It was the greatest gift I had ever received.
He was small, just over two pounds, but he was a fighter. He spent the first 33 days of his life in the NICU, but he never ceased to amaze the nurses and other staff members with his amazing burps.
Peyton struggled all his life with some of the effects of his premature birth. First and foremost was his size. He always seemed to be one of the smallest in his class, and it never went unnoticed among his peers. He had to wear glasses from an early age, and because of his rough and tumble personality, they were usually the toughest pair of frames his mother and I could find, so they were usually the less fashionable. Most of all Peyton had discolored permanent teeth as a result of receiving pure oxygen as a baby. This was a flaw that the other kids went after with a zeal. They questioned his brushing habits, and made other crude and crass remarks intended to hurt, and they did. It got so bad, that he never showed his teeth when he smiled for his school picutres.
Peyton wanted veneers so badly so that the comments would cease. He was so happy about the prospect of getting braces because it meant that once they were off, he would get veneers. A change in my dental insurance meant he would have to wait another year, so he endured just a little longer. At least he did until that fateful day in October.
Now I sit here and listen to my students talk about all the things they have planned. I listen to teachers talking about family vacations. I even listen to some complain about having to drag their kid to this camp and that camp. I wonder if they know that I would give my left nut to have to take Peyton to a camp, or the dentist, or lessons, or anywhere inconvenient and out of the way.
So please keep in mind that when you are driving across the country yelling at your kids in the back seat, or driving them to the mall for the umpteenth time to "hang out" with their friends, or being begged to go to the latest Marvel movie, or even yelling at them to get their ass off the couch and do something besides play video games or binge watch Netflix all damn day, at least you can.
His district got out last week, so he should have already been with me. For him that meant staying at the house all day playing XBox and loving the fact that his step brother had to go today. Last year was the same thing, but Peyton had to come with me and be put to work to pay off the bill for the downloadable content he wracked up. Right now, I would give anything to have him here complaining about having to do the work.
As I sit here, I think about all the things we won't be doing. He would have gone to indoor skydiving today with Ian to help celebrate Ian's birthday. He would have gotten to complain about having to go to the library with Emmy and me for story time. He would have been arguing with me about whose turn it was on the XBox. We could have gone to the movies, the mall, the book store (he would never leave the Dr. Who display). He would have had the whole family over to celebrate his 14th birthday. Instead, I face the prospect of my first summer without him in 14 years.
About this time 14 years ago, I was pacing the halls of St. Joseph's hospital in Houston. His mother, Jacki had been admitted with preeclampsia when she was 29 weeks pregnant with Peyton. The doctors originally thought they were going to have to deliver Peyton that night. Thankfully for us, they were wrong. He held out for another four weeks, and was born on June 16, 2001, the day before Father's Day. It was the greatest gift I had ever received.
He was small, just over two pounds, but he was a fighter. He spent the first 33 days of his life in the NICU, but he never ceased to amaze the nurses and other staff members with his amazing burps.
Peyton struggled all his life with some of the effects of his premature birth. First and foremost was his size. He always seemed to be one of the smallest in his class, and it never went unnoticed among his peers. He had to wear glasses from an early age, and because of his rough and tumble personality, they were usually the toughest pair of frames his mother and I could find, so they were usually the less fashionable. Most of all Peyton had discolored permanent teeth as a result of receiving pure oxygen as a baby. This was a flaw that the other kids went after with a zeal. They questioned his brushing habits, and made other crude and crass remarks intended to hurt, and they did. It got so bad, that he never showed his teeth when he smiled for his school picutres.
Peyton wanted veneers so badly so that the comments would cease. He was so happy about the prospect of getting braces because it meant that once they were off, he would get veneers. A change in my dental insurance meant he would have to wait another year, so he endured just a little longer. At least he did until that fateful day in October.
