I don’t know if they still do it or not. I’m fortunate enough not to have a teenager permanently entrenched in our house, so with no one in high school, I don’t know if they still publish an anthology of student poetry each year. But they did when my son was a senior, so of course he submitted two great works of art, one of which I am about to quote for you now.

Forbidden Passion

I see the viking with his horned helmet.

I see the walrus with tusks of iron.

I see Napoleon with a teddy bear.

I see Helen Keller talking to Jimmy Carter.

I see Sinead O’Connor with her shaven head.

I see lives wasted away.

I see teachers, wild and uncontrollable.

I see students silent and content with work.

I see Abraham Lincoln skipping through a field

With Sammy Davis Jr. and Troy Aikman.

Forever.

Now you may ask, what in the world does any of that mean, which is exactly what the teachers around HCHS were wondering for days afterwards. While going from class to class, he would hear his literary effort being discussed. Such imagery! Such depth of meaning! What do you suppose this particular line was intended to convey?

Wanna know a secret? It didn’t mean anything. Absolutely nothing. He took the most ridiculous stuff he could think of, strung it all together, put it on paper, and submitted it to see what would happen. And the world not only tried to make sense of it but actually thought they had.

Which brings me to my point. There are things in this life we simply can’t explain because there are no rational explanations for them, like why are you sick all weekend and all better come Monday morning, or why is it when you’re in a hurry you hit every single red light along the way? All rather annoying bumps in the road but still just that—annoying. But what about the sudden death of an infant, the single car accident that steals a teenager or young adult or mother of two, the devastating disease that strikes the kindest, most loving person ever placed on this earth, or the mindless violence that snatches away life as though it had no value other than to be taken? There are no good explanations for much of the sorrow that afflicts us, and it serves no useful purpose to continually demand some rational, logical reason when there is no rational, logical reason to be had. To do so leaves you stuck, mired in grief, longing to understand that which cannot be understood.

There comes a time when, if we are to survive and eventually thrive, we must look beyond the very human need for control—and that’s really what our need for understanding is—and focus on adjusting to life as it has become. And that’s hard. That’s really, really hard because we believe that understanding a tragedy will somehow make it better when all too often the “explanation” only serves to deepen the anger or remorse or depression that is consuming our lives. It is far better to focus on acceptance and adjustment than to try and figure out why Abe Lincoln is skipping through a field with Sammy Davis, Jr. and Troy Aikman.

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