Ron Zurner

            “Everything happens for a reason.” I’ve always believed that however you look at this popular quote it will always equate to complete and utter bullshit. Throughout my lifetime I have seen and heard about so many horrible tragedies and crimes occurring to the most innocent of victims. When a tragedy like this occurs, I often reflect on that old adage and ask myself the same question. If everything happens for a reason, what logical reasoning could ever possibly validate this type of nonsense? The answer is quite simple, none. It is my belief that god is not responsible for every single thing that happens. But, he is certainly responsible for most. As always, the proof will always reside in the pudding. 

    I believe that my relationship with Ron Zurner, and the circumstances that lead me to meet him, all did happen for a reason in deed. And I believe that the reason was the work of god himself.

            I got expelled from high school a few months before graduation for horsing around in class. The events that led to it are another story entirely. I will of course get to that part eventually, for it is a fascinating tale in itself. Basically, I was made an example out of for being a class clown. I was guilty of the crime but the severity of the punishment was far too harsh. 

    One day we had a substitute teacher and I was trying to show off. And so I threw a little ball of tape near the substitute teachers feet when he had his back turned. I did this so that he would see it land and then look towards me and my friends and I would pretend to be working. However — by some miracle that tape hung in the air and hit him in the back of the head. (Oops!) He immediately turned around and came and yelled at me. I played stupid and denied it and so he blamed the kid next to me who also denied it. The remaining 30 minutes of the class went on free as normal. That was the end of the story — or so I thought. 

    The next day our normal teacher was back and I happened to see him first thing in the morning. He asked me what I did to the substitute teacher the day before and I had no idea what he was talking about — I had almost forgotten about it completely. Later on that day I was sent home and suspended indefinitely. This suspension lasted a month before I had a superintendent meeting where I would be expelled. I couldn’t believe it and I was very pissed off. 

            As part of being expelled I was not allowed to attend graduation, prom, or any school related activities for a calendar year. In exchange the school district would home-school me for the final 3 months so I could still graduate on time, as long as I completed the required coursework. For that I was grateful, even though they had devastated my life beyond repair, I do appreciate the fact that they were willing to do this. And the only reason I am so grateful for this is because of one of the home school teachers I met.

            By the time my home schooling had begun I was already way behind on my class work due to the fact that the school district had drawn out my expulsion for so long. But that wasn’t the biggest challenge; the largest problem was the fact that I didn’t give a flying fuck about school anymore. After what they had done to me I was upset, and I resented them. I had gotten a job frying food at Long John Silvers, and because I had already been out of school for over a month I was working full-time. One teacher would come by each day Monday through Friday to “teach” me my five classes.

    I would leave work at 3pm to meet them at my house, they would drop off school work, and then I would go back to Long Johns. The first 4 teacher who came Monday-Thursday only stayed for about 5-10 minutes, and when they would leave. I didn’t touch any of the coursework, and it began to pile up. On my first Friday of home-schooling I was at home waiting for the teacher to arrive. I had no idea who would show up since only one of my “normal” teachers had been sent the previous 4 days.

            I heard a car outside traveling down my tiny dead end street and it was a clunker. I believe it was a rusty, old, light-blue ford Fiesta, but I could be wrong. This was quite a long time ago now, almost 23 years. What I am certain is that it was small and junky. It was effectively very small for the man who stepped out of it. He was a large man, not fat but well built. He had snow white hair and wore a really nice suit. He had to be in his mid-fifties at least, but it was just a guess. I remember thinking that this guy does not belong in that car, for whatever reason. He was certainly too big for it, and far too distinguished looking for a clunker. My first impression of Ron Zurner was not a pleasant one. It was like; “here comes another know-it-all who is going to look down on me for getting expelled.”

            Now, my house could certainly be considered as raggedy, for several reasons. It was very old, over a hundred years old and not well kept-up at all. It sat nestled near the bottom of a dead end street right next to the railroad tracks in a poor neighborhood. The inside smelled like pure cigarette smoke since my parents had always smoked indoors, and often. My mother was not a neat freak either, but she did what she could. Anyways, I think it may have had something to do with the other teachers only staying for a few minutes. But when Ron entered my house for the first time he didn’t seem bothered by any of that.

            Ron was the teacher they had sent to help me with English class. English was the only challenging class I was taking at the time, it was an honors class. I had gotten all the tough math and science classes out of the way earlier in my high school career. I did that because I wanted to have an easy senior year, and be able to enjoy it. School work was never very difficult for me, but I never applied myself either. I’m sure if I tried hard I could have gotten good grades, but I really didn’t care. My family didn’t have any money for college anyways, so a passing grade was always good enough for me.

            Like I said, all the other teachers who had come throughout the week had only stayed at for about 5-10 minutes. It only took me about that long to realize that Ron was not anything like the other teachers. In fact, he was not like any teacher I had ever met. Ron was going to make sure that I actually did the work, all of the work. After working on English, we turned our attention to all the other class work I had. Ron stayed at my house for about 3 hours on his first visit. I had to call work and tell them that I wouldn’t be back in that day. Ron wasn’t just there for a paycheck; he was there because he enjoyed helping kids succeed. He said; “You are so close to graduating, let’s get this done!” Even though I was extremely pissed off at the school district and didn’t care anymore, he made me care. The fact that he became so involved made me want to succeed. Everything about him was completely genuine, and I loved that about him.

            He began to come help me on other days besides just on Fridays when he was paid to be there. Ron opened up to me about his life. He told me about how his wife had passed away when his children were still young. And he went into depth about all the challenges he had to deal with being a single father. We talked quite a bit about basketball also. Ron had coached for many years, and how one of his former players was coaching basketball at BCC. We talked about my situation and how I had ended up in my predicament. He never once judged me, talked down to me, or treated me like a child. That is what made me open up after I had been treated so poorly by authority. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I would have never graduated on time if it wasn’t for him.

