I'm a chicken too

I was looking over a book I love recently, and in it, there's a story that has been attributed to Rabbi Nachman of Bratslev or the Sufis. I don't know anything about whoever those people are, but I love the story and think it tells us a lot about how to relate to those who are suffering or just feel "different."I'll paraphrase and shorten:

To sum it up, there was an abundant, wealthy kingdom where everything was perfect, especially the only prince. Everyone felt he was absolutely perfect, until one day he was missing. After much drama, someone finally found him naked underneath the banquet hall, insisting he was a chicken. Everyone tried their best to convince him to put his clothes on, eat real food, or come out from under the table, but he refused to do anything but eat corn scattered under the table.

After all the wise men tried and failed, an old farmer woman decided to try to help him. She took off her clothes and climbed underneath the table too, telling the prince that she also was a chicken. They spent weeks under the table, talking about "things that are important to chickens," until one day she asked for some clothes.The prince was distraught and felt betrayed by his only friend, who had said she was a chicken also. She replied that she could be a chicken and wear clothes, and she stayed with the prince. He gradually accepted that and put on his own clothes also.

Then, a while later, she asked for a fine meal and sat down at the table to eat. Once again, the prince was upset and felt betrayed, but the old woman said she could be a chicken and still sit down to eat at a table. After some thought, the prince joined her. And according to the story, he started laughing. He went on to become the greatest king the kingdom had ever known, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Today I sat down next to a couple of my kids and moped with them for a little while (it was the class party and their parents weren't there). I think they should just get over it, like I did since my parents never came to class parties either. But to my little "chickens," the moment they are living in is the only one that exists. I try telling them to stop crying and pouting (which happens often, because more than a couple of my students are about as emotionally mature as 3 yr-olds), but they really only feel better after I sit down beside them and just let them be who they are for a while. Only by recognizing and sharing in someone's pain can we help them move to a place of healing.