Jackie and John-Paul

Per an informal, likely inexact poll of classmates I passed in the hallway of my high school this morning, teenage girls receive five or more hugs weekly. Dicey data aside, the point remains that hugs, though hugely appreciated, tend to be insignificant amid the bustle of our busy lives. Sometimes, though, a simple embrace has the power to change everything, which I learned thanks to a bright-eyed, gap-toothed Burmese five-year-old named John-Paul.

I met John-Paul last year through Refugee Resources, a Dallas-based nonprofit dedicated to aiding young refugees’ English literacy. The first time I walked from my car to the Refugee Resources office in the heart of the Vickery Meadow neighborhood, home to thousands of Dallas’s refugees, I smelled mouthwatering aromas of Ethiopian, Rwandan, Burmese, and Bhutanese suppers. I heard children’s delighted shouts as they sprinted between apartment buildings playing tag. I watched parents returning from work, greeting spouses and neighbors in a variety of native languages. Before even stepping foot into Refugee Resources or knowing John-Paul, I knew this place would change my life.

Soon after, John-Paul and I were introduced at Reading Circle, a Refugee Resources tutoring program. Standing no taller than three feet and hesitant to leave his older sister’s side, John-Paul barely looked at me or raised his voice above a mumble during our initial session. He sat far away from me, nearly unresponsive to my attempts to make conversation or show him a beginner book. For several weeks, I worried I’d never break through to the wary kindergartener.

With time, however, John-Paul began to open up, sharing his love of gym class, telling me about his family, and sweetly asking if we could pray together. He started to enthusiastically reciprocate my high fives and giggled as I showed him how to do an exploding fist bump. Every Monday, I walked John-Paul from his apartment to Refugee Resources, helped him through new sounds, faster reading, and comprehension, and walked him back home, and he became more comfortable and confident with each session. Together, we celebrated John-Paul’s victories; I beamed as brightly as he did when he pronounced “ourselves” perfectly on the first try, and I swelled with pride when he ascended two reading levels after just two months. The John-Paul sitting beside me months after we first met was a self-assured young student, decidedly different than the boy clinging to his sister months prior.

John-Paul’s transformation manifested when, at our last May session, I proudly presented John-Paul a certificate congratulating his accomplishments that school year with, of course, an exploding fist bump. I turned to talk to another mentor as he walked away, when I heard his small voice shout, “Wait, Jackie!” Before I could even turn around, John-Paul’s arms were wrapped tightly around me. I was almost too overwhelmed to react, this being the very first time John-Paul had hugged me. A lump formed in my throat, full of surprise, pride, gratitude, and sheer love.

With a simple hug, I realized how much John-Paul and I had changed each other’s lives. I had helped improve his English, of course, but more deeply, I recognized that I’d offered John-Paul friendship, encouragement, and perhaps a positive example that he needed. His impression on me was equally impactful, if not more so. That hug showed me the power of vulnerability to form connections. As a mentor and friend, I can make a considerable difference in others’ lives. That reality both humbles me and inspires me to chase that feeling of positively impacting others for the rest of my life. Thanks to John-Paul’s quick hug, I more fully realize the impact of my words and actions, and I seek to make them vehicles for positive change. If only expressed in an exploding fist bump, I now understand that progress comes from meaningful personal connections with those around me, that I can make substantial change one small gesture at a time.