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Photo taken by Doug Robichaud


This was going to be the day that studying paid off. Up until now Calculus had been a big ball of Suck. She paid attention in class. She studied for hours the night before the tests. She even made flash cards for the tricky stuff. An idea that her dad gave her. And yes, they did get her some funny looks. But she thought maybe, just maybe, they might work one of these times. But they hadn’t yet and her faith in her dad’s study techniques was waning quickly.

Today’s test was multiple choice and she would know how she did by the end of the day. Finishing a few minutes early, she decided to take out her journal. To work on her poems. Or as her friends, not really, called them, her feelings journal. Always making sure to put feelings and journal in between air quotes. She was cool with it. But, if she was being honest. It did hurt sometimes.

Making sure to check her test score online before going home was something she debated with herself. But, in the end she told herself that this time was going to be different. She had written the url right inside her notebook. Just like her teacher had told them. She always did what she was told. Figured it might one day be worth it.

Her password was always her younger brother Derek. They argued a lot, but in the end he was her best friend and she was his. Although neither would ever admit it.


She knew that it was one of the lowest scores in the class because everyone on the bus was talking about their scores and she had yet to hear one lower than 57%. It was then that she realized that she may in fact have received the lowest score in the class.


She had to remember to pack her shorts and tennis shoes today for “Lifetime Sports”. The name of the class always made her laugh because she knew that this would be the only time in her life that would ever play any of them. But it was a requirement to graduate and so she did her best. And while her best was only enough to get her a C at midterm, that was all she needed to pass the class.

On the way to the gym her friend Sarah came to her in a panic. She had forgotten her tennis shoes today and she could not afford to get another zero. Sarah don’t stress it. Just wear mine. I hate the class anyway! Her foot was a half-size bigger than Sarah’s, but they would do.

As she sat on the bleachers watching everyone else try to score a goal. Or whatever it was they were doing. She wrote in her journal. She didn’t care that the teacher gave her a hard time or that her classmates didn’t even seem to know she existed. In fact, several times they just dribbled the ball right around her. As if she were a cone or a piece of sports equipment.


Oh great she thought. Sarah stayed home today because she was able to trick her parents into thinking she was sick. Now who would she sit with at lunch? Her least favorite time of the day. The time of the day when she felt like all eyes were on her.

She was able to find a spot at the end of one of the long tables. The “forbidden tables” as most kids called them. This is where the kids with low or no self-confidence could sit and be together. Funny thing was that even when they were together, they were not together.

Lunch could not be over soon enough. When she stood up to go dump her tray she tripped and almost fell. Luckily she caught herself in time. She waited for the laughs or the sarcastic claps. But there was nothing. Hello people! I just tripped and almost made a fool of myself and nothing!? Of course this was all in her head. She wouldn’t dare say them out loud. But not a word, a laugh or a look from anybody?


Since the bell just had just rung she knew she had exactly 6 minutes. Plenty of time to go the bathroom and then take the back hallway to “World History”. As usual it was packed with girls jockeying for position in front of the mirror. That was one thing she never had to worry about.

She hated looking at herself in the mirror. Didn’t look at herself in the mirror. Avoided walking past mirrors. Her mom and dad said she was pretty. But they had to. She knew that. Her little brother called her butt-face when he was mad at her. But any other time he would call her bwootiful. That was how he said it.

She was going to miss these mispronunciations. Four year olds aren’t always easy to live with, but they are cute. She had promised him that she would Facetime him next year. It was the only thing that would get him to stop crying when he found out she was going away next year. That night they must have Facetimed each other 20 times from every room in the house. She hoped that he wouldn’t forget her. Replace her.


She almost didn’t make it to school today. She told her parents she didn’t feel well. Which was true. Her stomach did hurt. But it hurt everyday that she had to go to school. So when her dad said she could stay home if she wanted, she almost did. But something told her not to.

She made it to “Creative Writing” just in time and the only seat left was the one in the front. They had to see me now she thought. But she knew they still didn’t. Most kids probably didn’t even know her name. But that was about to change.

When the teacher asked for volunteers to share, several hands went up. If she had to hear about someone’s else’s summer plans she was going to throw up. That’s not creative, she thought. And it definitely wasn’t writing. But who was she to judge? She had never once volunteered. Why would she? Nobody even knew she existed, why would they care about what she had to say?

