JamRock

He never gave a fuck about me. As a matter of fact, few of the guys I've coached really care for me on a personal level. I didn't get into this business to make new friends, or associates. My sole purpose for taking on the role of Head Coach four years ago was to work with the at-risk population I saw as an assistant on the staff. I knew I could use basketball as a carrot to help troubled young men rise above perpetual hopelessness.

One such individual I tried to reach was Jamaica. I met him late one night on a UPS loading dock during a recruitment trip for work while he was going in for the graveyard shift. He was wearing a New York Knicks basketball jersey, blue jean shorts, and Timberland work-boots. I had never seen Jamaica around town before, but his physique and the clothes he chose to wear lead me to believe he could be a basketball player. !

Jamaica had graduated from high school two years before. He wasn't a star on his basketball team by any means. The thought of going to college crossed Jamaica's mind, but he never actually took steps towards enrolling until I brought an application to his living room. We sat and spoke for awhile in his apartment. He told me about not having reliable transportation. I agreed during that sitting to drive him to school whenever he needed a ride. I held true to my word once the season started. I never charged him for gas either. I felt good about the conversation. The next step for me was to actually see him play.

Athletically, he was gifted. He could dunk in flip flops with two hands. As a young Head Coach, I assumed this would translate into instant success. I was wrong. Not only did he have difficulty learning plays, I increasingly came to realize he had bad hands and terrible footwork. In Jamaica's mind, however, he was a guard--a very talented one at that. He came off the bench to start his first season and played roughly 15 minutes per game. We didn't have any major issues that first year except for the occasional expression of his desire to play more.

Between his first and second year, I saw some improvement in his decision making on the court. During open gym that summer, he was usually the best player on the court. That summer, he also worked my annual basketball clinic. I let his younger brother participate for free.

When the season started months later, I saw virtually the same first year player who was prone to making bad decisions. After some time, we began to clash. I became very impatient with him. He accused me of playing favorties and being unfair in my assessment of him. We were no longer cordial. When the season ended, he decided to hold on to his uniform long after the imposed deadline to return it. In response, I opted not to give him his sweat suit.

He went to the Athletic Director to report me. I texted him afterwards.

Me: You really went to the AD even though I asked you to bring the uniform back, and told you what the consequences would be?
Jamaica: Yup
Me: You still aren't getting the sweat suit. The AD has nothing to do with this.
Jamaica: I don't think you're being fair.
Me: After everything I've done for you, you decided to go to her instead of just coming to my office and apologizing.
Jamaica: Everything you've done for me, like benching me? I only played like ten minutes a game this year!

Warning

I have to stop coaching this population. Unfortunately, my mind and heart have not been in sync on this matter. I have agonized over this for the better part of two seasons. Even though I'm naturally equipped to reach many of these deeply troubled students, my intuition has lead me to feel that continuing to coach these characters could be a dangerous long term proposition.

A majority of the young men I work with are not able to think beyond very narrow parameters. A few have displayed sound reasoning, but those individuals have been the exception. Over the years I have offered countless quotes to my players for reflection. Each time, I've been blown away by their inability to even formulate an opinion about why I asked them to examine a particular statement. For example, a couple of years ago I asked my players to tell me their thoughts on the following quote and got nothing but blank stares in return: "Everybody wants to be great, but few are willing to become great."

I've had players who, despite their inability to pick up the most basic concepts on the court, believed that they should be playing significantly. Very few guys I've coached in four years display any willingness to work on their weaknesses. As a matter of fact, when asked about their weakness(es), many have been unable to identify obvious deficiencies.

Realizing the extent to which many of them are shut off, I've gone to great lengths to identify the ones who can develop the capacity to think at a basic level. For the most part, I've been able to find the safe ones but there have been times where I almost gave the wrong guys a chance, like Gangster.

One of my players, Softie, recently shared some news with me about Gangster. For years, Gangster has been trying to play for me but something has always happened to derail his efforts. I've never been totally comfortable with giving Gangster a chance, but just recently I started to re-examine my treatment of Gangster. Because of everything I'd been hearing about his activity locally, I wouldn't give him a chance. Since I hadn't seen Gangster around recently, I asked Softie for an update on him.