Now I sit here and listen to my students talk about all the things they have planned. I listen to teachers talking about family vacations. I even listen to some complain about having to drag their kid to this camp and that camp. I wonder if they know that I would give my left nut to have to take Peyton to a camp, or the dentist, or lessons, or anywhere inconvenient and out of the way.
So please keep in mind that when you are driving across the country yelling at your kids in the back seat, or driving them to the mall for the umpteenth time to "hang out" with their friends, or being begged to go to the latest Marvel movie, or even yelling at them to get their ass off the couch and do something besides play video games or binge watch Netflix all damn day, at least you can.
Friday, May 22, 2015
There Should Be A Law...
In the months since Peyton's death, I have tried to figure out how I could make a difference. What will it take to open the eyes of those around me to the problem? It seems that a topic of life and death such as suicide would be something that educators and communities would want to address, but not so much. I have been told that by speaking about it, it could put the idea into a kid's head that suicide is ok. Personally, I thought that way of thinking went out with the idea you could get the clap from a toilet seat, but I was wrong. So how do you get educators to listen when they don't want to? The same way you make them teach a test that they don't want to, you make it a law.
After a student at my school took their life over the Christmas holidays, they gathered the staff in the cafeteria to address us on suicide prevention. The counselor began the presentation by telling us they "Had" to do this, and after viewing art work of one student from another school and telling us to look out for any student that talks or writes about death, or draws disturbing images like the ONE we saw, contact a counselor. After that we were sent on our merry way ready to save the world with information we could normally have gotten from a pamphlet.
During lunch, I decided to make good use of my time. I looked up the Texas state law regarding suicide prevention training for teachers. I used the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention website to see the laws in various states. To my horror, I discovered that Texas requires that minimum academic qualifications for certified educators also require instruction in the detection of students with mental or emotional disorders; also requires that school districts provide at least a one-time training for teachers, counselors, principals, and other appropriate personnel to learn to recognize students at risk for suicide or in need of early mental health intervention. I thought about whether, before that day, I had received any training in the time since 2013 when that law had been passed, and I couldn't.
While perusing that same Website, I saw the mention of the Jason Flatt Act. I went to the Jason Foundation Website to learn more about the Jason Flatt Act. Not only that, the program was offered free of charge to any entity that wanted to use it, and had been passed in 13 states already (Georgia recently became 14). Now Texas had just gone through an election cycle, and both my state representative, Mark Keough, and state senator, Brandon Creighton, were new. I went to their respective web pages and emailed them immediately. I asked for their help regarding legislation such as the Jason Flatt Act, and despite the fact it wouldn't help Peyton, it could help the students of Texas and keep them from making the same choice as Peyton.
After a month, I still hadn't heard from either Keough or Creighton, I decided to write to them again, but this time, I decided to cover moe of my bases, I also wrote to every member of the House and Senate Education Committees as well as Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick, and Governor Greg Abbott. I also went on my Products for Peyton Facebook page, my regular Facebook page, every Facebook Group I am a member of, and my Twitter account encouraging others to write to their state legislators as well. As I sat at home that night, my phone buzzed letting me know some one had replied to one of my many posts. I apologize for forgetting who it was and denying them credit, but they informed me of SB1169 in the Texas Senate. I read the bill and suddenly became invigorated. This is what I had been looking for. Once again, I shared this information on social media, and the response was overwhelmingly in favor.
The next day I began yet another email campaign to all the same people I mentioned before. This time, I was contacted by a staffer in Governor Abbot's office, and he assured me that this bill was on the Governor's watch list, and that it was a priority. Emboldened even more, I began to call the offices of Senator Diane Campbell, the bill's sponsor, and Senator Larry Taylor, chair of the Senate Education Committee. I also kept up my emails to other members of the Education Committee as well as constant posts on social media encouraging people to call, and providing updates on the bills progress.
