When my son was a baby, I wondered what his eyes could see that had moved into his empty mind when he knew nothing about the life he was beginning.

When my daughter turned 5 years old, we gave her a special birthday party. I hired a young woman to make an appearance dressed as Cinderella. From the joy I saw upon my little girl’s face, Cinderella was as real to her as the early morning sun.

Imagine if after we grow up, we still can see our lives through a child’s eyes. We might be happy to see other people happy. We might trust more. We might hope more. We might love more.

When I taught teenagers for 38 years, I discovered that they were still little kids wrapped up in bodies that were demanding them to act their age. Despite their trying to prove they were on the verge of adulthood, the younger child in them was ever present.

So, I figured that to be able to get them to learn what I was teaching, I had to look at life not through my eyes, not through the eyes of an emerging young man or young woman, but through the eyes of their innocence, untainted by the world’s prejudices.

Though it was forbidden by the supervisor of language arts in our school district, I had storybook time with high school students. I read aloud excerpts of American literature and entire short stories, even to my honors classes. When I’d look up from my book, I saw their eyes were locked on me, and I could tell their ears were listening, just like my 7-year-old daughter had done long ago when we had storybook time together.

I role-played American authors in front of my students with the risk of looking stupid, but when Edgar Allan Poe or Henry David Thoreau came to life, it was if I was an action figure or a toy doll that used to come to life for them when they were small.

Inside the big bodies of my football players were little boys. To the players I coached, like young sons do with their fathers, they tried to please me, to get their approval from me. They trusted me, and when my team won the last game of an undefeated season, my two offensive tackles lifted me on to their shoulders and carried me off the field.

There were other times that were very disturbing. A 16-year-old Black girl came into my homeroom one morning sobbing like someone had stolen her puppy. I saw real fear from the eyes of a child much younger than she was. She showed me her wrists that were cut and stained with dried blood.

Once she gathered herself, she told me that her drug-addicted parents had disappeared one night and her white grandmother reluctantly took her in. Every day after school her grandmother locked her in her room for the rest of the day and brought her food at night.

She said she didn’t want to live like that anymore. She trusted me to help her, which I did. I visited her every night for two weeks in a mental health hospital until another relative was located to give her a good home.

Another student was a Black kid with a rap sheet for petty crimes and time spent in detention centers. One day, I was reading a story about a man who ran out on his wife and children. Suddenly, this boy jumped from his desk and began a five minute rant about Black fathers leaving their children. I sat down and let him spill his guts before 25 startled classmates. This tough street kid cried like a baby through his entire rant until totally exhausted, he dropped back into his seat. He waited after class until everyone had gone before he gave me a hug that I can still feel today.

No matter how tough or old we are, the emotions of an insecure child often come out of us in times of trouble.

A brilliant Filipino student who played classical piano without ever taking a lesson and drew pictures in his notebook showcasing his amazing artistic talent came to class with an origami basketball-sized globe of the world he had made for his American Dream project.

While presenting his creation in front of the class, he said, “My dream is to travel the world and draw caricatures of people I meet and publish them in books.”

Suddenly, he lifted a dictionary from my desk, raised the book above his head, slammed it down and crushed his beautiful project.

“And there goes my American Dream!” he shouted.

I saw and felt his deep despair. The little child in him was crying out for help. He told me that his parents demanded he not pursue his dream and become a mechanical engineer.

Two years later as a freshman engineering student at Rutgers University, he stepped in front of a moving passenger train. His tearful mother said at his funeral, “We must remember that we were once children and we must try to see through the eyes of our children what they deserve from us.”

Recently, I wrote words to a song (not sung by me!) that I had produced with music by an AI recording studio. My song, “For Their Sake” asks us to see the world through the hopes and dreams of every child. Here are a few of the lyrics.

In our country burdened with so much hate

We the people draw lines in the sand

It’s time we take hold our neighbor’s hand

And come together before it’s too late

We sing for every girl and boy

We know them

We owe them

A nation filled with love and joy.

The words spoken from the mother of a dead child are worth repeating.

“We must remember that we were once children and we must try to see through the eyes of our children what they deserve from us.”

My song, “For Their Sake” is available upon request. Send an email message and include a phone contact.

Email Rich Strack at richiesadie11@gmail.com