I entered my 6th grade class and smelt a combination of old books and the rubber of new sneakers. I looked around and saw some smiling familiar faces, but what drew my attention was a short boy who had already gravitated to the back corner of the room, by himself. Being a loud and talkative girl, I walked over and offered up my hand for a simple handshake. He was taken aback, and didn’t say anything at all. He just gave me a look, and I shrugged and walked away. Some days I would forget he was in my class, because nobody had ever heard him talk.
As the year went by I felt like this boy, Hammad, should have opened up to somebody, or at least started talking. He wasn’t considered a new kid anymore, but day in and day out he was alone in the classroom, alone in the lunchroom, and alone at recess.
The brisk air on the first day back from thanksgiving recess was sharp, and Hammad didn’t have a jacket. All the students In the 6th grade poured outside, racing to the jungle gym, trying to get first in like for four square, and then there was Hammad. He waited patiently by the door, looking a bit cold and ready to go inside. I walked up to my teacher who was watching all the kids play, and asked if I could take Hammad back to our classroom for the rest of our time outside. She immediately agreed, and I walked over. “Hammad, our teacher said we could go inside, if you want.” I recall asking. He looked at me, surprised, and headed inside. I spent about 15 minutes talking to him, not getting much in return. The next day, I sat with him at lunch. Eventually a few of my friends tagged along, and he started to talk a bit more. He was still very quiet, but Hammad did open up.
Seventh grade started as quickly as sixth grade ended, but this year Hammad was in a different class. I looked for him at lunch, but by the time I found him, he was already surrounded by a different group of people, laughing and talking about how repulsive the mixed vegetables looked. Smiling to myself, I walked to a different table. Hammad came up to me after he threw out his tray, and smiled. All he said was, “Thank you”. It was simple and short, but it taught me a lesson I will never forget.
Hammad was quiet, but he wasn’t incapable of having friends. He taught me that sometimes, people need an extra push to get to where they want to be. I realized something about myself from Hammad. All I wanted to do with my life is help people, and make them feel like the best version of themselves that they can be. There are so many people in the world similar to Hammad. So many flowers, waiting to bloom, that just need an extra spray of water to get to where they want to be.