Mothman Prophecy

One winter evening my mind drifted slightly, it often does while I indulge in the consumption of alcoholic beverages. As I sat in front of my computer screen downloading the new Shadowville Productions instrumental from soundclick.com, I felt the urge to urinate. In order to get to the bathroom you must pass through the kitchen, which was complete darkness. Little did I know, as soon as I flipped that switch upward I would be in for the battle of my life. Frantic shadows suddenly danced on the wall, aimlessly batting away. A large moth clinged to the light source as if it were his sole means of survival. Relentlessly flying into the long dual bulbs repeatidly smashing his noggin into them over and over again. It was the rarest looking moth I had ever seen. Dark brown leafy wings with a sunny tangerine torso beneath. Desperately attempting to get into the light blub and achieve the impossible. It was though he was at the gate to heaven surrounded by an invisible force field. I quickly browsed the kitchen looking for a weapon of self defense. A flimsy blue broom sits against the wall directly across from us. Ducking and weaving I run to it successfully and cock it back. Irony ensuses as I consider my perdicament. I'm 6'2, 200 lbs against a moth.....yet I need the weapon? Suddenly the flalling of his wings haulted as he finally finds a piece of the bulb he feels comfortable sitting at. And as sure as I am writing this right now...... he looked at me. Gazing into my eyes with a look of desperation and despair. I truly believe to this day that he knew what time it was. But for some reason, when god or who or whatever created life, they instilled one common value in all life forms.........to always fight for survival until the bitter end. Even if we are 100% positive that heaven awaits, we will not go quietly. And as he stared me down, I would've never believed in a million years that he would be down for the ultimate battle of David vs Goliath. Knees bending and pushing off, he flies direction for my head. Astonished and caught completely off guard I take my swing. He attacks so quickly that the brissels miss and it left me with a small margin for error with the stick portion alone. I completely miss and lean back swiping again. The connection sends him clear across the room and down to the floor. My racing heart slows as a sense of relief jets through my veins. I take one step towards him on my way to finish him off when he does the unthinkable....  This time from the floor as if playing possum, he attacks my face again unsuccessfully. I take a few steps back and prepare for the homerun swing thinking to myself; "Oh yea motherfucker, you want more huh"?! KABOOM! Sending him flying clear across the kitchen and half way across the floor in the spare bedroom. Sensing my opponents weakened I quickly scoot over to him and smash him 3 times lumberjack style as hard as I possibly can. The force I came with was definetly unnecessary but he asked for this. He didnt have to come at me a second time, there was no need. Besides, like I should feel guilty for killing a moth in my home right? Words cannot begin to explain my amazement when I seen movement. Sometimes when insects die their nerves are released from their limbs and they move......but this was not the case. His body was intact and his leg was still moving. I could not believe what I was seeing. This was truly a miracle and I couldn't help but to think to myself......"Wow, this creature really does exhibit a true will to live. After all he has been through, yet he persists. Whatever life he has lead must've been far more kind to him than my own. He must really have something to live for". He began to walk in circles and in a matter of minutes, it was as if he had shook it off.  I figured that the least I could do was release him to the outdoors. I looked around and found a piece of cardboard and attempted to get him to walk onto it. But everytime he got next to it he would push off and begin walking in a different direction as if sarcastically saying; "you've done enough already pal, really...thanks but no thanks". Caught in limbo not knowing what to do, and scared to touch him......I left him alone. Went and took my pee and went back to my computer.... KEEP IN MIND, THIS IS A TRUE FUCKING STORY........I SWEAR ON MY LIFE THAT EVERY SINGLE WORD IS TRUE..... So about an hour later nature called again. And as I passed through the kitchen flipping the light switch........hes smashing his head into the light again! Not for one moment did I think about harming him, he had already proven his self worth to me. I opened the backdoor and took a pizza box trying to shoo him outside. Finally I get him to land on the box and just set the whole box out in the backyard. The next time I go to pee he is at the light again. He must've crawled under the door and got back in.......he probably followed the light. I truly could not believe this. As I approach him he stops flapping. Gazing into my eyes once again, but this time it was as if his instincts didn't sense danger, nor did I. For some reason I slowly extend my arm and fingers like creating a landing area for a bird..... and he flies right onto it. I have never seen such a spectacle.....it was as if he was forgiving me for my harshness and brutality. A few moments later I gently set him back on the bulb and later went to sleep. A couple days later I see him flying into the light upstairs. Now keep in mind that it is impossible to get upstairs from downstairs without first going outside and walking upstairs. My brother goes to kill it and I tell him "NO"! "Watch this", extending my finger once again he flies right onto it. I tell him the story and he is astonished. Throughout the next month or so I would run into him both up and downstairs. I began to see his beauty....and from this I learned an important lesson in life... "No matter how bad people may want to ruin you for no reason, keep treading. It is in our nature to always attempt survival, and any life worth having is worth fighting for. It is the darkest of nights that bring the brightest days. Life is very fragile, and it shouldn't be taken for granted"

 

   

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Dorothy Lyons

A few years ago I realized that I have the uncanny ability to remember almost everything that has ever happened to me. I mean, of course I don’t remember my birth and the preliminary years that followed, but I remember everything since age 4. In fact, I can remember the exact moment when this memory began. And, I remember somehow knowing that it would be the first memory I would have. As bizarre as that may seem to most, I can describe it ever so vividly. I can tell you exactly what I was doing when my conscious mind took hold.  I was crawling on the fluffy, dark brown carpet behind the living room chairs. The first was a wooden rocker, and the next was my babysitters’ (Dorothy Lyons) favorite chair, a dark blue recliner that she always kept covered with a manila colored wool blanket.

Dorothy (Dot) was like an evil enforcer that children couldn’t avoid. Parents brought their children to her home on their way to work and picked them up on their way home. She always had 4-5 different children under her care at any given time, and she treated them all like complete garbage. I am being completely honest and speaking beyond any bias on this point, which will become apparent further on. She would degrade all the kids constantly, hit them, and boss them around like slaves. All the kids were deathly afraid of her for several reasons. First of all, she was a gigantic figure compared to us children. Dot was in her early 60’s, but she was a plump 5”7 and about 240lbs. Another of her most terrifying characteristics was her ability to put the fear of god into you by screaming at you. But the worst part by far, was her ability to convert into a complete sweetheart the moment adults would arrive to pick up their kids. I’m 110% positive that every single child under her care would tell their parents horror stories as soon as they walked out that door. Even today it reminds me of the concept of monsters under the bed, except this monster really existed and was unavoidable. Often times children tell their parents about monsters under the bed, but the parents know better. And I can guarantee the parents shrugged off their kid’s stories the moment they heard them. Well, that is if they even listened to their kids at all. Because not only would the parents bring their kids back the next day, but they paid this woman weekly to abuse their children. The woman was ruthless. And the funny part was, if your parents did listen and they ever questioned her about any incident, she would fuck you up extra that day. Any black and blue marks were always written off to normal children playing and “falling”. Everybody was always on edge and walking on egg shells around this woman. Talking back to her was something that simply did not happen. I was petrified of this woman and had nightmares about her even, as I’m sure all children did. I was petrified that is, until one fateful day.