Me: I haven't seen Gangster around. Is he still trying to come here for school?
Softie: He ain't gonna be in school for awhile, coach.
Me: Oh yeh. Why's that?
Softie: He about to do time!
Me: For what?
Softie: He tried to rob some drug dealer for dough and broke into the wrong crib..
Me: What?
Softie: Yeh. Instead of breaking into dude's crib, he got into this other chick's crib and shot her in the leg.
Me: How much time is he looking at?
Softie: Like 6 to 10 years. And you know what's stupid, Coach?
Me: What?
Softie: He went and turned himself in, like he was tryin to do the time or something. He ain't ever been to jail so I guess he's tryin to get his cred now.

I went online to research this story, and it was true. Not only did Gangster shoot an innocent person  in the leg while breaking into the wrong house, he also pistol whipped the person living there then turned himself in a few months later.

Train of Thought

Some people are incorrigible. As a matter of fact, I'm a firm believer that millions of our tax dollars are blown out the window on hopelessness. I've been termed a Conservative by my Liberal friends for espousing this view unapologetically even though my entire adult life has been spent in Human Services-type jobs. We have an inability, or unwillingness, as a society to look at certain dire situations and treat them accordingly.

In the time that I have my players I try to impart many life lessons on them, mainly directives I received from my parents years ago. For instance, as I'm writing this blog, I can almost hear my mother's voice imploring me to "plan ahead because responsibile adults are required to do so." She would always tell me that people will only take me as seriously as I demand them to. In other words, if I behave irresponsibly, it shouldn't come as a surprise when people treat me like an idiot.

Thuglife has been with me for two seasons. Unlike many of my players, he receives a great deal of support from his extended family. His father passed away when he was just 4 years old, and his mother has struggled with a drug habit for many years. In response, his aunts and uncles have gone above and beyond to support him throughout his life thus far. Through high school, for example, he lived with his aunt in a beautiful home located in a suburban town.

While Thuglife's extended family has attempted to show him differently, he continues to find his way back to his mother who lives in the projects. Instead of asking his sister for money, or the countless other aunts and uncles who routinely offer help, he feels far more comfortable asking his mother for her food stamps. Similarly, even though I continue to tell him to ask me for help with his writing assignments, he'd rather broker "deals" with his Professors so he could avoid assignments altogether.

Yesterday, he was supposed to play in his last regular season game here. Unfortunately that did not occur because he missed the team bus. Today, I saw him and asked what happened.

Me: Where were you yesterday? You do know we were supposed to leave at 4:45, right?
Thuglife: I know. I tried to get here, but couldn't.
Me: What happened?
Thuglife: You know how I was in Boston, right. I took the 3 p.m. train from there and it was supposed to get here at 4:10, but it got in at 4:30. When I got there, I took a cab to the school.
Me: The train station is five minutes away from here. You had fifteen minutes to get here.
Thuglife: Since I didn't have enough money I had to get out the cab halfway and try to get on a bus.
Me: And you expected to do all that and get back to campus on time?
Thuglife: What else was I supposed to do???
Me: So the 3 p.m. train was the only one coming out of Boston?

This is the same character who fell into an apartment the day before classes started because I put up a post on facebook (even though he has an account as well) asking for leads on places in the area as a last ditch effort since he couldn't find an apartment on his own.

Second Semester Blues

I had a legitimate reason to quit life. Almost eight years later, I still wish I had done something extra during the late morning hours of November 16, 2003. It was the last time I got to eat with my father. We sat close to each other enjoying one of my mother's signature dishes (squash soup and Haitian patties) while he talked to me about feeling stronger. The vision of him seated in his rightful place at the head of our kitchen table for the last time is still clear in my mind.

Hours after we had eaten together, I was supposed to help him take a bath. For reasons I don't recall today, I asked my mother to do it instead. On my way out the door, I gave him a kiss on the forehead (as I usually did) and told him I'd be back during the week. Not only did I neglect to follow through on that, I also failed to call him for three days.

