Tuesday night's prison session was a difficult one. Normally, it's a positive experience, as I guess this one was in the end, but I'd not had an inmate quite so lost. I was at a loss. What would you do with a kid like this?
We usually start out with a series of questions. What is your favorite food? What is your favorite sport? What do you like to do in your spare time? What talents do you have? These questions, I believe, are the fundamental and most important questions of our lives. They give you a road map of who you are. There's this quote that I love. It comes up occasionally when I log into one of my servers. It goes like this:
Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to yourself. Being true to anyone else or anything else is not only impossible, but the mark of a fake messiah. The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in awhile and watch your answers change.
-- Messiah's Handbook : Reminders for the Advanced Soul
It's kind of like that at the prison. We ask simple questions and we get simple answers, but they reveal a lot of deep truths. Last night was different though.
Héctor is 16. This is his fourth time in the juvenile detention system in Puerto Rico. To the question, "Who do you most want to emulate?", he answered, "My mom."
"What is it about your mother that makes you want to emulate her? Is it something she does well?"
"She works really hard. She works in a pharmacy and never complains about nothing. She is very organized and dedicated."
"Disciplined?"
"Yeah, disciplined," he answered.
"So, tell me about your mother. Did you live with her?"
"No, I lived alone."
I was puzzled. "Okay, where did you live, with your father?"
"I live by myself. An uncle died and left a house. My father said I could move in there. It's close to my father."
"Hmm, okay, tell me about your father, then. What's he like. Do you see him a lot?"
"No, my father works a lot." He then perked up a bit, and said with pride, "My father lets me do whatever I want. I had a car at thirteen."
"At thirteen," I exclaimed in surprise. "You can't even legally drive at thirteen. How did you drive."
He shrugged and grinned. "I just did."
"So you live alone. Wouldn't you rather live with someone? How come you don't live with your mom?"
"I did, but after fourteen years together, she left my dad, and two months later was with this other guy. I hated him. I think she was with him before she and my dad broke up. He is an opportunist. He's no good for her. Mi padrastro y yo no nos caemos bien."
"I see." And we went on. We talked about some of the other things on the question list. Héctor's favorite food is lasagna. His favorite sport, soccer. He likes reggaetón music, math, riding his motorbike, and aspires to better his mechanic skills and maybe work in a garage.
We returned to his mother. I asked him if she visited him in the prison. He said that yes, but she wasn't happy to be there. She was sad or angry and it wasn't a happy moment for him. I tried to explain to him how a parent could be disappointed in a child but still love them. He looked uncomfortable so we shifted back to what he admired.
"So, maybe you admire her discipline. How might you get that for yourself. How do you get discipline?"
He didn't know. I mentioned that I was an officer in the Army and that the Army can be a good place to get discipline.
"Ah, no, I wouldn't like it. Absolutely not."
"Yeah, it's hard, I agreed, but sometimes hard things are worthwhile. It's not like I want to convince you to join the military... but can you agree that your life isn't rolling in the right direction?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Sometimes when you're moving in the wrong direction, you've got to take drastic action. You've got to get out, change your position, change your surroundings, do something dramatic. I don't know, I don't judge, I'm just trying to help. I've got my own set of problems. ¿Todos somos pobres hombres, no?" He smiled.
"You know," he said, "It's not even my fault I'm here." And then the flood gates opened. This kid needed to talk, so I listened to the remarkable incident that landed him here. Normally we don't ask the kids what they've done. We're not supposed to get personal with them. Frankly, it's irrelevant to me. I don't care what they've done. They're kids. Some of them are murders and drug dealers, others are drug users, thieves, petty crooks, they've assaulted someone, or whatever. We don't ask, but if they want to tell us, we'll listen. We're trying to elevate them. We care about you. You have value. You are valued. You are loved. We love you.
"I was getting into it with my step-father, mi padrastro and he called the security guard who called the police. I was already on probation and he knew it. I jumped out the window and climbed up on top of the apartment roof. I jumped from one unit to the other and climbed down inside the parking area. I had his car keys with me, so I hopped into his car and left. I made it to Caguas before the police nabbed me for car theft. That's why I'm here. I got a year for supposedly stealing his car. I didn't do nothin'"
I was in shock. And to myself, I cursed the son-of-a-bitch. This guy's wife's sixteen year old son, runs off in his car and he sends 'em up for grand theft auto for a year. This kid did something wrong, certainly, but kind of person does that? Did he rationalize it to himself as tough love. "You know mi amor your son needs this. He needs to get serious about his life and to learn that there are consequences. This is good for him."
But quietly, slyly he grins to himself and thinks it is good for me too.
Normally I wouldn't even think of posting such mundane drivel (but just what have you been doing anyway, James, hmmm?). Okay, guilty as charged. So here it is.
