Dear Ma,
I'm in over my head. This is my 4th week at this school for ED boys. The first weeks were the worts. So many people to read. What was his or her philosophy? Why were they doing what they did? What's up with these kids? How broken is everyone here? How broken am I?
"You have a hard class. Actually you have the hardest class. That kid, there, he's a psychopath. He put his mom in the hospital. That kid behind him; he's a psychopath. We're not sure if he feels pain. Tried to kill his baby sister, more than once, and also tried to burn down his house. That boy, he's a psychopath, he tried to kill a teacher last year with a pencil sharpener. That boy, hasn't a clue with reality; he's probably a psychopath. Don't mess with him. That boy, he's bipolar, but his mom doesn't believe in medication. He's been here 7 months; it's the longest he's been anywhere. Called CPS on his mom, foster care, and other homes, all more than once. That last boy, he'll loose it. Has a lot of issues around food and fairness. The other boy; we don't know much about him. The district he's from never gives us information. Ya, good luck."
Uplifting, I know.
The first weeks rocked the foundations of my worldview. Was Ubuntu bullshit? Are there some lives that just should have never been? It didn't help that when I read one student's file, I thought I was reading a character synopsis for a horror film which shrouded me in blackness, cold and hopeless. It might have been then, I'm not sure, the days have run onto each other, so I cannot tell one from the other, when that line from Shawshank Redemption kept running through my head. (Yes, I realize the irony that a horror novelist also gave me a crack of light... though he does, aslo as a writer.)
"Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies." - Andy Dufresne: [in letter to Red]
But where is the hope? Where is our shared humanity? Is this evil in me, too? Is it evil? Just because it barks like a dog, doesn't mean it's a dog. Parrots and mp3 can do that, just to name a few. Sometimes it's a very hard thing to suspend judgment, especially when it's wrapped in strong and scary feelings. But this is, these are lives on the margins, sometimes the very edges. These boys do not live in the safe 1" from the sides. Their words run off the page, prolifically, and with profanity that electrifies their rage, even if they do not know it, at being given the shitty deal they have. For let's be at least that honest. It is a shitty deal. Born to crack heads. Born to be unwanted by the life that gave them life. Born to be seen as being broken as a bad thing, to be ignored, and not as what it is; to be HUMAN! It's a shitty deal. They are boys, and the very part of their brains that are supposed to help them makes sense of this unyielding life, is delayed, wired oddly, or just plain broken. The eyes, or whatever part you want to call it, where we see how our humanity is shared, "I'm like that," is, at best, poorly developed.
But Andy is right; there is hope. In my quirky mind; I think that may be the guiding principle of neuroscience. It plays like, quantum mechanics, merely looking at, bringing up a memory, changes it; like looking at sub-atomic particles "act" differently when observed. But maybe, against reason, there is some sort of soul in that 3lb electricro-magnetic, fructose-devouring, chemical-hormonal, wrinkly lump of amazing fat between our ears. And, maybe, part of that soul strive to hope. Strive to change. Strives for the goodness within its neural pathways. Or, maybe I'm waxing poetic nonsense after a good Guinness and Scotch. Either way, hope is a good thing. And, no good thing dies.