One night, as I was sitting at home, I received a tweet from a man named John Horton who had seen one of my posts about SB1169. He said he was a political strategist and asked me to call him. When I called him, I discovered that I was not alone in the world. He told me about The Jason Flatt Act, Texas-In Honor of Johnathan Childers. It was spearheaded by Coach Kevin Childress from Fairfield, Texas. Coach Childers had lost his 15 year old son Johnathan in August of 2013. His group worked with State Representative Byron Cook to get the bill introduced to the legislature in Austin. In March of 2015, it was introduced as HB2186.
Although John told me that he would send my information to Coach Childers to have him contact me, I couldn't wait. I emailed him the next morning telling him Peyton's story and my desire to be involved. He quickly responded in kind, and invited me to come to Austin the following week to help him lobby for the bill. We continued to communicate through out the week. As fellow survivors, we had a great deal in common, including the fact that we truly understood what the other has gone through, frustration at school systems that spent countless hours training teachers how to teach a test, and our desire to keep what happened to our sons from ever happening to another young person.
When I met Coach Childers at the Capitol, we embraced and he began to fill me in on what we would be doing. He laid out who we wold be meeting with and what would be discussed. It was a whirlwind day as we went from meeting to meeting. I listened to Coach Childers passionately explain the purpose of the bill, the changes that had been made in the committee hearing. After the first few meetings, I felt confident enough to speak up as well. The majority of the people we met with seemed receptive to the bill, and by the time I had gotten in my truck and headed back toward Houston, I finally felt hopeful. I felt that we were on the verge of making a huge difference for teh children of Texas.
A few days later, HB2186, with 120 coauthors, passed the Texas House 139-3. A few days later, with Coach Childers and his family on the floor of the Senate, SB1169 passed the State Senate 29-1.
The House bill adopted the Senate language, and was passed out of the Senate Education committee. Now it is back to the House for concurrence. Although the fight will not be over until Governor Abbot signs it into law, I remain optimistic.
The process is never easy. There are hoops to jump through, egos to soothe, supporters to appease, but first and foremost, the children of Texas will be the ones that benefit. As Coach Childers said, "We can't teach them if they aren't in the desks."
After a student at my school took their life over the Christmas holidays, they gathered the staff in the cafeteria to address us on suicide prevention. The counselor began the presentation by telling us they "Had" to do this, and after viewing art work of one student from another school and telling us to look out for any student that talks or writes about death, or draws disturbing images like the ONE we saw, contact a counselor. After that we were sent on our merry way ready to save the world with information we could normally have gotten from a pamphlet.
During lunch, I decided to make good use of my time. I looked up the Texas state law regarding suicide prevention training for teachers. I used the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention website to see the laws in various states. To my horror, I discovered that Texas requires that minimum academic qualifications for certified educators also require instruction in the detection of students with mental or emotional disorders; also requires that school districts provide at least a one-time training for teachers, counselors, principals, and other appropriate personnel to learn to recognize students at risk for suicide or in need of early mental health intervention. I thought about whether, before that day, I had received any training in the time since 2013 when that law had been passed, and I couldn't.
While perusing that same Website, I saw the mention of the Jason Flatt Act. I went to the Jason Foundation Website to learn more about the Jason Flatt Act. Not only that, the program was offered free of charge to any entity that wanted to use it, and had been passed in 13 states already (Georgia recently became 14). Now Texas had just gone through an election cycle, and both my state representative, Mark Keough, and state senator, Brandon Creighton, were new. I went to their respective web pages and emailed them immediately. I asked for their help regarding legislation such as the Jason Flatt Act, and despite the fact it wouldn't help Peyton, it could help the students of Texas and keep them from making the same choice as Peyton.
After a month, I still hadn't heard from either Keough or Creighton, I decided to write to them again, but this time, I decided to cover moe of my bases, I also wrote to every member of the House and Senate Education Committees as well as Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick, and Governor Greg Abbott. I also went on my Products for Peyton Facebook page, my regular Facebook page, every Facebook Group I am a member of, and my Twitter account encouraging others to write to their state legislators as well. As I sat at home that night, my phone buzzed letting me know some one had replied to one of my many posts. I apologize for forgetting who it was and denying them credit, but they informed me of SB1169 in the Texas Senate. I read the bill and suddenly became invigorated. This is what I had been looking for. Once again, I shared this information on social media, and the response was overwhelmingly in favor.
