"Brandon Kitchens"

This week we'll start studying the United States Civil War, and so as I've worked on lesson plans, I've been thinking about Brandon. Please read this post, originally an Email I sent to friends last summer before starting this blog, and even if you don't usually leave a comment, consider doing so.

Children's literature is rich. I find, other than the Bible, I value children's books more than adult books. I read them to Mac when he was younger, now I read them to Brad because he loves a good story, and of course, I read aloud to my kids as often as I can.

If I could impart one gift to my students, it would be that they become lifelong readers. So I hope to entice them with books that stir them. Each spring, while the kids are learning a bit about the United States Civil War, I read Patricia Polacco's Pink and Say.

Each time I take it from the shelf to share, I inhale and say a little prayer that I can get through it without tears. Not because I will be embarrassed to cry in front of my students, by spring they have seen this many times due to good books, but because I want them to hear and feel this story.

It's the story of two young boys, no more than 13, who are fighting for the Union. Pink is black and Say is white. Polacco enmeshes so many important details and ideas into this little picture book; I encourage you to read it the next time you're in the kid's library or a bookstore. It will grab at your heart. At the end of the book, Pink and Say are captured and taken to Georgia's Andersonville Prison where they are separated. Polacco explains that Say lives to a ripe old age and continues his family line which she is part of, but she tells us that Pink was executed that very day.

At the end of the story she asks that the reader say Pink's name out loud to remember him in place of all his descendants who never were.

We do.

Mac used to say his name with me—sometimes he'd have to read the end of the story for me, my voice would break too much to be understood. When I read the book to my husband, through tears he too said "Pinkus Aylee," with me. My kids, all of whom are such intent listeners to this particular story, say his name.

This year during read aloud, as I neared the part when the boys were taken to Andersonville, I remembered a promise I made last July:

remember Brandon Kitchens.

Brandon was playing soccer one evening in an intramural game in Chicago. He collapsed on the field, and at first his teammates thought he was being goofily dramatic because he had goal tended poorly in the first half. They soon realized something was wrong.

A young woman, Nicole, who was studying to be a nurse was playing on the adjoining field and she rushed to administer CPR. Brandon died. At only 24 years old he was an Air Force veteran who had served three tours of duty to Iraq and Afghanistan. Brandon was a fanatic Chicago Fire fan, he was working for the Chicago 2016 Olympic committee, and he was headed to Northwestern University in the fall.

He was my son Mac's good friend.

Mac told me once that he loved Brandon and looked up to him as if he were the brother he never had.

A few days later, as I sat behind Mac at the beautiful funeral for Brandon where Brandon's dad read words that stirred us all, I learned he was to be buried at Andersonville Veterans Cemetery. I told myself I would tell my kids about Brandon this spring when we read ­Pink and Say.

So I remembered.

And this year at the end of the story, we said two names out loud.

"Pinkus Aylee."

"Brandon Kitchens."

Now it's July again, and I've been thinking about Brandon. Mac's been missing him every day, and he's now at the point where we can say his name and the sting isn't quite so sharp. I expect that layer of pain will always be there, but it's being shaped into something good. I believe though Mac lives with this loss every day, he is steeling himself for the anniversary.

So I ask you to pray. Will you?

I ask you to pray for Nicole who expressed great dismay that she couldn't save Brandon's life.

I ask you to pray for my son who is living with depression, that he take Brandon's zeal for life and make it his own. We talk about that, and it does give him comfort.

I ask that you pray for Brandon's mother and father, and for those who loved Brandon, I know they will feel your words to God.

Brandon flew to Heaven on eagle's wings. God reclaimed this son with great love. Perhaps the blessing of this is that I can speak to my son, a non-believer, about a gentle God in Heaven. Because Brandon believed, Mac will listen.

Oh, and it moves you, simply say Brandon's name.

It is good that he is remembered.

"Brandon Kitchens."

Sometime during this week, I will again steel myself, put a "do not disturb" sign on my door, reach for this favorite book, gather my kids around me, and read to them.

At its end, again, we will say two names.

I will tell the story of Brandon's loyal friendship to my son.

From you I ask, even if you only know Brandon through this post, please leave a comment here--if just to type

"Brandon Kitchens."

Brandon's mom visits my blog, and she has told me she sometimes feels as if she's the only one who remembers Brandon.

She knows this is not true, but still, let us all remember Brandon.

I have included a photo of Brandon leading cheers at a Fire game. It is said that some players wore black armbands for him, he was such a fan.

The lighthouse picture was given to his friends after his funeral.