I can’t remember exactly what happened, but she was chasing me down to fuck me up with a wooden spoon. She had broken wooden spoons over the backside of a child on more than one occasion. And I continued to run, when I got into the front room with nowhere else to run I fell down on my back and put my legs up like a coward. And as she leaned over to hit me, I kicked her in the shin really hard. I wasn’t trying to hurt her; it was just a scared instinct that happened out of pure fear. And this seemed to infuriate her even more, and that just scared me even more. And so I kicked again, and again, and again. And every time she got more and more angry and kept trying to grab me by the hair, as she often did to kids. But every time she tried I just kept kicking, harder and harder. Suddenly I began to kick as hard and as fast as I could at her shins and she screamed at me louder and louder. In the human instinct fight or flight, I was tuned into this fight until death. And as this continued I didn’t feel anything, I just kept landing kicks as hard as I could until finally it stopped. Dot fell down, first onto a knee and finally onto her back and began to sob. I was already soaked in tears and begging her not to hurt me. I couldn’t believe she was crying, and I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the other kids and they all had their jaws on the floor in disbelief as she lay their sobbing.   Eventually she got back onto her feet and went to the freezer and got ice which she put on her legs. I was on edge for the rest on the day waiting for the proverbially piano to fall on me…..but to my surprise, it never happened.

 From that day on, my experience at my babysitters under went a gigantic change.  While I still expected a brutal retaliation, it never came. And from that day forward, she never touched or challenged me ever again. For weeks she had long, dark bruises on her shins. And because she always wore dresses, I seen those deep purple marks and even felt bad at times. And although she never tried to hurt me again, she still continued her abuse of the other children, including my older brother. It was as if I had somehow obtained immunity. The fact that she beat up the other kids never mattered to me. In fact, I began to bully all of the other kids too when I was there, including my older brother. Dot and I became very close friends after this incident; it was as if she actually respected me for fighting back. From that day forward, I walked around that day care like a corrections officer. She treated me like gold, and I loved her for it. And while all the other kids were petrified of her, I was comfortable. I would go through her refrigerator and cupboards and take what ever I wanted. Eating in the living room was strictly prohibited, but I ate graham crackers on the couch. In fact, she only lived around the corner from us, so I would stop by all the time and just take ice cream out of the freezer and hang out with her on the porch. Sometimes on the weekends I would stay over night and she wouldn’t even charge my mom. And every single night I stayed she would order me pizza. Dot and I became best friends, and I loved her more than anything because she treated me like her own son, she treated me like an equal. I loved just hanging out with her and watching television. Her husband Bill had died several years before, and often times she would just burst out into tears. She would scream out to god how much she missed him and to take her to see him. I had only gone to day care with her until I was 8, but I would still go over and see her all the time. During the summer months she would sit out of her porch all afternoon during the summer months drinking lemonade and tea. I often joined her, we were best friends.

One day when I was 12, my mom picked me up from school. She told me that Dot had passed away. I hadn’t seen her on the porch for a while. I can’t explain how, but I didn’t cry. Later that day I locked myself my room and balled for an hour. After that, I never cried about it again.

It was not until I got older that I understood what had happened. She had stopped abusing me because I stood up to her. Even though I had only fought back out of sheer fear/instinct, she respected my courage. And this was a lesson that I took with me from there on out. A lot of bully’s are all bark no bite. Some people prey on those who are too afraid to stand up for themselves. This ended up being a lesson that has stuck with me. And not only have I continued to stand up for myself, but I also stand up for those who are afraid to do so. And this is something that will never ever change.

 

 

   

 

The Latch

When I was in 11^th grade I went to my brother’s apartment to hang out for a little while. He was hanging out with some guy I never met before. I have no idea what his name is, nor do I think I have ever seen him since. However, a conversation that we had that night would lead to a crazy series of events.

            This gentleman was quite a bit older than my brother and I, but he had some funny stories. He said that he had also gone to Johnson City High School a number of years ago. After telling a bunch of tales of mischief, he told one story that was too bizarre to be true. He said that there was a latch in the ceiling in the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, the one near the swimming locker rooms. Allegedly, he and his friends would skip classes and climb into the ceiling to hang out and smoke cigarettes. He said that there was a large room up there and also a tunnel that ran throughout the second floor of the school.

            I was very intrigued by this story even though I knew it had to be bullshit. However, there was only one way to find out for sure. The next day at school, the very first thing I did was took a walk up to that bathroom just to see. I opened the door and looked up at the ceiling. Sure enough, there was a square, metallic latch in the ceiling right near the entrance.

            According to the guy, all you have to do is slide your fingers in a little bit and pull down. He said that even though it had a key lock on it, the latch would pop open when you pull on it hard enough. Even though I am pretty tall, it is just out of my reach. Luckily, there was a section of bathroom stall casing below. There was no legitimate reason for it to be there, but it provided something to climb on and put my weight on while I pulled. This time I pulled very hard and the latch popped open causing a very loud “bang”. I fell down to the floor and onto my back.

            The latch had hinges on one side of it, so that when it was open it just hung straight down. When I first looked into the opening in the ceiling, all I could see was complete darkness. I quickly tried to close it back up because the noise it made when it opened was so loud that it startled me. Unfortunately, I was unable to close it because of the type of lock. There was no way to close it back up without the key. I began to panic, so I just took off out of the bathroom and told nobody.

            The next day I walked in there all nonchalant just to use the restroom. To my surprise the latch had been closed. There must have been a janitor at night that had seen it and locked it back up. This bathroom is not is a main section of the school, it is not near many classrooms so it is seldom used. I truly wish that this would have been the end of the story, but as they say; “curiosity killed the cat”.

            About a week went by, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the latch. I needed to see what was up there, even though I knew how risky it was. So, one day during lunch time, I told my buddy Joe about it. He was couldn’t believe it either, so eventually we ended up going to the bathroom together opening the latch again. He gave me a boost up into the darkness and I grabbed onto what was the bottom rung of an iron ladder. I got some footing on the top of the stall and climbed up this ladder, there were about 10 rungs.

            At the top of the ladder was a narrow hallway with wooden floors. There was some type of very dim safety lights around so it made it possible to see a little bit. The ceiling was very high, probably 20 feet at least. It needed to be that high because there was a ton of huge machines up there. On each side were gigantic generators and what I think was industrial heating and air conditioning units. Joe was able to pull himself up as well and we explored the rest of the area together. Luckily he had a lighter so we could see at the end of the hallway where it made a slight turn.

            At the end of this hallway was a regular door, the same model that they have all over the school. It was the type of door that you push to open and unlock, and they lock by themselves behind you. I was very surprised to find a door like this up there in the middle of the darkness, it just didn’t seem like it belonged. When we pushed it open, the sunlight rushed in very quickly. It led out onto the roof in the south end of the school. It was funny; I had seen that door on the roof before from the south parking lot but never thought twice about it.