The next day I began yet another email campaign to all the same people I mentioned before. This time, I was contacted by a staffer in Governor Abbot's office, and he assured me that this bill was on the Governor's watch list, and that it was a priority. Emboldened even more, I began to call the offices of Senator Diane Campbell, the bill's sponsor, and Senator Larry Taylor, chair of the Senate Education Committee. I also kept up my emails to other members of the Education Committee as well as constant posts on social media encouraging people to call, and providing updates on the bills progress.
One night, as I was sitting at home, I received a tweet from a man named John Horton who had seen one of my posts about SB1169. He said he was a political strategist and asked me to call him. When I called him, I discovered that I was not alone in the world. He told me about The Jason Flatt Act, Texas-In Honor of Johnathan Childers. It was spearheaded by Coach Kevin Childress from Fairfield, Texas. Coach Childers had lost his 15 year old son Johnathan in August of 2013. His group worked with State Representative Byron Cook to get the bill introduced to the legislature in Austin. In March of 2015, it was introduced as HB2186.
Although John told me that he would send my information to Coach Childers to have him contact me, I couldn't wait. I emailed him the next morning telling him Peyton's story and my desire to be involved. He quickly responded in kind, and invited me to come to Austin the following week to help him lobby for the bill. We continued to communicate through out the week. As fellow survivors, we had a great deal in common, including the fact that we truly understood what the other has gone through, frustration at school systems that spent countless hours training teachers how to teach a test, and our desire to keep what happened to our sons from ever happening to another young person.
When I met Coach Childers at the Capitol, we embraced and he began to fill me in on what we would be doing. He laid out who we wold be meeting with and what would be discussed. It was a whirlwind day as we went from meeting to meeting. I listened to Coach Childers passionately explain the purpose of the bill, the changes that had been made in the committee hearing. After the first few meetings, I felt confident enough to speak up as well. The majority of the people we met with seemed receptive to the bill, and by the time I had gotten in my truck and headed back toward Houston, I finally felt hopeful. I felt that we were on the verge of making a huge difference for teh children of Texas.
A few days later, HB2186, with 120 coauthors, passed the Texas House 139-3. A few days later, with Coach Childers and his family on the floor of the Senate, SB1169 passed the State Senate 29-1.
The House bill adopted the Senate language, and was passed out of the Senate Education committee. Now it is back to the House for concurrence. Although the fight will not be over until Governor Abbot signs it into law, I remain optimistic.
The process is never easy. There are hoops to jump through, egos to soothe, supporters to appease, but first and foremost, the children of Texas will be the ones that benefit. As Coach Childers said, "We can't teach them if they aren't in the desks."
Lost Another Young Person
I plan to keep this short and to the point. I saw in the news that a young man in Robinson, TX chose a permanent solution to what was troubling him. His name was Johnny Rogers, and he completed suicide in the student parking lot of Rogers High School on May 20, 2015. It is sad that this has happened. This makes the 7th student suicide in Texas this year that I am aware of. Seven young lives lost to never fulfill their potential.
Why does this continue to happen? I wish there was a succint answer to this question, but there isn't. For my son, it was a combination of bullying and mental illness. I cannot, and will not speak for the others. That is not my call. I know that each has a story to tell, and I truly hope that others will not silence their stories. If we continue to stifle these stories, then the epidemic will continue.
God bless Johnny, Peyton and the others. I hope that their pain is gone, and you are happy.
Why does this continue to happen? I wish there was a succint answer to this question, but there isn't. For my son, it was a combination of bullying and mental illness. I cannot, and will not speak for the others. That is not my call. I know that each has a story to tell, and I truly hope that others will not silence their stories. If we continue to stifle these stories, then the epidemic will continue.
