In the third grade, I once had a substitute teacher who skipped the conventional classroom lesson and gave us the opportunity to pose anonymous questions to her about anything and everything under the sun. The question I wrote on my strip of paper was: “why do bad things happen in the world?” At eight years old, I watched the news (maybe unbeknownst to my parents) and read enough to know that the world was imperfectly wild, and sometimes, disturbingly scary. I understood that there were bad people out there (and my parents cautioned me about this), but I didn’t really understand why. Apparently, my substitute teacher didn’t know either. When she unfolded my question and read it aloud, she sounded somewhat annoyed and amused, as if she couldn’t be bothered with such a silly question. I genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say. I thought she might impart some big-person wisdom, some insights that our parents were afraid to share, or even real-world advice on how to be a good person. But in a dismissive tone, she answered, “Because the world isn’t perfect and God gave us good people and bad people.” I no longer liked this game of hers. I was disappointed (thanks, Teacher, for humoring a kid). And then I had to sit through a dozen questions about the existence of unicorns, when we’d have recess, and why our teacher was really absent.
Twenty-something years later, I think I should be old enough to answer my question for myself, but in all honesty, I don’t have the answer. And yet, I imagine if I had to answer this question for an eight-year-old student, I would say that bad things happen in the world so we can better recognize the good, try to correct the bad, and propagate kindness instead of hatred. I suppose that’s the answer I would offer for any age, but would I offer that in any circumstance? In the wake of recent tragedies, this question is relevant because so many people are looking for answers. And maybe right now, the answer lies in how we, as a larger community, respond. As one of the victims of the recent Aurora shooting said, “The prayers of strangers do matter.” It matters that we care about our community, that we remember this day, and that we continue to propagate kindness. The Aurora tragedy is not a local tragedy – it is a national tragedy and a human tragedy in every sense of the word. It’s not enough to memorialize the fallen or sentence the guilty, we have to do better. We have to respond through goodness and shrug off indifference. We have to keep asking that question of ourselves and those around us and choose to stand on the side of good. We need to have these difficult conversations with our children, our students and our families. We have to believe that a kind thought matters. A good intention matters. And in this imperfect world that we live in, a prayer for a stranger matters.