            Anyways, we closed the door and made our way back to the ladder. As we did, I noticed several cigarette butts scattered about on the wooden floor. I assumed that they belonged to the maintenance men who probably had to go up there from time to time in order to check equipment and/or make repairs. The looked too fresh to have belonged to the guy who told me about the latch, but who knows. I mean, everything else about his story has held us thus far. Everything held up except for his mention of the “tunnel”, that is. We didn’t find any tunnel that supposedly led throughout the entire second floor, which the guy had mentioned. However, when we were climbing back down the ladder, I noticed something interesting. If one were to climb through or around the ladder, it looked very much like a tunnel. It was very hard to tell for sure, and it was far too dirty to attempt it.

            So, we made a plan to bring old clothes to school with us at the end of the week. After school on Friday, we were again going to meet in the bathroom. We planned to change into our dirty clothes, climb through the ladder, and crawl on our hands and knees to explore the “tunnel”.

            The next day I popped into the bathroom just to see if the latch had been locked up by staff again, and it had. I began to worry that the maintenance staff might be catching on. But again, there was no stopping me, I had to do it.

            When the final bell rang on Friday afternoon, I ran to my locker and grabbed the old clothes I had brought with me. I stuffed them into my book bag and made my way to the bathroom. Because I was staying after school that day I knew I would be missing the bus. But I didn’t care; even though it was going to be a long walk home…I had to do what I had to do.

            But all that would begin to change as soon as I walked into the bathroom, I got a bad feeling. Joe was there and he had brought Brian and Steve with him. I couldn’t believe that he had told two other people about our plan. They were all changing into their old clothes and the latch was already hanging open. We tossed our back packs up onto the ledge just inside the hole and climbed into the ceiling. I was the first one to climb through the ladder, and as soon as I did I felt very claustrophobic. It was extremely dirty in there and I paused for a moment. I briefly thought about this decision and had a moment of reckoning. If I took one step down that tunnel it would be the point of no return. I would have 3 people behind me in just seconds, and there would be no way to back out. It was at that very last moment that I had a serious change of heart.

“You know what, I’m not doing it”, I said.

“What? Are you serious?” Joe looked at me in disbelief for a moment. The others backed off and I climbed back through the ladder and jumped down. “I’m just not feeling it guys”, I said. I gave the others a boost up and they all crawled into the darkness. My clothes were not dirty but my hands were black.

            I went over to the sink and started washing my hands. It wasn’t even two minutes later when 2 male teachers came walking into the bathroom gawking up at the ceiling. “Oh here it is right here”, one of them said. He was looking at the open latch in the ceiling when he seen me washing my hands, he immediately turned his attention to me. “What the hell are you doing in here”, he scolded at me.

“What do you think I’m doing in here? I took a piss and I’m washing my hands”, I sneered back at him in a confident tone.

“Yea, sure you are”, he said.

They began to explore the opening in the ceiling when they noticed one of the book bags hanging over the top.

“Well”, the teacher said, “we know who they are at least”, grabbing my book bag and pulling it down.

“That’s mine” I quickly said before he could open it and see anything inside.

“Oh yea, if you had nothing to do with it then why is your bag up there smart guy”, he said it in an “ah-ha” type of manner.

“Listen”, I thundered back. “I came in here to piss. I heard some noise in the ceiling. I threw my bag up there and I pulled myself up to see what the hell was going on. I didn’t see anything. I jumped back down and my hands were dirty. I started washing my hands and you guys came in”.

             I didn’t think my story was going to work, but this was my only hope. I was going to play the “completely innocent and pissed off for being accused” guy, and I was going to play it to the grave.

            “Yea, sure Dan, nice try. Have a seat out in the hallway and don’t go anywhere”, he said.

“Oh my god, are you fucking serious? I didn’t even do anything” I annoyingly stammered back while picking up my book bag and walking out of the bathroom into the hall.

            I stood against the wall for a few minutes; more and more staff began to show up. I could hear them yelling into the ceiling for the kids to come out. They were making threats and telling them they were in big trouble. Apparently they crawled over the female gym teacher’s office and she heard loud ‘thumping’ sounds and started freaking out. She immediately called whoever she could to come inspect.

            They asked me who was up there and I told them I had no clue, I had nothing to do with it. A few minutes later I was sent to the principal’s office. When the principal called me into his office I told him I had no idea why I was there. I told him I heard some noise in the ceiling, I went to inspect, and they sent me down to him. I couldn’t believe that be bought it, but he told me to “go home now”.

            I walked out of the school, and as soon as I got outside I began to run like an Olympian. I ran almost the whole way home, I was so relieved to be out of that situation and I just wanted to get as far away as possible. In the back of my mind I thought I could still get in trouble, but I knew those guys would never sell me out.

            A few hours later I stopped by Brian’s house because it was close to mine, but nobody was home. I wanted to know what happened to the others so desperately. I kept stopping by his house and calling the others but I couldn’t get a hold of anybody. In the back of my mind I knew that I was ultimately responsible for whatever happened to them, it was all my idea.

            A few days later I finally spoke to Joe. He said that stayed in there for 2 hours because they were scared. The teachers threatened them this whole time, but they never made a peep. They told them that they already knew who they were, Joe and Brian by the information they found in their book bags. Apparently, Steve didn’t have any book bag with him, so they didn’t know he was in there.

             Eventually they told them that if they didn’t come out immediately that they were going to release dogs into the tunnel to come get them. It was obviously a bluff, but it worked. Joe and Brian crawled out and were suspended for a week. Honestly, I think that they got off kind of easy considering the offense.

            Steve however, stayed in the tunnel because they didn’t know he was in there. The others promised not to tell on him so he laid there until 8 o’clock at night. Then, he crawled out of the tunnel and went up the ladder. Next, he walked down that wooden hallway and out the door onto the roof in the south wing of the school. It was dark out so it took him a while to explore the different edges of the roof before he found a safe place to jump from. He hung his body over the edge, dropped to the ground, and walked home a free man. Nobody ever knew that Steve was up there at all.

            Normally I like the end my stories with a lesson learned, but I didn’t learn anything from this, probably because I didn’t get in trouble. As a senior I would end up getting expelled for horsing around in school, but that is another story. The funny thing is, I never once got in trouble for the real mischief I caused, only the petty things.

           

           

Jason Wales

By the time 6^th grade began I had moved in with my father in Binghamton and was going to a new school. Walking to school was really a pain in the ass now, especially in the elements. It was basically from the Hess on Glenwood Avenue all the way to Recreation Park. On a normal day it would take about 45 minutes one way. However, sometimes children tend to frolic so on occasion it could take longer. That’s why I was happy when I learned that I knew one of the kids in my homeroom class. Jason Wales had been in my 2nd grade class at my old school and lived nearby. He was also making the long trek everyday, so we began to walk together. It was great having somebody to walk with and knowing somebody already. Going to a new school can be difficult, even if you had a lot of friends before it was like starting over.

