Opinion : A precious 4-word promise...

“Out of the mouths of babes.”

“And a little child shall lead them.”

It amazes and inspires us, when in the toughest of times, some of the best ideas for handling these painful days come from children.

The death this month of 11-year-old J.R. Clapp of rural Vinton is another one of those tough times that have come way too often to this area in the past couple of years.

Something was missing in my stories about J.R. and his funeral. I wrote what I could about him, and I came across some sweet and touching stories. I wrote about those, but there was just something left out, something left unsaid, in my words.

I found out exactly what that something was on Monday night, and it came not from the “mouth of a babe,” but from the pen of one.

J.R.’s classmates in Mrs. Lorenzen’s fifth grade class at Shellsburg wrote messages to him to accompany his art work for a special display during the 5th grade concert night.

Among those messages was a four-word promise, a simple vow to honor a friend in the very best way possible.

Those four words were: “I’ll sing your solo.”

J.R. was scheduled to sing a verse of the 1977 Harry Belafonte song “Turn the World Around,” which passed on a lesson the famous performer had learned from a story-teller in the African country of Guinea.

Part of that song says:

Do you know who I am
Do I know who you are
See we one another clearly
Do we know who we are

But a week before the concert, J.R.’s classmates arrived at school to learn that he had died suddenly from his congenital heart condition. A tearful week with parents and teachers led up to the concert, as J.R.’s friends and fellow Scouts looked for ways to honor and remember him.

I read many beautiful words about J.R. on that board Monday night. There was one note that used the letters of his last name as a list of five things for which J.R. would be remembered: Caring, Laughter, Awesome (which J.R. was), Please (which he always said) and Pizazz (of which he had much). Classmates wrote of his friendliness, his smile, his ability to cheer up anyone who was having a bad day, and his peppy happiness.

Yet that four-word promise, and what it meant, was what echoed most as I drove home from Shellsburg: “I’ll sing your solo.”

I imagined what it meant to the child from whose pencil that promise came:

“I will stand where you would have stood, wishing with all of my heart that you were still here beside me. I will fight back the tears and face the crowd and try to be brave and smile as I sing a song that I know now was about you. I will do my best…. for you.”

And that promise is something many people will keep, not just in a concert, but every single day.

There’s a J.R.-shaped emptiness in the 5L classroom at Shellsburg, like the one in his home, and the one in Troop 47, where the Boy Scouts had welcomed him after he finished his successful years as a Cub Scout.

And in all of those places, soon you will see something that makes you think of the things that J.R. would have done. There are songs he would have song, words he would have said, a smile he would have shared, a hand he would have offered.

And now: It’s up to the friends who knew him best and loved him most to “sing his solo.” Someday soon, something will happen and a young person will think of J.R. And then he or she will remember J.R. Then he or she wil say or do something to turn the world around, to help someone see more clearly who they are, and what they can do.

And to J.R.’s friends, I say: When that moment comes, and you think about J.R. and what he would say, or do – say it. Do it.

Be the kid who makes someone else smile. Be the person who is brave enough to stand in front of the Thanksgiving crowd at church and discuss what you are thanking God for giving you. Be the friend to a kid – or an adult – who obviously needs one. Tease J.R.’s dad. Hug his mom. Say, “Hey, I miss him too,” when someone is sad, and laugh with them as you remember J.R. Find an awesome hat like the one J.R. was so proud of wearing and inspire someone else to wear one with you. Make a crown for a teacher, to let him or her know you appreciate how much they help you. Remember the words you wrote about J.R., and try to make what you miss the most about him part of your everyday living.

J.R.’s family had already paid for him to go to Summer Camp with Troop 47. When offered a refund, J.R.’s parents John and Tina said no. They asked that the money be used to send another boy to camp. Now the “Campership” fund that will help other boys go to Scout Camp will be named after J.R. Clapp.  At Shellsburg, the yearbook will include a special page in memory of J.R. – who had been working on that project.

Be that generous. Be that involved.

You will be sad, of course, when you see J.R.’s empty chair. That’s OK. But after a moment of sorrow, think of something funny J.R. did, and smile. Think of something nice you remember J.R. doing, and do something like that for someone around you.

I’d like to share one more thought for you Scouts and students who knew J.R. best – something I have learned decades after being in your grade. You will, indeed, remember J.R. forever. Someday, in the year 2050 or later, someone will share something on Facebook – or whatever other resource technology makes possible then – and you will remember J.R.

And you will smile, and tell your friends or your wife or even your children, all about J.R. and his smile and that hat.

And I bet some of you will even remember his song.