Four days later when I saw him again I was at the hospital making a heart wrenching decision. The surgeon on duty informed my mother and I that if my father survived surgery to drain blood from his brain, he would be an invalid thereafter. After telling the surgeon not to perform surgery I cried uncontrollably at the foot of his hospital bed knowing he was going to pass on. He died two days later. I never got to say goodbye appropriately to a man who had done so much to shape me into who I had become.

Three days later I returned to work where I was responsible for the case management of 40 students...

Lebraun finished with one of the highest GPAs on the team last semester, a 2.85. Since then, however, he has been dealing with a series of personal issues--ranging from his mother selling the Christmas gift he gave her for crack to being evicted with his family from their apartment. He also got into a car accident around that time in his aunt's car. The downward spiral seems to have just started for Lebraun, unfortunately.

Financial Aid Representative (FR)

FR: Coach, is Lebraun one of your basketball players?
Me: Yes, he is. What's the problem? I thought he was all set with financial aid?
FR: He wasn't all set. As a matter of fact, he was dropped from all of his classes.
Me: What?!?! You're kidding, right?
FR: No. I'm going to get him back in, though. He also never asked for a book voucher.
Me: We're a month and change into the semester, though. That would mean he doesn't have books!
FR: That is correct. I don't think we can get him a voucher at this point. I'll see if we can work something out with the bookstore.

After this exchange with the Financial Aid Representative, I decided to pull him aside after basketball practice to chat.

Me: How are you doing in your classes?
Lebraun: Well, you already know about that one class I'm getting an F in because I didn't go for the first three weeks.
Me: Yeh. What about the other classes?
Lebraun: I don't get my computer programming class.
Me: I thought you said you were good with computers.
Lebraun: I thought so too, but I don't get that class at all.
Me: You don't have the book so how would you get what the professor is doing?
Lebraun: (silence...)
Me: What about math?
Lebraun: I'm straight in that class. That class is good.
Me: How??? YOU DON'T HAVE ANY OF YOUR BOOKS FOR CLASS?!?!
Lebraun: Please don't suspend me from the team, Coach. This is all I got goin fuh me. My father never told me I was good at nothin and now I'm on a team. This is all that's keepin me goin, Coach!

Lebraun is now ineligible to play because one of his Professors refused to let him back into his fourth class, which is needed to participate in a sport at the college.

Ripple Effects

A white man taught me never to quit. My parents showed me to persevere by example, but Riccobono was the first to make me follow through on a commitment. Riccobono was the Director of an afterschool/weekend program that combined music, tutoring, and basketball. The program participants were all from inner-city neighborhoods around Boston where basketball reigned supreme as the sport of choice. Knowing how much a majority of the students LOVED basketball, he used the sport as a tool to broaden our horizons. In order to play basketball at the program, for example, I had to do all my homework with a tutor then practice my instrument for at least a half hour.

I played the trombone for seven years and never enjoyed practicing. From the 5th grade through my senior year of high school, I played in a band despite being partially invested, at best. The hour-long practices three times per week were as fun as watching paint dry. Almost twenty years later, I still hate Tuesdays because that was "scale day." Basically, for an hour every Tuesday afterschool I had to sit in a room by myself in a Convent and practice scales that Riccobono wanted us to learn. It was dreadful, but I kept going.

As one might imagine, Riccobono had his difficulties keeping students like myself interested in the program. It wasn't easy by any means to do homework with a tutor after a full day of school AND practice an instrument. He had a keen understanding of every student's family dynamics. Whenever I skipped band practice, he'd call my parents knowing they would funnel me back his way--and they did each time I attempted to quit. With time, I came to enjoy performing in our bi-annual concerts. Outside of Boston, we played concerts in Denver, Chicago, New York City, and Vermont. Through the band, I also learned about Motown and many other "old school" artists I now enjoy listening to. That program, namely Riccobono's mentoring, has impacted my life tremendously...

Interestingly, my parents let me quit my job at Star Market in high school and it didn't take much convincing for me to get out of it.