God bless Johnny, Peyton and the others. I hope that their pain is gone, and you are happy.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Hey World, Suicide Exists!!!!!
When I was but a wee lad, I had a fear of the dark. I was convinced that there was something living under my bed, and that it only came out in the dark. My mother used to try and convince me that if it isn't there when the lights are on, then it isn't there when they are off. Eventually, I was able to convince myself of that same thing. As I grew older, and especially after I entered the education field, I began to see that same philosopy applied to education. If we say it doesn't exist, then it doesn't.
I have seen this applied to gangs, "We don't have a gang problem, just a lot of kids that like to dress the same, hang out together in large intimidating packs, cause trouble, and deal drugs, but they aren't a gang."
Drugs were another problem that was constantly denied, "We don't have a drug problem here, you can get what ever you want, no problem." Now I am seeing it applied to mental illness and suicide. Not only by the administration, but by the community as well.
I live near the Woodlands, Texas. It is a primarily middle class to upper middle class area. However, there are quite a few out here that fit easily into the 1% category. To say that this is a highly competetive area would be an extreme understatement. Whether it is the floor plan of the house, the decorations, the lawn, the cars, the pools, hell, even the closets, there is a constant one upsmanship in the air. I have also discovered that many of these parents have no problem using their own children as pawns in the game. I have known nine year old little leaguers with their own private hitting, pitching and fielding coaches. Five year olds that spend five to six days a week in competitive cheerleading, and are dressed like street walkers for compettitions, but that is another story for antother time. Even once the kids reach high school, it doesn;t stop. I have seen students in upper level classes that have no business being there because the parents want them in there. I have seen coaches spend hours on the phone being yelled at by angry parents because their child is not on the varsity squad, or not starting, or worst of all, cut from the team because they lack even the most basic skills to play the game despite the thousands the parents spent on private coaches and lessons.
I have even seen students with learning disabilities denied the basic services offered through special education because the parents refuse to believe that THEIR child is anything but a future Rhodes Scholar and leader of the free world. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that topics such as mental illness and suicide would be as taboo or prohibited in the lexicon of topics for conversation. After all, their perfect child can have no problems what so ever.
After Peyton's death, I made a vow to myself to keep any other parent from ever feeling the way that I do. I also wanted to reach out to students and let them know that it is OK if they feel out of sorts, or as they don't belong. I wanted them to realize that they are not alone in what they are feeling, and that it is okay to ask for help. I reached out to schools and churches, scout troops, civic organizations. Any one I felt might benefit from my message. Instead, I was met with the sound of crickets. It seems that those in positions of power have adopted that "If we don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist" philosophy. I have been told that I would be contacted only to find my inbox empty and my phone not ringing. I have even been told that they don't want to glorify suicide by talking allowing me to talk, or that by mentioning it, I am putting the idea into some one's mind. Perhaps the most ignorant statement heard was on the local news about a district not allowing students to wear memorial shirts in honor of a class mate that perished in a car wreck. The administration explained they don't allow memorial shirts because of suicides in the past, and they don't want to glorify suicide.
First of all, no one is being glorified. Students are mourning a lost friend. No student in their right mind is thinking, "hey what a great idea". The problem is, most suicidal people are not in their right mind, and by putting it out there, you are allowing students and others to open a dialogue. This is what needs to happen. By keeping silent and refusing to acknowledge the problem, these kids are pushed further into silence until it is too late.
In the 24 years I have been teaching, I have been at several schools where suicide has occurred. Each time, we received an email (or a photocopied letter) about what happened with specific instructions not to talk about it, and to refer all student questions to counselors. It was only recently, after the death of a student by suicide at my school that we received any training at all, and the training was maybe 10 minutes, and could have been emailed out, or each teacher given a copy of the pamphlet it was read directly from.
