Last year as part of my eleventh grade Bible class, we spent
a few weeks discussing healthy relationships, conflict management, family
dynamics and so on. I thought it would be helpful to have them construct
genograms, which are similar to detailed family trees that document relational
patterns within a family. I hoped this activity would help unveil some of the
negative norms that are commonly accepted in the local community. And it did.
The students learned a lot from looking at their families of
origin and the patterns that were evident from generation to generation. They
realized that there’s something freeing in understanding one’s family on a
deeper level.
There were a few things I was not fully prepared for when
the kids turned in their projects. One was the sheer size of their families.
Countless uncles, aunts and cousins covered the corners of their posters. Somehow
it seems like everybody is related to everybody else.
Another surprise was the untold stories of brokenness
summarized succinctly in their diagrams. I felt such a heavy burden as I graded
their genograms, aware for the first time of the depth of suffering some of
these kids have experienced – divorce, early and unnatural family deaths, abuse
of all kinds, men with multiple families, neglect, teen pregnancies, and so on.
Too heavy a load for such young shoulders. My heart ached.
But there was one final surprise for me in this genogram
activity. While reviewing their documents, I noticed that two of my students
had written that they themselves had children. What?! My students have babies? How could this be? I
had never heard about this before. And from past conversations with our
school’s administration, I had been sternly told that any students who became
teenage parents were to be kicked out of the school.
So what was I to do? Tell the administration? Talk to the
students? Pretend I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary on their genograms?
I decided my best course of action was to have a gentle
one-on-one conversation with each of the two guys who had included a baby in
their genogram. First was Ricardo.
“Hey Ricardo, can I talk to you a minute? I noticed
something interesting on your genogram, and I was wondering if you wanted to
tell me more about it. I saw you included a son on your genogram. Do you have a
son?”
“Aww, yes, Miss… I do. He lives with his mother in my
hometown, about an hour away. I see him whenever we have a break from school,
and I am a good father to him. I bring him toys and clothes and help pay the
bills.”
“Oh, okay. That’s alright. I know that sometimes things
happen. How old is he?” I say, hoping my shock and judgeyness aren’t too
obvious.
“He’s a year old. He’s really cute.” Ricardo pauses. Then
bursts out laughing. “Ah, just kidding, Miss! Hahaha! I don’t have a son! I’m
just kidding you!”
Relief floods over me. My heart rate returns to normal.
“Ricardo, you’re such a punk. But I’m glad you were joking. Why did you write
that on your genogram?”
“A few of us wanted to see whether you were actually going
to read through the genograms, so they dared me to put a baby in there to see
if you’d notice.”
“Oh, okay. Well, that’s kinda mean since I’ve been stressing
about it all weekend, but I guess you proved your point. Now please don’t have
any babies for at least five years.”
I proceed to pull aside Student With Supposed Baby #2. I
say, “Hey man, I talked to Ricardo. The joke’s off. He told me about your
genogram test and the fake baby.”
Baby Daddy #2 says, “What? What are you talking about?”
Oh, shoot. Quick and complete change in tone needed. “Nah,
never mind, forget it… Hey, I noticed that you had included a baby girl on your
genogram. Do you have a child?”
“Um, yes, I do. She’s six months old and she lives with her
mom. I’m not with her mom anymore, but I see my daughter a lot.”
“Wow, okay. What’s her name? Do you any pictures of her?”
“Her name’s Victoria, and I do have pictures of her, but not
here.”
“Well, I’d love to see her. Or even meet her sometime. If I
can help with anything, please let me know.”
“Miss, I’m going to be a good father. You don’t have to
worry. I will provide for her.”
“Great, I’m really glad. Kids need their fathers in their
lives.”
But who am I to tell this to him? His father left seven or
eight years ago, after he accidentally shot and killed his brother-in-law one
drunken night. The shame was too much for him to bear, so he skipped town and
never came back. And so my student, Baby Daddy #2, was left with his mother and
his brother to fend for themselves.
I recently met little Victoria. My student stopped by to
drop something off at my house, and there she was, firmly planted in his arms.
She is a gorgeous little thing, eleven months old and full of dark curls and
shy smiles. And she clearly adores her young father. But it was kind of a
jolting experience. This is my seventeen-year-old student’s baby. He’s still a
baby himself. With no father to imitate. What will their future be?
And it’s not just their future that I worry about. In fact,
I think the town slogan of La Unión should be: Babies Raising Babies. It’s so
sad. I hope that my presence here will have some small impact, breaking negative
relational patterns in this special place. But I know my efforts are tainted
with arrogance and lack of understanding.
So with helpless hands thrown in the air, I again place this
town, and my students, and little Victoria, and all the babies raising babies,
back into the hands of the Father who has never left them, trusting in his
all-knowing parental wisdom and hoping for his restoration of loving families,
all throughout the mountainside.