            Jason was a very small child, even for a 6^th grader. He wasn’t the coolest kid in school either so he would get picked on from time-to-time. Here and there I would try to stick up for him but he pretty much kept to himself.

            One day we were crossing Main St. which is the largest intersection on the way to school. It is a very busy street in Binghamton no matter what time of day it was. There were two parts to crossing, first over a one-way onto an island, and then across Main St. We were standing on the island waiting for our chance to run across when I found mine and jetted across. I was still jogging slightly when I looked and seen Jason still standing on the island. I kept walking for a few more moments, and when I looked back for the second time he was gone.

            I didn’t understand how he could have disappeared so I turned and began walking back towards the intersection. There was a trust and savings bank on the corner so I couldn’t see to the right. Suddenly I heard a commotion and saw people running down the street. When I got back to the corner I saw Jason lying in the road about 20 yards away with a woman with a long coat standing over top on him screaming. He was unconscious and not moving, his book bag was still attached. A young man probably in his mid-30’s emerged from sh vehicle and ran over in tears. “Oh my god I didn’t even see him!” He began to scream madly at the sky with tears streaming down. “Pleaseeeeee god nooooooo, I’m so sorry nooooooo;” He pleaded. I had never seen a grown-up crying before. He picked Jason’s limp body into his arms and continued.

            Very quickly more and more people began to surround Jason to the point where I couldn’t even see him any longer. A police car pulled up and I could hear an ambulance siren in the distance along with the screaming of several bystanders. Every now and then I would get a glimpse of Jason but he wasn’t moving at all. Suddenly I couldn’t hear anything at all, just a bunch of people running around. I started to walk backwards and considered running home. But, if I ran home nobody at the school would know about Jason. I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. I turned around and ran to school.

            When I got into the homeroom class I sat down and didn’t say anything. When the teacher took role she asked is anybody had seen Jason, and I began to cry uncontrollably. She took me out into the hall to ask me what was wrong but I could barely speak. I told her that Jason had been hit by a car on the way to school and I think that he might be dead.

            When I got home that night I remember watching the World Series between the Blue jays and the Philles, but all I could think about was Jason. I kept calling his house but nobody would answer. For the next few days I kept calling and calling, praying that he would answer the phone, but nothing.

            A week or so later my teacher told me that Jason was going to be OK, but that he would be out of school for a while. It seemed like about a month had passed before he finally returned to school. To my surprise he seemed physically fine. However, he was not allowed to walk to school anymore. I guess his mother made a stink to the city about crossing guards, but they never put one there. And because we didn’t walk to school together anymore we began to talk to each other less and less. He ended up hanging out with different kids, as did I. The next year he was in my gym class but that was it. I eventually moved back to my mothers house and never seen Jason again.

            I looked him up on facebook to see if he would remember me. I think he did, and we bull-shitted a little bit back and forth. Apparently he lives in Norwich now and has a child of his own. I hope that when the child is old enough he walks them to school, at least until 7^th grade anyways.

Dorney Park

When I was in 4^th grade they made everybody play an instrument. I had zero interest in playing in the band but they made us. So naturally I chose the drums, everything else just seemed stupid to me. Unfortunately, almost everybody chose the drums. Therefore, I ended up having to choose from a collection of brass instruments. They gave the big fat kids the baritones, since they could carry them.  I ended up with a trombone. I was pretty good at it, but it was still pretty stupid. We only played about 6 or 7 different notes though, so it was really easy. But, it was a pain in the ass lugging that thing to and from school every other day. I had no intention of playing that trombone the next year, especially since the middle school was father away.

            When 5^th grade began, I found out that band got a free trip to Dorney Park at the end of each year. I had never been to an amusement park before, only seen them on TV. They always made the roller coasters look so magical, and everybody was having so much fun. The thought of being able to Dorney Park was what caused me to play that damn trombone for another year. I hated lugging it down the train tracks in the winter on the way to school. I remember switching arms every 5 minutes because it was pretty heavy, and falling down in the snow with it. I never practiced at home anyways, but if you left it at school they would know you didn’t practice. When playing any instrument for school, your homework is always to practice.

            The music teacher had given us a log for our parents to sign, signifying that we have practiced for the required amount of time. My mom didn’t care if I practiced or not, but if she didn’t sign it I would get in trouble. The music teacher would call you out in class for not having the signature and you would get a zero for a homework grade. And of course if you fail, you don’t go to Dorney Park. I signed my moms name one day and thought I would get away with it, but I had a backup plan just in case. Sure enough, the day came when the teacher said; “Dan, why did you sign your mothers name on the log sheet”?

Me: “Because she was in the shower when I was leaving for school, I asked her and she said for me to.” And this is how it went the whole year. Usually my mom would just sign it for me, but when she worked second shift I wouldn’t get to see her much.

            Finally, in the spring we were having an Easter concert. The band teacher said we had to wear “dress clothes” for the concert. I didn’t have any dress clothes at all, I never had any situations when I needed them either.

            As the day approached I got more and more worried I was going to not be able to play in the concert without dress clothes. Each class the teacher would remind us that we had to wear dress clothes or we would not be able to play. I became convinced that I was going to fail the class and not get to go to Dorney. I didn’t know what to do and it stressed me out for weeks. On the day of the concert I went home and cried. My friend Kong stopped over later on his way to the concert. He had on a tie and was carrying his saxophone. I told him I wasn’t going because I didn’t have any dress clothes. He said “So what you don’t have clothes, you still have to go, she will still let you play maybe.” To this day, I don’t know how he talked me into going wearing the same NY Mets tee-shirt I wore to school; I was so embarrassed and nervous.

            As soon as Kong and I showed up at the concert we saw all the other students wearing their dress clothes. The teacher immediately came over to me with tears in my eyes. “Dan why didn’t you wear dress clothes”?

Me: “Umm, I dunno, I couldn’t find any”. I muttered shaking.

Her: “Well you are lucky I’m a Mets fan”. I think she kind of understood, and smiled at me. I immediately felt like a house was lifted off my shoulders. I played in the concert and it went great. I was so happy it was over and that I would be going to Dorney park at the end of the year!

            The day of the trip to Dorney Park was one I will never forget. I remember that June morning like it was yesterday. We had to be at the school at 4:30am to catch the bus to Allentown, Pennsylvania. It would be about a 3 and ½ hr drive. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I remember running to the school at 4 am in the foggy darkness. I had a $5 bill in my hand so I didn’t lose it. I was going to use it to play a basketball game at the park and hopefully win a ball. As soon as I got to the school I ran right on the bus but it seemed like it took forever for us to finally leave. I ended up having to sit next to a friend’s mother for the whole ride. She was really nice, but I would’ve rather sat with another excited student!