I'm gonna disconnect for a couple of days, go to the beach and hike in the rain forest, El Yunque. We all need a break, and this is the agenda that Cruise Director Laura came up with. Sun Block? Check. Swim trunks? Check. Kids? Check. And off we go.
In San Juan Puerto Rico, on the 7th of June, 2005, James Aloysius O'Malley V, successfully urinated into his toilet, exclaiming, "I did it! I did it!" His cries of success were followed by a tribal dance and much feasting and celebration.
At first, the O'Malley Gorbea family expected Jaimito's sudden self-sufficiency to be marked by a period of "accidents" but a week later, it seems that Jaimito's conversion was total, complete, and successful.
"It was just spectacular," said father, James Aloysius O'Malley IV, "My progeny, peeing and pooping by himself - I'm just so thrilled. We here at Familia O'Malley Gorbea, always knew it was possible, but this project exceeded our expectations by a long shot. I'd just like to thank all the project managers and team leaders for a job well done."
We have diminished by one, the quantity of members wearing diapers thereby increasing family productivity, use of resources, and net worth. Jaimito will furthermore dress in only Batman, Spider-Man, and Superman UnderoosTM.
Familia O'Malley Gorbea is a fully incorporated company dedicated to the creation of productive and dynamic world citizens.
- END -
Yesterday was a weird day to say the least, an odd confluence of events that left me feeling nostalgic.
I had been following the Michael Jackson trial with a combination of revulsion, sadness, and hope; revulsion because of how far he's fallen, how weird and repulsive he has become, sadness for a broken man, broken lives, and an uncertain future, and hope that a beloved figure from my youth wouldn't end up being a total lie.
You see, I didn't want Michael Jackson to be guilty. I didn't want that man who made such great songs throughout his life to be something so horrible as to make his entire life a lie. I didn't want my youth to be trashed. He's gotten weirder and weirder throughout his career, but it's been in discrete steps. I can deal with that. Okay, between "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" he got a nose job. That's okay, I guess. Between "Thriller" and "Bad" he became white. Okay, nose job, white, maybe something else. It's weird, but okay. And it went from there, little by little the man that was Michael Jackson became someone else... but slowly.
I still liked his music. That was the one thing that remained constant. It was always great stuff.
The accusations of pedophilia had been mounting throughout the 90's, and I remember many a conversation with fellow Jackson fan and friend, John, "Do you think it's true?"
"Nah, you see it's - " And on we would go, justifying Michael's behavior, weirdness, and a media and populace eager to tear down stars, thirsty for bloodsport only too common in our society of idol worship.
It reminded me of conversations that I had with friends in the latter half of the 70's and on into the 80's throughout the unrolling of George Lucas's Star Wars.
"Do you think Darth Vader is Luke's father?" We would ask each other.
"Naw, man, no way. Darth Vader is evil." And our eyes would go wide at the possibilities. We would debate it for hours. It consumed us as we waited what seemed an eternity for Return of the Jedi. Three years is an eternity to a 10 year old.
I guess in some ways yesterday was too bizarre for words. I silently cheered that Michael Jackson was declared Not Guilty. My heart beat in fear before the verdict was read, not for Michael Jackson, but for my youth, my ten year old self, for pureness, passion, and love. If Michael was just another sick twisted bastard, what can a child believe in? Are we all to become jaded, cynical, and empty at such a young age? Is there any place for a child to find refuge in the pure and the clean? Does everything always have to soiled with the muck and sludge of our failures, out inadequacies? Is there anything pure and noble left for which to strive?
Laura, Olaia and I watched Return of the Jedi last night. Laura and I had finally gone to see Revenge of the Sith, and afterward had undertaken the trek through the first three movies. It was weird watching them again, blasts from the past. Olaia watched them with us, full of questions about who was bad, why they were bad, who was good, why that guy was trying to kill that guy etc.
So we were watching Return of the Jedi last night and Yoda was on his deathbed. I looked over at Olaia and she was crying. Tears were welling up in her eyes as Yoda lay dying. "Daddy, why does Yoda have to die?"
"Because he is old, Olaia. It's okay, Yoda is going to be Luke's guardian angel." She focused on that and seemed to be take heart.
When the movie was over, she came to me and gave me a hug. "Daddy, I loved that we watched that movie together. I really liked it."
"You are the sweetest little girl in the whole world. I'm glad too."
And I basked in the warmth and glow of my daughter's innocence, her pureness, her faith.
I sit here reflecting on my own. Maybe, just maybe I have retained a portion of my youth today, or if not real, at least I have plausible deniability, and I'm gonna go with that.
Today Jessie decided to roll around in the chalk drawings the kids were making on our back patio. It was blue, very blue, and Jessie decided she would look fetching in blue. I didn't get a picture in time, but it was hilarious, our little warrior dog with a blue head and shoulders, ready to charge into battle sounding her fury at the occupying forces.
"Who... me?" She seemed to ask. "I just had an itch."