Philip was still tugging away at his shirt; you could see his mind was now computing as his eyes were darting back and forth in thought. This was a lot of new information to take in. His face contorted with every passing thought. Where does it go? What file? Under what document? I could see he was getting more anxious with each thought so I asked him something else...
“Okay, Philip, let me ask you a question which might help you sort this out. As we left the office, what did you think Mr. Bosco thought about you?”
Philip looked at Robert and sort of twisted his face. Then he finally spoke out loud the thoughts that had always been only his thoughts for as long as he could remember—the thoughts that he trained himself to think.
“Well, I know I almost dropped his chair on the floor...He was probably thinking I’m so fat that I can’t even get out of a chair properly. Probably hoping I didn’t leave my gross sweat all over his office and...I probably disgusted him because when he shook your hand, you probably noticed he couldn’t even touch mine. ”
“Okay, Philip...Let me tell you what I saw and heard. Mr. Bosco says you are the best technical student at the school, I’m in trusting hands with you, that you are indispensable to his office staff and when he went to pat you supportively on the back, well, you went into turbo drive and jettisoned yourself out of that room before he could even touch you. So what’s the truth? Who saw what really happened, Philip?”
And then Philip did something that very few of us ever do when confronted with the truth. Instead of defensively denying or running away from it, he became what I call ‘the hero of his life’—that same hero we see in every fairy tale we knew as kids.
He didn’t even pause for a split second. He just looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “Can you help me? Can you help me change?”
“I’d be glad to help you in any way I can, Philip. But you have to know something first and I want you to hear this. Don’t just let your brain hear it, but let your heart listen and feel the compliment I’m about to give you. What you just did was one of the most spectacular displays of leadership I have ever seen! You just found out you may be doing stuff that’s wrong and bad for you and others too...and what did you do?”
He looked stunned. “I’m sorry Mr. Sanchez. I’m sorry. What did I do?”
“You asked for help. Only the bravest, strongest of leaders have the courage to ask for help, Philip. So do you want to start that change right now?”
I remember Philip nodding his head. And then I held both my arms open wide to give him a big hug but right away, I could see the look of terror in his eyes, so I said, “Okay, I get it; hugging may be too much of a leap for now. How about you and I shake hands then?”
Philip quickly wiped his hand on his T-shirt and hesitantly reached out. I took his hand. And I remember having this crazy little thought as I shook his hand—how people have shy hands, and Philip’s hands were about as shy as they came. Because his hand was limp, I put my other hand over both of our hands to feel some connection.
“Thank you, Philip, thank you!”
“For what, Mr. Sanchez?”
“For trusting me to help you! Oh and also for all the work you are going to be doing with me.”
“So, how do I start or prepare for that?” Philip asked, as if this was a course and he wanted to know the curriculum we were going to study.
“Well, Philip...Okay, what kind of stuff do you like to read?”
Philip suddenly looked embarrassed and then said, “Well, you might think it’s kind of kiddish.”
“Philip, I just read Dora the Explorer a couple years back, so if you can beat that for kiddish, try me.”
“Well, okay, Harry Potter.”
“Great series! I didn’t read all the books but I read the first two. What is it you like about them?”
“I don’t know...I’m just sort of interested in that world ‘cause...Well, I guess ‘cause the world has...I don’t know—Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m lying—I do. It’s ‘cause there’s magic!”
“Great reason! And if you saw yourself in Harry’s world, who would you be?”
“Neville Longbottom,” Philip said without hesitation.
“Hang on, isn’t he that timid kid in Harry and his friends’ room at that school?”
“Yeah.”
“Why him, Philip? I mean, he doesn’t really do anything, does he?”
Then Philip’s eyes glistened. “That’s ‘cause you only read the first two books. You have to see how he changes in the end. This kid that nobody really notices...I mean, they all think he is kind of...well, a nobody. But without Neville, Harry’s as good as dead. Actually, the whole world would be dead without him!”
It wasn’t hard to see why Philip liked Neville Longbottom and I guess after being called names like “blubber butt,” the name “Longbottom” was maybe something he identified with.
“So he’s kind of the hero of the story?” I asked.
“Yeah, no one expected it...I mean, not even me.”
“You know, Philip, you just reminded me of this old saying by another British writer named Chesterton. It goes something like this: ‘Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist; children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.’ So if you want to be a hero, Philip, try slaying some of your dragons.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Slay all your negative thoughts, Philip, all those dragons breathing fire in your head every time you see someone and think they are thinking bad things about you. Slay them! You know what? I got an idea: try something real simple just for the next week. Every time you see someone in the hall or on the street and you have one of those negative dragon thoughts, take a mental note of it. At the same time, note if they actually said something negative or reacted negatively to you. And then see how many times you were right about that person. What did they do? Were they actually calling you names or shunning you. Make a mental note of whether or not they actually did anything bad to you.”
“And that will help me?”
“Just try it out, Philip, okay? Look, I have to go now but let’s meet on Friday right after school to go over the plan of how we should start shooting the workshops. I’ll be going into the leadership class a week from today, next Monday, alright?”