And then.

She had no idea why.

She raised her hand.

To share.

She had been working on something in her Feelings Journal.

But she wasn’t ready to share it yet. Especially not with them.

And yet there she was. At the front of the room. Reading. And it felt good. It felt real good.

So she began…

Shattered glass

What once was whole

can longer be.

But don’t look away.

For while I am sharp,

and jagged

and dangerous.

I have potential

to be so much more.

Who hasn’t been broken?


Broken into a million pieces?

To the point where you wish someone would just sweep you up.

And throw you away.

So that you could start again.

Start over.

But look!

That piece over there.

And this piece right here.

They can be the start of something new.

Something more beautiful than before.

Something stronger.

For what was once shattered can never be broken again.

We have all been broken.

Haven’t we?

Well guess what?

That’s okay.

It’s O-K.

And at that moment all eyes were locked on her.

And no one made a sound.

And no one moved, except to silently nod in agreement.

It was as if she held them by a string. And as she continued to read, she walked up and down the aisles. Handing each of her classmates two pieces of broken glass.

Different shapes.

Different sizes.

Different colors.

And now it is time for you to take your pieces. One you may keep. Decide what you will do with it. Or not. The decision is yours. But remember. It can never be broken again. Just knowing should give you strength. Will give you strength.

And before they knew it she was out in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity.

They missed her already.

How could that be?

They didn’t even know her name.

But those seconds, minutes, hours…

she was gone,

were the worst of their week.

When she came back in the room she was carrying a giant piece of poster board paper. The kind that was used for middle school science fair projects. On it was the word POTENTIAL handwritten in giant bubble letters. She then proceeded to smear glue on each letter, such that it dripped onto the floor. The entire class had been mesmerized since the beginning of her poem.

What next? Well now they would have flown if she had told them to fly. And as they left. One by one. They placed their pieces of glass on the poster board, such that by the time the last student placed their piece of glass on the board there was room for just one more.


She could not believe what had just happened. Up until today she had essentially been invisible. or if not invisible, she had been purposefully ignored.

But today.

For five minutes.

School was fun.

And that made her smile.

And that made her realize that she had potential.

And that was enough to get her through all the bad days.

 My Week





Today was awesome!

Saturday and Sunday?

Who knows? They have potential. And that’s all that mattered anymore.


And while nobody ever talked about that day. She would never forget. The way they held on her every word. The way they carefully placed their piece of broken glass on the poster board. She kept it in her bedroom. Just to remind her on bad days. Of what a day could be.

She didn’t have more friends now and she still spent most of her free time writing in her Feelings Journal. But every once in a while. She thought. But wasn’t certain. That she saw the pieces of broken glass. Casually being twirled in a hand as if it were a good luck charm. Or taped to the inside of a locker. And she could never prove it. But she swears that the homecoming queen. The one that seemed to have everything together. Had her piece of glass made into a necklace. Just the thought of this made her smile.

Never again would she allow herself keep to score. She finally realized that life was not a game to win or lose. Life, she now knew, was about reaching the unreachable. Creating what no one thought could be created. And in her case, writing what no one thought could be written.

She fell asleep that night with a smile on her face. Hopeful of what the next day might bring. Because while she realized there were no guarantees, she now believed in each day’s potential. And that was enough.

5 comments on “Potential

  1. J Dye says:


  2. dashthebook says:

    I love your venture into fiction…

    You have such a beautiful gift of gently unveiling truths, and helping us see the beauty in brokeness.

  3. Beautiful, Jon. Hopeful that every child can feel that word “potential” in their bodies as their days pass by.

  4. Ben Gilpin says:

    WOW! First, Jon I love the new design of your website/blog. Your pictures really entice people to dive deeper. Second, your last two fictional pieces have me asking, “When are you going to write a book?”

    I loved Potential. So many people are misunderstood. This story inspires individuals to stand up and be yourself. We all have amazing qualities and unique stories to share. I hope adults understand the importance of noticing ALL kids, and I hope kids realize the importance of acceptance.

    Loved it! Keep em’ coming Jon.

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