Lebraun missed his fourth Computer class this week, which means he has failed the course less than a month into the semester. He has also missed a few practices lately. Most recently, he missed practice because of a car accident. My gut tells me that he's running on fumes, particularly because he doesn't see much action on the court.

Lebraun's professor has a strict attendance policy which he became aware of after missing class for the third time in three weeks. Instead of going to class, Lebraun was busy trying to get food stamps at the Welfare office on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 9 a.m. He was told that four unexcused absences would result in an "F", and unfortunately, it didn't take long after the warning for Lebraun to seal his fate.

Lebraun: Coach, I missed my fourth class today.
Me: Why didn't you going to class?
Lebraun: I was sick. I ate some wings last night and woke up this morning all sick and stuff. I was sick to my stomach.
Me: Then why are you at practice right now?
Lebraun: Oh. I feel better now. I was sick this morning. I'm good now, though.
Me: Lemme ask you. Have you ever been part of an afterschool program or any kind of activity where you had to go regularly and be committed?
Lebraun: Yeh, like in the fourth grade but not really since then. I mean, I went to the Boys and Girls Club but that was nothing special.
Me: Your father never got you involved in stuff as a kid to keep you busy?
Lebraun: Naw, not really.
Me: Who's your male role model?
Lebraun: Huh?
Me: Do you wanna be like any of the men who have been in your life when you grow up?
Lebraun: I never thought of that, but I used to wanna be like my older brother.
Me: You have an older brother?
Lebraun: Yeh. We used to be real tight but as he got older and had kids we lost that connection.
Me: That's too bad.
Lebraun: Yeh. He's sellin drugs too so he ain't really around like that.  

Breaking Point

My father was laid off in the early 1990s. At that age it was difficult for me to understand what was going on. Up until that point (I was nine years old) every adult relative who was in my life had a job and went regularly. Many years later, I realized my father was a casualty of an economic recession. The state funded hospital he worked in was shut down along with many others across Massachusetts. The early 1990s were tough on my family.

Through the rest of the decade I watched my father flip through newspapers on a daily basis looking for an opportunity to get back on his feet. He even took computer classes in an effort to get ahead of the oncoming computer craze. None of his efforts yielded anything, but he kept trying. He never complained or cried--at least not in my presence. He once told me, "if you can't run, then walk. If you can't walk, then crawl." I can't accurately say how many interviews and trainings he went to, but there were many. Nobody would hire him. Meanwhile, my mother put the family on her back and did all she could to keep us afloat. When the going got tough, nobody talked about quitting. They just kept going...

Getting through the last three years of college was extremely difficult for me. Every time I went home to visit my parents I felt more inclined to stay. My father's health wasn't improving and it was starting to take a visible toll on my mom. I felt helpess. The only way I thought I could help was to stop going to school, but my mother wasn't having that. I cried my eyes out a few times on my way back to school. Despite all the anguish I felt, I found the motivation to continue writing the seven to ten page papers that seemed to be due every week. I didn't take any time off from school. Instead, I crawled to the finish line...

Lebraun texted one morning to inform me he was about to quit school. I figured something else happened at home that finally broke his back. I was in a meeting, so I couldn't read the rest of his message. Once I got out of my meeting, I called Lebraun before he did anything drastic.

Me: What's the problem? You wanna drop out now?
Lebraun: Yeh man. I can't do this no more.
Me: Why? What happened? You were fine last week.
Lebraun: My teacher just told me if I miss one more class, he gonna give me an F.
Me: Umm. What? Why would he suddenly say that to  you?
Lebraun: I missed three outta four classes so far and I guess his policy is you fail after four missed classes.
Me: Why have you missed three classes so far?
Lebraun: That's the only time I could go to the welfare office to get them food stamps I been tellin you about.
Me: Hold up. The welfare office is only open on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 9 a.m.? Really, man?
Lebraun: That's the only time I can go.
Me: You don't have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You can't go on those days?
Lebraun: I don't think they open on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

A few hours later he texted me again. This time it was to inform me that he had just gotten into a pretty bad car accident.