“Should I write these notes down?”
“Yeah, we’ll plan it out on Friday and you can take notes then.”
“No, Mr. Sanchez. I mean those other notes...You know, the dragon thoughts I have.”
Wow, this kid is really serious! He might actually do this, I thought.
“Sure, Philip, write it down if you can, anything that will help you.”
Robert held out his hand again to say goodbye, but right at that moment, Mr. Bosco opened his office door and walked passed them.
“So everything worked out, Mr. Sanchez? Are you sure Philip will be enough for what you need?”
“Yep, he’ll do great.”
As I started to walk away I noticed a little of Harry’s magic world coming to life. Mr. Bosco started to walk away from Philip but as he did, he said, “Thanks, Philip, I knew I could count on you.” Then he patted Philip on the back, and Philip didn’t move!!! He still looked miserably uncomfortable, but he didn’t move.
Philip and I did meet that Friday and we went over what was the least intrusive way for him to film the workshop. He was all business at our meeting, asking me questions and taking notes on his computer. I didn’t ask him anything about slaying his dragon thoughts. I just waited for him to bring it up, but he didn’t say a word about it. Then, at the end of our discussion, Mr. Bosco came into the office to say goodbye to both of us and he shook my hand. Then Philip ACTUALLY SHOOK HIS HAND! He did wipe it on his T-shirt first, but he surprised me because he was the one that initiated the handshake.
The next Monday was amazing! I did have a little fear of how the students would react to being filmed and having Philip moving around in the sma
ll classroom. But the leadership class was a joy to work with. They seemed quite committed and even with someone of Philip’s size moving around the room with a camera, not one student blinked an eye or made a comment. Philip was incredibly sensitive to these kids sharing and baring their souls to each other. He seemed to know exactly when someone needed him to back away or when they didn’t want the camera on them at all. It was a sight to see how he moved with that camera—with such agility and grace, like a real professional!
After all the students left, Philip hooked his camera to a monitor to show Robert some of the day’s footage. He asked if he could show him something else first. He pulled out his own laptop and opened up a document he had titled “Neville’s Dragons.” The page opened up, displaying what looked to be a very complex, coloured graph and statistics.
“Look, Mr. Sanchez.” He pointed at the screen. “I did what you said. I took notes.”
I looked at the screen, but all I could see was what looked to me to be a mathematical equation with notes. Philip had charted each and every person he passed for the last week. Names were included, if he knew them, or if not, descriptions of the person. Beside each name or description was a time and a location. There was colour coding as well, which he explained to me...
“Red, I use that colour to show when I felt someone was thinking bad stuff about me. Green was for when they said nothing to me. Yellow was used when they looked at me. Blue was where they actually said something bad to me. Purple was when they said “Hi” or nodded. Pink is where they didn’t look or notice me.”
Philip explained his chart in such a detached, scientific way. As if he were presenting his thesis—you wouldn’t think he was talking about himself!
“Oh, and I added something else, aqua. That’s for when I felt scared. So, as you can see, Mr. Sanchez, in the first four days I met or passed three hundred and ninety-three people. Please note there may have been more but these were the ones I charted. Now, look: there are two hundred and eighty-seven red marks, which means I think you’re right, I’m like you were. Because seventy-three percent of people I passed...well, I thought they were thinking bad things about me. Okay, out of three hundred and ninety-three kids, there were three hundred and sixty-one ‘green kids’ that said nothing to me; hundred and twenty-three ‘yellow kids’, where I thought maybe they looked at me; two hundred and seventy pink, where they didn’t look or notice; and thirty-two blue, where they said something bad...but actually, if you take out Kevin Forester, who has been...well, you know, not nice, it is only seven blue.”
“What about the aqua—being scared?”
“Well, twenty...but again, seventeen of those are Kevin Forrester.”
“Wow...You recorded all that? How on earth could you keep count?”
Philip was just about to explain when Robert stopped him.
“No, I’m sorry. That’s not important right now. I’d really like to know how this makes you feel, Philip?”
Philip got so excited. “Wait, wait, that’s just the first three days! Look at how it changed in the next three days.” Philip closed that document and opened another.
“Look, Mr. Sanchez, look! The overall number is a bit down, but that’s because it was only two days of school and then the weekend, and I didn’t really go out. But look, look! Out of two hundred and thirteen people, only one hundred and six red! One hundred and six! Do you know what that means? Well, after I did the chart for the first three days I thought, ‘I gotta try to stop thinking everyone’s thinking bad stuff about me,’ and look, I was eighty-eight percent and then, in only two days after, I went to forty-nine percent. I bettered it by almost thirty-nine percent!”
“So how do you feel, Philip?”
“No wait, Mr. Sanchez. Remember, I had thirty-two blue, people saying or doing bad things to me? Well, look, Kevin Forrester wasn’t at school the last two days. Look!” He said this as if he was stranded on the ocean and had just seen land or he had discovered the cure for some incurable disease.
“Look! Two blue. Two blue! And I don’t even care about that guy. He hates everybody.”
Robert smiled. “Well, Neville, I think you found your Voldemort.”
