Immediately after sitting down we said our hellos… B. sounded choked up and I couldn’t help but feel that way too even though I hadn’t yet learned what was wrong. When you hear someone struggling to speak, with blood shot eyes, you don’t just notice it, and you really can’t ignore it, so you’re forced to embody it. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me his behavior had been evaluated and he was having problems with the staff. I offered some condolences, and thought of many things I could say, but in the moment, based on everything I knew about this boy… it wasn’t some sense of false sympathy or understanding he needed. No. What he needed was something real, and it was for that reason I asked him what I already knew… “You hate it here don’t you?” As if a sigh of relief had taken him a grip he nodded and said, “I miss my girlfriend, I miss my life.” B. was an expecting father of just 17 years. In a weeks time he would have been transferred to an adult treatment program, and allowed to rejoin her and society… well at least that’s how I understood it. I didn’t know what was to come next… I told B. if he needed to talk, if he needed someone neutral… after all there’s very little neutrality when you’ve basically lived with your mental health care workers for a year or more… that I was there and totally available. He thanked me with a trembling voice that to me had conveyed sincerity, and I left him to his thoughts… with much trepidation I might add, and went about my day. I really wish I had stayed to talk.
Two days later I came back to the center for “bingo day”. A day I had initially thought was for the boys to play bingo with their families and friends… when in actuality it was a day for their families and friends to spend money that would be funneled back into the center. I looked for B. for a good 20 minutes before asking the other boys where he was. They told me two conflicting narratives, however I believe the truth lives between them. One was that B. had displayed aggressive conduct and for that reason was asked to leave, and the other was that he had chosen to leave after displaying aggression about staying. I’m still unclear on what truly occurred, but what I do know is that with one week left in his treatment B. was cast back into society without proving to it that he was capable of sustainable change. With one week left, because misconduct is unacceptable in programs involving others and their mental health, as well it should be, he was sent back to the toxic life that not only I had feared for him, but that he had dreaded with every fiber of his being. It is very unlikely that I’ll ever see B. again. I’ll likely never know how he turns out or if he learned what he needed to about himself to change his situation. I hope he did.
With a clamorous crowd of anxious parents purchasing food and setting up for bingo in the background, E. and I sat down, poking fun at the ridiculous spectacle that was “bingo day”. Amongst the incessant shuffling of feet and clanking of dishes as food was served E. began to divulge to me his life story, and I, well I listened. E. had come from a relatively small pueblo from the north where he lived with three brothers and his mother. A few years back when E. was only the age of 12, his father passed away, leaving his family with little more than a minor pension to fill the void in their life that only a father truly could. Left to their own devices the family made due according to E., but they were far from wealthy. In fact, with 4 children in total, 4 growing boys to be exact, they sounded destitute… to me they sounded as though they were in imminent danger.
E. was a smart boy, understanding a great deal of English, mostly self taught, and understanding that to survive in the program you had to adopt the mindset of, “If you can’t beat them, join them,” and so he did. He accepted a role that gave him the responsibility of mediating the conduct of the newer inductees. He did so with a friendly face, but with little tolerance for any dissension in the ranks. While we sat there I asked him about his goals. I never would have guessed how incredibly ambitious they were. He wanted to be an aeronautical engineer, but not only that, he expressed a deep, overwhelming urgency in his desire to obtain a college degree. This boy who’s next step was high school, was already acutely aware of the importance of his going to college, so that he might be able to improve not just his own life, but the life of his mother… the life of his family. To me it became clear that this was not simply a boy who was conforming because it made the days go more smoothly… to me this was a boy who recognized the insufficiencies in his life and was going to stop at nothing to rectify them.
He mentioned to me that he had a family friend who worked on planes. He said that he could work with him once he left the program and start learning early. Feeling I knew the answer, however not completely sure, I asked E. why he wanted to work with planes. He stated the obvious, money, interest, security. He then said what I found to be the most profound reason of all… freedom. Simply the ability to travel where he wanted and when he wanted was more than an appetizing notion… it was a must.
In my life I have been to many countries, I have met incredible people, and I’ve had experiences worth romanticizing. However, in E.’s life… a romantic notion had always been being able to eat, a brief sense of security. And if he were the boy with little insight and limited ambition these would continue to be his only concerns… but E. wanted something more, something we all want but many of us take for granted… E. wanted privilege. Not luck… not some spoiling sense of entitlement… privilege. For E. it would be a privilege to see the world… to expand his mind, to broaden his scope. To E., soaring across the sky would be akin to recapturing a destiny in which he never fully had ownership. In fact, to me, his desire felt oddly familiar. I thought if I were to find out, in some near or distant future that he had made his dreams come alive, that maybe just maybe I’d be able to feel the sweet relief of freedom too.
You know it’s the stories about the struggle turned to providence that we all resonate with… we care very little for the man who had it all who continued to have more. In this world we are still surrounded by a story as old as time… the story of aspiration, the story of hard work, the story of the dreamer. The story of the kid who is so ready for his future that he’ll too soon become a man… These are the stories worth hearing… these are the stories in need of telling.