We no longer have the luxury of ignorance. Suicide is here and its real. Dialogues need to be opened, students and others need to be addressed, and society needs to know that it is ok to admit to a problem. No loss of life to suicide should be swept under the rug or marginalized. If the person had died of a disease such as cancer, there would be prayer circles, and memorials, dedications in year books and t-shirts. However, when the person dies as a result of depression, it is hidden, not spoken of, and trivialized.
NO MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I have seen this applied to gangs, "We don't have a gang problem, just a lot of kids that like to dress the same, hang out together in large intimidating packs, cause trouble, and deal drugs, but they aren't a gang."
Drugs were another problem that was constantly denied, "We don't have a drug problem here, you can get what ever you want, no problem." Now I am seeing it applied to mental illness and suicide. Not only by the administration, but by the community as well.
I live near the Woodlands, Texas. It is a primarily middle class to upper middle class area. However, there are quite a few out here that fit easily into the 1% category. To say that this is a highly competetive area would be an extreme understatement. Whether it is the floor plan of the house, the decorations, the lawn, the cars, the pools, hell, even the closets, there is a constant one upsmanship in the air. I have also discovered that many of these parents have no problem using their own children as pawns in the game. I have known nine year old little leaguers with their own private hitting, pitching and fielding coaches. Five year olds that spend five to six days a week in competitive cheerleading, and are dressed like street walkers for compettitions, but that is another story for antother time. Even once the kids reach high school, it doesn;t stop. I have seen students in upper level classes that have no business being there because the parents want them in there. I have seen coaches spend hours on the phone being yelled at by angry parents because their child is not on the varsity squad, or not starting, or worst of all, cut from the team because they lack even the most basic skills to play the game despite the thousands the parents spent on private coaches and lessons.
I have even seen students with learning disabilities denied the basic services offered through special education because the parents refuse to believe that THEIR child is anything but a future Rhodes Scholar and leader of the free world. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that topics such as mental illness and suicide would be as taboo or prohibited in the lexicon of topics for conversation. After all, their perfect child can have no problems what so ever.
After Peyton's death, I made a vow to myself to keep any other parent from ever feeling the way that I do. I also wanted to reach out to students and let them know that it is OK if they feel out of sorts, or as they don't belong. I wanted them to realize that they are not alone in what they are feeling, and that it is okay to ask for help. I reached out to schools and churches, scout troops, civic organizations. Any one I felt might benefit from my message. Instead, I was met with the sound of crickets. It seems that those in positions of power have adopted that "If we don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist" philosophy. I have been told that I would be contacted only to find my inbox empty and my phone not ringing. I have even been told that they don't want to glorify suicide by talking allowing me to talk, or that by mentioning it, I am putting the idea into some one's mind. Perhaps the most ignorant statement heard was on the local news about a district not allowing students to wear memorial shirts in honor of a class mate that perished in a car wreck. The administration explained they don't allow memorial shirts because of suicides in the past, and they don't want to glorify suicide.
First of all, no one is being glorified. Students are mourning a lost friend. No student in their right mind is thinking, "hey what a great idea". The problem is, most suicidal people are not in their right mind, and by putting it out there, you are allowing students and others to open a dialogue. This is what needs to happen. By keeping silent and refusing to acknowledge the problem, these kids are pushed further into silence until it is too late.
In the 24 years I have been teaching, I have been at several schools where suicide has occurred. Each time, we received an email (or a photocopied letter) about what happened with specific instructions not to talk about it, and to refer all student questions to counselors. It was only recently, after the death of a student by suicide at my school that we received any training at all, and the training was maybe 10 minutes, and could have been emailed out, or each teacher given a copy of the pamphlet it was read directly from.
We no longer have the luxury of ignorance. Suicide is here and its real. Dialogues need to be opened, students and others need to be addressed, and society needs to know that it is ok to admit to a problem. No loss of life to suicide should be swept under the rug or marginalized. If the person had died of a disease such as cancer, there would be prayer circles, and memorials, dedications in year books and t-shirts. However, when the person dies as a result of depression, it is hidden, not spoken of, and trivialized.
NO MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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