Philip laughed—a real, genuine laugh! It’s amazing how a simple laugh can be so inspiring!
“Voldemort, but we shouldn’t say his name, Mr. Sanchez! Hahaha...I’m just kidding! That’s a good one, Mr. Sanchez. Yeah, you know what? I think I noticed that when Kevin Forrester is around, he makes the other kids turn blue...you know, in the chart...say mean things. Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Sanchez, I’m really taking your time, right? Sorry. Okay, let’s look at some of the stuff I shot today.”
“Philip, Philip, don’t be sorry. I’m so—man, I don’t know what to say to you. I’m so impressed. I think it is amazing what you have done.”
“Thanks.”
I could see he was feeling a little embarrassed, so I let him start showing me some of the day’s workshop footage.
Philip switched on the monitor. This was really exciting for me because I had never seen one of my workshops on film, only photographs; I was so pleased with what Philip had shot. His creative angles, zooms, and some quirky camera effects—as if it was shot for the six o’clock news! At first, he showed me bits and pieces and then fast forwarded to something else. But after about ten minutes, he stopped on this one girl and let it play much longer than the rest. She was talking to her group about how a friend of hers tried to kill herself two weeks ago and how that friend was saved by this mysterious stranger who called himself “P.K. Phoenix” on Facebook.
As soon as she said that, Philip froze the screen. He bowed his head and bit his lip as if he was about to say something. Then he rolled both of his hands in his T-shirt and started furiously wiping his hands.
“What’s wrong, Philip?” He didn’t bring his head up, but he lifted his eyes to Robert. “Philip, what is the matter?”
He took a laboured breath, released his hands and in a very timid and shy voice he asked, “Can I show you something?”
I nodded and put my hand on his shoulder. But I let go as soon as I felt him stiffen up. He grabbed his laptop and logged on to Facebook. He opened a page and in place of the usual profile picture, there was a colourful drawing of a majestic bird in flight with wings of flame. Beside the picture was the name “P.K. Phoenix.”
Philip looked up at me and pointed at the screen. “That’s him.”
“Wow, this is the guy that saved that girl’s friend? And he’s a bird on fire?”
“No, that’s a phoenix. It’s a mythical fire bird.”
“Thanks, Philip. But where is this guy’s photo?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t have one. But listen, Mr. Sanchez, I have to tell you this: She’s lying. It wasn’t ‘a friend’ who was going to kill herself, it was her!”
“And you know this? How, Philip? How do you know this?”
“Okay, I don’t want you to think I’m strange or anything...”
Robert smiled to himself, thinking that it was going to be hard not to think of Philip as a little strange, given the incredible colour-coded chart of his thoughts he had created.
“You see, I follow these chat lines, you know, with Twitter and stuff. Well, two weeks ago, Megan...Oh, that’s the girl’s name there, Mr. Sanchez. Megan Moregenstein...” he pointed at the frozen screen, “and you see, Megan was going out with some guy from university. They thought they were destined to be forever together but she had just caught him with another girl.”
Robert must have looked at Philip with a questioning look because he got all apologetic.
“Oh, please, Mr. Sanchez, don’t think I’m some freak spying on her...I’m not! I know all this ‘cause she wrote it on her blog.”
“That’s okay, Philip. Go on.”
“Well, she was writing how she didn’t want to live anymore. She said she had been mortally betrayed, that the pain was beyond anything she could live with. Anyway, she wrote that she went to her
parents’ medicine cabinet and pulled out a bunch of pills...Wrote she didn’t know what they were, but she was taking them...But the weird thing, Mr. Sanchez, was that most of the kids’ writings to her, well, they weren’t telling her to stop. A couple kids cared and wrote ‘Think about it’, ‘Wait ‘til tomorrow you’ll feel better’...but most...most of them just told her, ‘Yeah, go for it...do it,’ telling her that they would do the same, and ‘The world’s a fucking dying place’ and...oh, sorry, Mr. Sanchez.”
“That’s okay, Philip, I’ve heard people swear before. Go on.”
“Okay, well, she starts taking the pills and, like, she started bragging about what she was doing. She started to write the name that was on the bottle and how many she’s taking. It started to become like a game and kids were writing to her, telling her they thought she was brave and that they wish they had the courage to kill themselves. They kept writing and urging her to take more pills.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, that’s when P.K. Phoenix started writing to her. He told her to stop but she wouldn’t listen. The other people writing were telling him to go away. Some said that she was a hero for what she was doing. And some were getting impatient and saying things like, ‘Die already,’ and, ‘Quit talking about it and just do it.’ Some said she was worthless and who needs anything worthless? We throw those things away. So she started getting more and more hurt. Her responses became, well, they sounded real desperate. And this P.K. Phoenix started telling her all about what he thinks is worthless and what a hero is. And he started writing this story about when he was in Africa where he saw all these kids without parents—kids raising kids, kids raising each other up. He told her how these kids have nothing, absolutely nothing! They maybe eat once a day and they live these lives that seem so hopeless. And then he asked her, what worth does she think their lives have?”
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