            When we finally got to Dorney Park I was really tired. The sun was blaring down on us and everybody had to stay close together. I quickly learned that most of the roller coasters were made of wood, which really surprised me. I quickly found out that the wooden roller coasters were older and less comfortable.

            My very first roller coaster ride was full of my classmates. The coaster was very bumpy as it accelerated down the first decline and tore around a corner and loop. Next it took us into a tunnel of complete darkness and then it began to slow down rapidly. It rolled to a stop just before exiting the tunnel completely. At first we thought it was just part of the ride, but then the other children started talking.

“What the heck? Is it broken”? Someone muttered.

“We’reeeeee stuckkkkkkk”; somebody else yelled.

Minutes had passed and I began to get concerned. Finally one of the girls said; “Oh my god, the other coaster is coming and its going to crash into us!” She screamed. “I can hear it coming oh my god, we gotta move please!” She began to cry and it immediately struck fear into the rest of us. We all listened in fear, it did indeed sound like we could hear vibrations in the track. Suddenly everybody began to scream and cry in fear. I screamed back; “Why would there be another roller coaster on the same track”? It just didn’t make sense to me. The girl screamed back; “Because they can run way more rides that way”!

            To my right was the end of the tunnel and a ledge that led into darkness. The fear and desperation sunk straight to my heart and I said “Oh fuck this!” I was tightly latched into my seat by a metal bar that came down and pressed into my lap. I quickly sucked in my stomach as far as possible and squeezed my way out of the seat and jumped onto the ledge. All the other kids started screaming at me; “Please help get me out too!”, or else it was, “Hurry, go get us help”!

            I turned and ran into the darkness and was quickly met by a park employee. “Help us the coaster stopped and another one is coming!” I screamed at him.

“What? Did you get off the roller coaster?! Oh my god get back on what are you doing”?!

He hollered back at me in haste.

“There is no way in the world I am getting back on that coaster man. I don’t care how much trouble I get into or whatever you gotta do man. There is no fucking way.”

            We walked over to the coaster and he calmed everybody else down. He promised them that there was no other coaster to worry about. He said that they were having a problem but the coaster would be finishing its run momentarily. A few minutes later the coaster began to move. The park employee walked me through a dark hallway and back out into the park. He was telling me how dangerous it was to get off the coaster but he didn’t understand. The girl made us think another coaster was on the track and was going to crash into us.

            Needless to say, I didn’t ride any more roller coasters that day, I wasn’t allowed to…but I wouldn’t have anyways. I had had enough of roller coasters, after my very first ride. From this day on I get really scared on coasters and I scream like a girl. My buddies always fight over who gets to sit next to me because they think its funny.

            The moral of the story is, I can’t believe I dragged that stupid trombone to and from school for an entire year, only to get almost killed on a roller coaster. They tried to get me to play the trombone the next year but I said “hell no.”

           

 

"James"

When I was in 6^th grade at west middle school in Binghamton, I had a classmate who we will call “James”. I don’t want to use his real name because I haven’t asked him if it’s ok to write this story. I’m sure that some people will know who James is by the story, and that’s ok. This story is exactly what happened from my viewpoint and what I remember about it. It is exactly what I witnessed and every word of it is true.

            James was a really, really bad kid in school. He was one of the biggest kids in our grade and he could be a real bully at times. The kid just seemed to always be in a bad mood, it was as if he was mad at the world. Throughout that school year, the kid was really spiraling out of control. I remember one day in home economics class, James punched another student in the face several times and broke his glasses. When the student had fallen to the ground, James had stomped on his stomach several times. The teacher had tried to break it up before the kid got beat up so bad, but she was scared of James too I think.

            Unfortunately, James was in most of my classes. I never had any problems with him, but he was a good person to try to avoid. A few months later we had a substitute teacher for our reading class. The next day when our normal teacher had returned, she told us that somebody had stolen the substitute teacher’s wallet from her purse. Apparently, the substitute was certain that she had her wallet before our class and that it was missing after. So, the teacher demanded to know who was responsible, but of course nobody confessed. The next day I learned that they somehow found out that it was James. Somebody said that he threw all her credit cards into the river and kept all the cash. I heard that they had found some type of proof and he ultimately confessed and was suspended for several days.

            Now, there were a ton of really bad kids at that school. I wouldn’t say that James would be voted the worst or “most troubled” kid in the school, but he was definitely on the ballot. All of the staff was aware of his behavior issues and they didn’t want him in their class, but that was all about to change.

            One day James was walking over a bridge on the south side of Binghamton when he seen something floating down the river. James climbed over the railing and jumped off the bridge and into the river. Apparently some passer-byers had seen James jump off the bridge and ran to see what he was doing. 

            James had landed in the water and made his way over to a toddler who was floating down the river face down. When he picked up the toddler, his face was completely blue and swollen. James made his way to the shore with the toddler in his arms. I believe that one of the people who had stopped when they seen him jump was a nurse or some type of medical professional. James met them on the shore and passed the toddler off. They began to administer CPR immediately and the child was rushed to the emergency room of the hospital close by. I guess it was some type of miracle, but they were able to save the childs life. And with that …a hero was born.

            The next day, The Press & Sun Bulletin featured a 2 or 3 page cover story which chronicled this hero, James. It had an in-depth article which explained how the toddler had fallen into the river near his home. There were maps that showed where everything had occurred exactly, and an approximate timeline of events. It explained the severity of the situation as well as several first-hand accounts of the sheer bravery and courage of James.

            When we went back to school, the morning announcements acknowledged that we had a hero amongst us. James walked through the halls of that middle school as a true celebrity. He was a saint in disguise; he was the favorite student of all the teachers in the school.

            It was amazing how the perception of James had literally done a 180 over night. After his act of heroism, teachers began to treat him with the utmost amount of respect. As a result, the behavior of James had also made a remarkable change. His attitude changed completely, he stopped fighting and acting up in classes. But perhaps the most impressive change was the fact that James had begun to wear a smile at all times. It was as if the life he saved had ended up saving his own in a way.

My Dad

My parents got divorced when I was 4. Honestly, my mom should have left him a long, long time before that. Every memory I have of them being together is pure turmoil.     I remember waking up one morning and going downstairs. Literally, every single piece of furniture was flipped over and broken. The house looked like a tornado had gone through it. My dad had gone on a drunken rampage the night before and destroyed everything. And for some strange reason, after he had broken everything, he had poured maple syrup all over. The dining room table was upside down. One corner of it was smashed off and it looked like somebody had taken a giant bite out of it. This was of course impossible; the table was about 2 inches thick. But I remember thinking that was what he had done to it, that he was some type of monster who was capable.

