WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Could a Child Start a Revolution?

     It's been nearly twenty years ago, but I can picture the scene like it was yesterday. It was mid-morning and I was approaching the front entrance to Hodges Elementary School near Greenwood, South Carolina, where I was living at the time. I was there to visit with the principal about an upcoming event of some sort, the details of which evade me and are irrelevant. What is relevant is what happened as I neared the steps to the entrance to the front door of the school. The events of the next few moments stopped me dead in my tracks and in some ways, changed me forever.
     Recently we watched on our televisions as the terrible news of yet another mass murder at one of our public schools was reported to a horrified nation. Teachers and students died at the hand of a former student. Others may have survived physically, but will face a lifetime of fitful nights interrupted by traumatic memories and paralyzing nightmares.
     I don't have much to say about that beyond what's already been said. Our hearts are breaking and our prayers are going out to all those involved. I don't have political or moral solutions to inject into the conversation. But I do have a memory from an ordinary morning at an ordinary school in rural South Carolina that deserves to be shared with the world.
     I won't keep you in suspense. There was no tragedy that morning at Hodges Elementary. It was more like a miracle. Not the kind where somebody is saved from a burning fire when their chances of surviving were non-existent. Not the kind where someone who has been told they will never walk again sprints to the front of the pack on a marathon run to raise money for a cause. Those are great but this one was much less dramatic. But I believe it was just as much of a miracle as any other.
     As I neared the entrance door that morning, it popped open and a group of Kindergarten students from Mrs. Webber's class emerged in a single file line that would have made a Marine drill sergeant proud. They were headed for the activity bus parked nearby that would transport them on some sort of field trip so I decided to wait and let them pass before entering.

      I'm sure they had taught these children that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But for no apparent reason at all, the little girl leader who was first in in line veered off to the right and with arms stretched wide open, reached out and hugged me before continuing on her path toward the bus. Following her lead, each of the little girls in line behind her veered right as well and embraced me before boarding. When the macho boys toward the end arrived, they changed course to come my way and slapped my hand with enthusiastic high-fives. Every hug and high-five was accompanied by a smile that only a kindergarten child can give you and you know it’s sincere.

     What just happened? I was merely a father of one of the schoolchildren, there to talk to the principal. Nobody special. A bystander. But Hannah the Hugger (my nickname for her since I had no clue what her real name was) didn't seem to care. I was a human being and that's all that mattered to her. I looked down at my skin. It was white. I looked in the window of the bus where Hannah's facial skin was visible. It was dark. (Not that it made any difference at all, but I want to give you context).

     Nearly overwhelmed by the moment, I stood for a while and waved Mrs. Webber's class goodbye as the old bus puffed black smoke and chugged its way out of the parking lot. Eventually I went about my business but on the ride home, I couldn't stop thinking about Hannah and the other children. The hugs had done wonders for me. Mrs. Webber's class consisted of various sorts of children of different races, yet none of them had hesitated to hug or high-five me. 

     I don't think adult children hug each other as much- at least not unconditionally like the children of Mrs. Webber's class did. Most adult children tend to size each other up first and make sure it is safe before we reach out to hug, especially if there is a variance of skin color involved. Adult children worry about sexual harassment lawsuits and the possibility of sending mixed messages before they give hugs. Adult children have to be aware of who might be watching before they can give or receive a hug to prevent others from drawing inaccurate conclusions. 

     Hannah didn't care about any of those issues when she went out of her way to open her arms and embrace me. She didn't count the costs. She didn't consider the color of my skin. She didn't worry that I might reject her when she pulled me near to her. In that moment, she started a revolution of sorts, because twenty more children behind her were freed from any prejudices and anxieties they might have had and were able to follow suit. 

     This column is not about race. It is not about politics. I am not trying to minimize sexual harassment. I am not advocating or opposing anything. I simply feel led to share a story of something that happened at a school that did not involve students and teachers getting shot. 

     I will never know Hannah's real name, but I know God used her to speak to me then, and to re-speak to me again this past week. I have experienced euphoric moments in my lifetime, but few of them left a lasting impression like the simplistic joy provided by this child many years ago. Hannah showed the purest form of love of all by reaching out and hugging me for no reason other than her desire to embrace another human being. 

     Hannah, wherever you are, I want you to know something. You are my hero. Every human being in the world could use a big hug from you like the one you gave me that day. I pray to God that you are continuing the revolution you began all those years ago at the Hodges Elementary front entrance. We need you. We also need people to follow your lead the way your classmates did that morning. And though Jesus did not return to Earth the moment you were hugging me, I'm sure He must have smiled and appreciated the opportunity to gaze upon an unspoiled, pure heart like yours- going about its daily business.


The spot where Hannah started a revolution