Chapter 9: No more Jackie Papers, please

May 27

When I first heard the song “Puff the Magic Dragon,” I was seven. I sensed then that it was sad. Now I’m certain it is.

It’s not about my worst possible sadness — losing a child or grandchild is — but it’s about one that’s in my top five.

Some say the song is about the loss of childhood. About growing up and leaving imaginary friends behind.

But that’s not what it’s about to me. It’s not about Jackie Paper outgrowing his childhood. It’s about how devastated Puff is when Jackie Paper outgrows his childhood and disappears from his life. It’s about Puff.

**I couldn’t find a picture of Puff that I liked. So, (with YouTube’s help) I tried drawing him.**

Puff and Jackie were best buds. They “frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee.” They had wonderful times and great adventures.

Until Jackie tore Puff’s soul apart.

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys
One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave
So Puff, that mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave

Except for a final repetition of the chorus, that’s how the song ends.

I kills me.

It evokes abandoned animals. The military working dog scratching at the casket of his fallen handler.

And it reminds me of former students. I think about how, after leaving my class, they grew up, moved on, and I never heard from them again. Some of the ones I grew closest to stayed connected for awhile. Then, with no explanation, they vanished.

The saddest part of “Puff the Magic Dragon” is that Puff had no clue why Jackie Paper stopped coming to the seashore. Had he done something wrong?

Hey Jackie! Why not say something? Head down to the beach one last time, give Puff a big hug, and thank him for the good times. Tell him you met a girl, got a job offer, and that you’re moving from Honah Lee to Chicago. Or whatever. Give Puff some closure! Don’t just disappear and leave him wondering what happened to his “lifelong friend.”

Sometimes, late at night, I’ll lie awake wondering whatever happened to ______________ (On different nights, different names come to mind.)

It was partly my fear of becoming like Puff that motivated me to visit 34 of my former students while I circled the states. I’m not ready yet to to sadly slip inside my cave.

(I messed up and forgot to take three photos — of Sahana and Kevin in Chicago and Lauren in Scottsdale. The other 31 are here, starting with Grace’s lesson about what’s most important in life.)

I didn’t become a teacher so I could meet a bunch of cool kids who would one day become close confidants. But that’s what happened. I’m grateful that it did because I’m in a stage of life when I especially need deep, meaningful relationships.

Since it’s more often me reaching out to them then them reaching out to me — most are in that crazy-busy family/work phase of life — I’m wondering why Puff didn’t do what I try to do. Why didn’t Puff initiate a meet-up? Maybe he should have gone looking for Jackie. What if something had happened to Jackie?

Or maybe he did. Maybe he reached out, but Jackie didn’t reach back. That’s happened to me, and I’m always scared it will happen again. That’s why I try so hard to keep special relationships alive.

Is that lame? Insecure? Desperate? Should I just relax and stop trying so hard? Is it wrong to want to be liked? Loved? Is it wrong to want to be forever friends with people I love to be with and want in my life?

**Monica and hubby, Joe, in**
**Colorado Springs**

**Julia and kiddos in Kitsap State Park, Washington**

My answer to myself has to be no. It’s not wrong. Study after study, perhaps the most famous one being the ongoing Harvard Study of Adult Development, has found that close relationships are the most important predictor of long-term happiness, life satisfaction, and well-being.

**Jodi and husband Curtis in Scottsdale, Arizona**

I know that’s true for me.

Still, I’ve found that chasing a relationship, whether it be a romantic or platonic, rarely works. We can and should initiate and invite. But when the invitation is rejected, whether it be blatantly or subtly, we have to step back and ask ourselves who wants us in their life? Sometimes, some people just don’t want us. Or care enough to connect.

When I was 11, I wanted two very popular boys at our community pool to be my friends. I knew of them from playing against them in Little League baseball. I was on the Orioles. Rick (12) and Scotty (11) were on the Pirates. I liked their vibe and style, so hung I around them.

At first, they tolerated me. Eventually, they even accepted me. I remember when Rick, hearing my full name said, “James Patrick Richards. That sounds so cool.”

Inside, I was glowing. (Proves the value of a compliment, right? I mean, I got that one 57 years ago, and ever since, I’ve kind of liked my name.)

That summer, I worked hard to score three free tickets to a Cleveland Indians baseball game. It included a special pregame tutorial from some of the Indians coaches and players. I needed three tickets so I could invite Rick and Scotty to join me.

My mom dropped us off at the stadium, and the three of us had, I thought, a good time. On the ride home, they sat in the back seat while I sat in the front with my mom. They talked to each other but barely spoke to me.

After we dropped them off, my mom said, “Those boys don’t care about you. They only care about each other. Why are you trying so hard to be their friend?”

Ouch.

But I sensed that she was right, so I stopped chasing. We didn’t become friends. During the next year, when an event came up that I might have invited them (or any potential friend) to, I went with my dad. At a high school basketball game, I ran into Scotty. I could tell that he was wondering why I became such a stranger. But I didn’t have the social skills or wherewithal to explain that I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with me.

Which was true, but it still hurt.

One of my favorite song lyrics was written by British musician, Heather Nova. In “London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do),” she says

When somebody knows you well
Well, there's no comfort like that
And when somebody needs you
Well, there's no drug like that

I confess. The comfort I seek is people who know me well. The drug I’m addicted to is having people need me. When they don’t, I experience withdrawal. Being with people who know and need me does heal me.

__________

The root of my stress and sadness stems from my daughters growing up and moving away. When they were young and living at home, I’d wake up in the night and check on them. When I pulled up their covers, I felt warm and content. I loved having them there, safe in our home.

But I was hyper aware that my Daddy days were fleeting. The years would fly by and, soon, their beds would be empty. They’d go away to college and begin their own lives. And as every loving parent knows, this is both what we want and dread.

And it happened. I wondered recently if this is why I tried so hard to connect with my students. To have them as a kind of buffer against my daughters no longer needing me like they once did.

I concluded that this wasn’t the case. No relationship can come close to replacing my father/daughter, Kyrra, Kylene connection. That’s on another level.

Still, even during my first year of teaching (which began when Kyrra was three and a month before Kylene was born), I craved human connection. (Who doesn’t?) And, other than my family, the humans I was around the most, knew the best, and was vulnerable with most often were my students. I’ve been taught that vulnerability is a super power. I think that’s true, because whenever I was vulnerable with my students, my relationship with many of them strengthened.

Some of those strong bonds remain. I taught thousands of students. Most came and went. But a few still need me or simply want me in their lives.

It’s a great gift.

Yet, the Jackie Paper fear (or is it a Puff fear?) hasn’t gone away. Every encounter I have with a former student might be my last. I’m mindful of this. It’s happened.

As sad as that’s been, though, the Jackie Paper possibility that will hurt me most is the day these two outgrow wanting to spend time with their “Gaddy” (me). When they don’t need or want me in their lives like they do now… I don’t like thinking about it.

When it happens, I won’t be surprised.

But that won’t help. I’ll still be as sad as Puff.

Lesson from Puff
As much as it hurts when people choose to leave our lives, we’ve got to cherish the connections we still have. (And be willing to work to keep them)

**I asked Coale and Dwyn to color Puff**

Jaime Richards

Chapter 9: No more Jackie Papers, please

Chapter 10: Florida, Meredith, and Living Organically

Chapter 8: Montel