            Another time, I remember being down in the basement apartment where my grandmother lived. It was very late, probably around 3am when I was awoken very abruptly. My mother had come crashing into the apartment scared out of her mind, begging my grandmother to hide her. She ended up going into my brother’s room where he was sleeping and crawled underneath him. Moments later my dad busted through the door in a rage. He actually went right into my brother’s room, but luckily he didn’t find her. My grandmother went straight to the phone and dialed 911. He looked all over the apartment but didn’t find her; thankfully the sound of sirens came very quickly. He ended up running out the door and jumping over a fence right as the cops arrived.

            As the years passed, my parents both ended up remarrying. My dad never paid any child support but my mom never had them put him in jail. She always said; “well, what good would that do”? Every now and then he would come visit my brothers and I. But most of the time he would call and tell my mom he was going to come take us places, and then never show. Either that, or else he would show up, but he would be drunk and my mom wouldn’t let him take us.

            Anyways, one summer day when I was 7 years old, he called and said he was going to come get me and take me for a ride on his motorcycle. It was a beautiful day, and soon when I heard his motorcycle I ran into my room. He had gotten me a Harley Davidson tee-shirt for Christmas the previous year. I had never worn it before, it was far too small. But I put it on because I knew it would make him happy to see me wearing it. Sure enough, as soon as he seen me, it was the very first thing he said. However, I still had to go back to my room and put on jeans before we left. Apparently, there was some pipe on his motorcycle that would burn my leg if I accidentally touched it.

            A few minutes later I said ‘goodbye’ to my mother and we were off. It didn’t hit me until we had been cruising for awhile, that I had absolutely no idea where we were going. Before I knew it there was nothing but trees on either side of us. Apparently we were going somewhere out in the country, but it was impossible to ask him where over the roar of the Harley.

            My dad had a few different Harleys, he fancied himself as a tough biker guy. I don’t remember my dad ever having a real job. From time-to-time he would do some roofing jobs with his friends, but for the most part he just sold drugs.

            The further and further he got out into the country; I began to see less and less telephone poles. I had absolutely no clue what city we were in so I was really getting concerned. Finally, about 45 minutes into our ride, we slowed down and pulled into a gravel drive way. The first thing I noticed was about 10-15 other motorcycles parked near the house. There were a few other biker guys standing out front and they all turned their attention to my dad and me.

            I stood there awkwardly for about 20 minutes while my dad bullshitted with these guys, talking about their bikes. Next, we went out to the back yard where there were about 20 more men and women dressed in biker-type outfits. They were having a barbeque and drinking alcohol. There was a keg on ice, and also a whole bunch of liquor bottles. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was the only child there.

            As the hours went by, I mostly sat at a picnic table by myself while my dad drank with his buddies. He gave me some barbeque chicken and potato salad, but I didn’t like it. He gave me a hard time about not eating, so I eventually ate it anyways. All I wanted to do was to go home. I remember it beginning to get chilly outside so the party mostly moved indoors. A majority of the bikers had left when my dad took a seat next to me at the table in the kitchen.

            There was a bottle of liquor on the table with a worm in it. I remember mentioning how gross that was that people would drink that. My dad, being the ‘tough’ guy that he was, thought he had to prove it to me. He picked up the bottle and took a few big sips from it. He was trying to get the worm to come to the top of the bottle. So, he held the bottle upside down while it was up to his mouth. As soon as the worm floated to the top he took another huge mouthful and the worm was gone. He showed me the worm in his mouth, and then he started chewing on it. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.

            When we finally got ready to leave it was night time. I was so relieved that we were leaving; I had wanted to go home ever since we got there. But, we had been there for the better part of the day, and my dad was extremely intoxicated. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized what I was in for.

            As soon as we hit the road I realized that it was pitch dark at night time out in the country. It was difficult to see what was in front of us at all, and the road was full of curves. He began to drive very fast and it was bitter cold with nothing on but that Harley tee shirt. He was all over the road and I was scared out of my mind. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was going to crash that motorcycle and kill me at any moment. All I could think about was how bad I wanted to get home and never talk to him ever again.

            The ride felt like a million miles and we came so very close to crashing several times. All I could smell was the booze on his breath, but all I could do was hold on as tight as possible and pray. When we made it back to my house it felt very surreal. I was shivering cold and my heart had been bouncing around the whole way. It was by far the scariest experience of my life.

            I can’t tell you how many times my father has crashed on his motorcycles throughout his life. So many times he had broken bones and was laid up. I remember one time in particular that he broke almost every bone in his body. But there is no doubt in my mind that god himself was responsible for my safety that night. I never got on a motorcycle with him again.

            After that particular incident, I promised myself I would never talk to him again. But as time went by I eventually forgave him, I have always forgave him. Throughout my entire life, he has always disappointed me. And every time I would promise myself that I will never talk to him again. But for some reason I would always eventually forgive him.

            When I was little my dad used to call me; “The Gooch” or else “Gooch-man”. It was a corny nickname that he stole from the TV show “Different Strokes”. I didn’t particularly like it, but it was what it was. Anyways, I remember at one point he had moved with a woman who had 3 kids. Her youngest was a son named Daniel, but my dad called him “The Gooch”.

            Alcohol and drugs have pretty much ruled his life ever since I’ve known him. When I got older I realized that he is just a bad guy. There are a ton of bad guys out there, and unfortunately I got one as a dad. I could have let it consume me or just move on, I chose the ladder.

            On my 13^th birthday he called me and asked me what it felt like to be 14. I told him I had no idea.

            While growing up I met a bunch of friends who had very caring fathers, and they didn’t appreciate it one bit. Their fathers would do anything for them, but they still treat their fathers like shit. They would continue to get into trouble, and each and every time their dad was the first person there to pick up the pieces. I began to resent these people; they don’t realize how good they had it and it pissed me off. I like to think I’m a decent person, and he has missed out on everything.

             He recently got out of a long-term drug and alcohol program, again. I gave him a call to see how he was doing. At one point in our conversation he asked me how old I was now, and I told him 31. He laughed really hard briefly and said; “yeah right, you’re not 31.”

Kevin Buie

            Kevin Buie

 

            I don’t remember the exact encounter when I met Kevin Buie, but where I met him was obvious. A large part of my childhood was spent on the basketball courts of Johnson City, NY, primarily at Floral Park. He had just sort of appeared there one day during the summer before my senior year in high school. This was not unusual, new kids would show up all the time.

            Kevin exemplified the meaning of the phrase; “kid from the streets”. He had recently moved to JC from Brownsville, Brooklyn to live with his sister and go to school. His presence was felt at the courts immediately because he was extremely outspoken. It didn’t take long for us to become acquainted; he quickly became a regular at the park. I remember arriving at the court one day and he immediately stopped playing in the middle of a game and addressed me.

