Jerry Sutton Had Courage to Be Kind

Jerry Sutton Had Courage to be Kind

Every year when my children return to school, I think about Jerry Sutton. It’s not that I purposefully conjure his image. I see my kids join yet another set of classmates and teachers, some familiar and some not, and I immediately hope for the kindness of strangers. That is what makes me think of Jerry.

When I was in Mrs. Moran’s fourth grade class, Jerry sat two rows over from me, near the front. He was shorter than most boys his age. He was funnier than all of them. Jerry had the kind of charisma that landed him lots of friends and a solid spot as teacher’s pet. We didn’t mind. We all loved Jerry.

Mrs. Moran began each day with a writing and art assignment that I loathed. We had to copy a poem from the chalkboard, in cursive. Worse, we had to transcribe it very neatly. I struggled with handwriting. Mine resembled the garbled combination of English and poorly done hieroglyphics and ranged in size from microscopic letters to huge words better suited for a billboard.

Beneath the poem, we were to illustrate the meaning of the verse with crayons. Most of the time, I would end up wearing a hole through my paper, trying to erase my attempts at drawing a plausible likeness to a human or a dog or a tree. I hated every last one of those insufferable poems.
One particularly challenging assignment nearly had me in tears. The poem was long, the visuals were many, and I didn’t feel so well. Somehow, as I commenced with the transcription, I flipped the pencil point up from the page and impaled the lead deep within my right palm. Stunned and horrified, I watched as the yellow Number 2 pencil dangled from the center of my hand. Then, I threw up.

When you have taught as long as Mrs. Moran had, things like vomit tend to lose their shock value. She stepped into the hall, called to the janitor and calmed the masses all while insisting that everyone continue working. Meanwhile, I slowly raised my head from my injury-induced stupor.

Few things alienate you from your classmates faster than upchucking on your desktop. I never did care much for the girl who sat in front of me. She always cut in line, spread gossip and insisted that God never intended for women to have careers. So, the fact that I had splattered the back of her head with something unspeakably disgusting didn’t disturb me much. But, I dreaded the backlash from everyone else: the finger-pointing, the relegation to alien status as “the girl who threw up.” Fearing the worst, I lifted my eyes to gauge the reaction of my peers. And there was Jerry Sutton.

Jerry was looking at me like he would a lost puppy. His face was full of concern and compassion. As the janitor arrived to clean up the mess and I headed to the bathroom, he mouthed to me, “It’s O.K! It’s O.K.!”

And, it was. I went home and returned the next morning feeling fine. Not one word was said of the events from the previous day. As I slaved over the next exercise in penmanship and creativity, I glanced up at Jerry Sutton. He had drawn a beautiful landscape of golden sun and globular green trees dotted with huge red apples. He looked up and smiled at me.

Every year when my children return to school, I think about Jerry Sutton. I like to believe that there are still plenty of Jerry’s out there, offering comfort instead of ridicule, kindness instead of rejection. I don’t recall the names of classmates from fourth grade who were most popular or best dressed, but I do recall with great reverence the boy who reassured me when others might have mocked me. It’s a lesson I am grateful to have learned early about the indelible mark left by special souls who have the courage to be kind.