Badges of Courage

Yesterday I told one of my classes Haley’s story. It was the first time I’d done that with a group of students,
and part of it felt wrong. Maybe it felt wrong because we were supposed to be discussing
the Red Badge of Courage. It was a Friday though, and half of the class was gone anyways.

Maybe I told Haley’s story because Red Badge of Courage brings me back to her every time I read it. The novel is one of the most realistic yet difficult coming of age stories I’ve read. It is about being young and stupid in a space that distributes real consequences. Henry is young, narcissistic, and entirely consumed with his appearance of bravery. None of these adjectives describe Haley, but in many ways I feel that eighteen year old Haley was the embodiment of one Henry longed to be.

Yesterday, Haley's story came spilling out of me faster than I could catch it; I realized it is difficult to tell the
story halfway. Their eyes were more captivated than I’d seen them all year. Most of the girls grimaced, buried
their heads in the arms, and looked away when I shared the details of Haley’s injury. They all looked at me
with eyes that spoke of thought.

What would happen if that was my best friend? What if I was a teammate? Why is the coach still there?
What if I was Haley? Would I surrender and take a semester off?
Would I try to push through the pain in an effort to prove myself to everyone who loves me but also has
expectations?

One of the girls simply said, “That is just so hard. I mean, it’s life changing.”

“Yeah, yeah it was,” was all I could say.

I knew I'd lost control of the story when it took a cathartic turn when I shared I often go back in memory and
wonder why I didn’t do something to get her help sooner. All of the students shook their heads.
One said, “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” I said. “I know,” I silently thought again in echo.

It was the Goodwill Hunting moment for which I'd prepared through countless hours of education professional
development, but it was not as expected.

Maybe I hate Henry Flemming because I’d like to think I’ve outgrown the way he acts and why, but I haven’t.
I still want to be a hero, but I am too consumed with thoughts of my own glory for that to become reality.

I didn’t tell Haley’s story yesterday because I thought it was a great way to share my wisdom. I told it
because I needed them to know that growing up means meeting machine like battles that you can’t control.
Sometimes things work out and bravery ensues, other times you leave alive but altered.