            “Ay D, you just missed it. Dis nigga Demetrius right here just came in poppin all this extra shit and I scraped him! Very first play too, you just missed it D! Yo, I went just like this”, he began going through the motions of the previous play. “He turnt around and I spun the ball on his head like dis right, an da nigga just fell, Haaaaaaaaaa!” He bellowed in excitement like only he could. Kevin was always ridiculously animated in his demeanors and always full of life. The kid was hilarious; it is safe to say that I liked him from the start.

            A few weeks into the school year I had went to a party at my friend Kenny’s house. While I was there I found out that Kevin had been living at Kenny’s house. Apparently he had gotten into an argument with his sisters boyfriend and got kicked out. Kenny’s parents didn’t want him there anymore either, so he was going to be homeless.

            Kids like Kevin are a dime a dozen out on the streets, they are everywhere. They have no chance to live a normal life from the start because they never had any stability. God only knows where his mother was, I assumed someplace in Brooklyn maybe? I never once heard him ever talk about her or try to call her either. For all I know she could have passed away a long time ago.

            Kevin was only 15 years old, and I felt bad for him. I was living alone at the time and I just so happened to have a spare bedroom in my apartment. So, around October of 1999 I asked Kevin if he would like to come live with me. He was extremely grateful and he moved in that same day. All he had was a bag of clothes, so it wasn’t like we have to get a moving truck or anything.

            I certainly didn’t take care of him in any way; he was more than capable of doing that on his own. It was easy to tell that he had been taking care of himself for some time already. All I did was provide him with a bedroom and a mattress.

            Obviously Kevin didn’t have any money, so a lot of the time he would steal the things he needed from stores. This wasn’t something that I condoned, but it was none of my business. I understood that he needed to do what he needed to do. When he would go into a store he would take whatever he wanted. This one time I watched him go up to the counter at a gas station and ask the attendant for the price of their scotch tape. At this gas station they had a number of items hanging on the wall directly behind the attendant. The second he turned his back, Kevin smoothly snagged 4 packs of Marlboro cigarettes off the display rack and put them in his pocket. “$1.29”, the guy told Kevin.

“God damn, man”, Kevin responded and then walked out. I wouldn’t say he was a magician at stealing, but he was good at what he did, he had to be. He never hesitated and he never got caught. A lot of people would wonder how I would feel comfortable having a thief living with me. Well, first of all he would never steal from me. I was like a big brother to him and he appreciated the fact that I gave him a place to live. Secondly, I didn’t own a single thing worth stealing anyways.

            I remember one time when we went into Video King and I specifically talked to him before we went in. I said; “Listen man, don’t try to steal anything from here, they have sensors on everything.” He said he that he wouldn’t, but he did anyways. The moment we went to leave sensors went off and he had to walk back through. They asked him if he had anything that belonged to them and he said; “hell no”. Then he walked through it again and took a bunch of junk out of his pockets like he was trying to figure out what was causing it go off. Next, he bent over like he was trying to find metal on his shoes or something. He took a dvd out of his pant leg and set it up flush against the counter so they couldn’t see it. Then he took his belt off and set it on the counter and walked through, no alarm this time. I was so pissed off at him for not listening to me, but he had never had to listen to anybody. It was just the way that things were in his life. A few days later he went back and put a bunch of DVD’s in the hood of his jacket. Then, when he walked out of the store and it didn’t set off the alarm because it was above the detection sensors. I think the only reason he went back was out of spite, he was mad that he didn’t get away with it before.

            He only had about 4 different outfits and he almost never washed them. In fact, he only showered about once a week. What do you expect from a 15 year-old kid who lives by himself? Sometimes he wouldn’t come home for a day or two at a time and I would worry about him. I never told him I worried about him of course, but there was a ton of trouble out there waiting for him to get into. I tried to make sure that he went to school everyday, but it only worked during basketball season.

            He was in 10^th grade and played on the JV team, basketball meant everything to him. Everybody knows that if you miss school or if you are failing a class or two you wouldn’t be allowed to play in games. His basketball skills seemed like he was born with a ball in his hands, but no hoop. He was a great ball handler and defender, but he couldn’t shoot at all. His hands were extremely fast, which is why he was so skilled at stealing…in basketball and at convenient stores.

            Our relationship was built on a love for the game of basketball. This was the only time he had been on a school team, and he loved it. During basketball season he was focused on school for the first time ever because he wanted to be able to play. So when he was failing a few classes and had to sit out, he almost went off the deep end a few times. I told him that I would help him with his school work, but he was his own man and wouldn’t have any of that. Besides, he could do it on his own; he just didn’t like to apply himself to class work. Eventually we got into a routine much like people who live together do. It was school, basketball practice, and then home. On the weekends we would have parties and have our girlfriends over, but during the week we were focused.

            It wouldn’t surprise me if this was the only time in his life that he had any small  sense of stability, although I cannot confirm this. He began to focus on his school work and was becoming a solid part of the team, some games he would even start. This was one of the best times in my life; we had a lot of fun during that basketball season. But as they say, all good things come to an end.

            After basketball season ended, Kevin pretty much quit going to school altogether. He was out running the streets and getting into trouble everyday. When the school year ended and the summer began, he was increasing his criminal activity. One day he had come home with some stolen property and I told him he had to move out. He got pissed off and told me that he was never going to come visit, and that I would never see him again. I wonder if that is what he said to his family members when he left, because he never spoke to them. True to his word, I never seen Kevin ever again after he left that day and sometimes I missed him. But it was something that had to be done, he was getting involved in things that I simply couldn’t have around my house. I felt like I was giving up on him like everybody else had done, but I was only 17 years old and I had my own problems going on. I had recently gotten kicked out of school for horsing around and my family life had caved in too.

            As the years went by I often wondered what had happened to Kevin. I knew that he was destined to end up in prison; he just had too many factors working against him. While doing some investigating online I found out that he had done a little bit of time in prison a while back. I also found out that his father (Kevin Sr.) has been in prison since 1993 for a multiple homicide. But aside from that, I hadn’t seen him since he moved out of my apartment in the summer of 2000. I had no idea where he was living or what he was doing.

            Then, in September 2012 he appeared in the blotter section of the Press & Sun Bulletin. Allegedly, he had assaulted his girlfriend and ended up in jail. Then, when he got out of jail, he had been involved in a fatal hit-and-run in downtown Binghamton. He pled guilty and was given 15 years in prison. Obviously, my heart goes out to all the victims involved, it is very unfortunate. But at the same time, I also feel bad for Kevin. Society almost never stops and asks the most important question when a tragedy like this occurs. “Why? Why did this happen?”

            The fact is that there are thousands of Kevin’s out running the streets at this very moment. There are thousands of kids who will never have a chance to live a normal life. This country spends so much money on foreign affairs when we have so much work to do right here. Any country that is trying to improve should be concentrating on developing its most valuable resource, its children.