my sad is

Really good days are those when I am attentive enough to appreciate the mystery of the people around me. Part of my current job is picking up eight high school newcomers from the high school and driving them five blocks to the middle school, where the newcomers program is based, and then driving them back. I don't teach them, so our contact is pretty minimal. Our conversations are basic, with their limited English and my efforts to avoid speaking purely in Spanish with most of them (to push them to learn English, and to not exclude those who aren't Spanish-speaking). But they are a cheery bunch and we usually manage to have positive interactions. One day this week I loaded up the girls and as we started moving, I asked them how they were. Some didn't catch the question; somebody said "fine" from the back of the van. "Are you happy?" I asked emphatically. I got some nods, and a couple of smiles. One of the girls raised her hand. "I am sad." "Sad? Why? Did something happen?" I asked in English before slipping into Spanish to make sure she understood. "¿Algo pasó?" "No. My sad is my brother." Her brother still lives in Guatemala, so she hasn't seem him for several months. Then another girl chirped up from the back. "My sad is Guatemala." Then another voice joined in--"My sad is my grandma." I didn't quite know how to respond, so I taught them to say, "I miss..." But somehow their attempt to speak with incorrect English seemed to convey their feelings better. I am thankful for the simple honesty with which those girls expressed deep and painful truths. I pray that we can all speak our sadness--and our happiness--and be a support for one another each and every day.