Girls, Girls, Girls

Compton is pissed off. I have yet to figure out who he's upset with. On the surface, he seems like an ordinary, intelligent 19 year-old who's very opinionated. Over time, however, I've come to the realization that he harbors a lot of anger--and it's mainly towards women.

Compton came to my program as a transfer student from a 4-year college. Since I happened to know somebody from the school he attended, I decided to get some background information on him. Among other things I was told that Compton has an issue with women. Since that had nothing to do with basketball, I opted to brush off this tidbit of info. It just didn't seem relevant. Nevertheless, I stored the information in my memory bank for future reference...

When I watched Compton during practice, I liked his "edge." He was extremely competitive and fearless. Little did I know that his grit would bite me in the ass. Just a few games into the season we had a memorable angry exchange in the locker room. Admittedly, my decision to check him in front of his teammates after a blowout loss for being unsupportive on the bench was bad.

To my great surprise, Compton walked into my office a few weeks later to apologize. He owned up to being the guilty party, and promised to be a model citizen. As difficult as it was to accept the apology, I let him back on the team. I opted not to hold a minute-long angry tirade against him, especially since he had already missed five games.

Prior to our spat, he was on time for every practice and never did anything to warrant being punished. I reasoned that his unsolicited apology, and past good behavior, warranted a second chance. Compton didn't let me down. Upon returning, he played even harder than before and cheered more loudly on the bench for his teammates.

His turnaround stopped after the season, unfortunately. Compton failed every single class afterwards. His temper also reared its ugly head again at the Athletic Center. It was so bad that I had to call him in to discuss it.

Me: I got an email from the AD about some stuff that happened in the gym.
Compton: I figured you would.
Me: Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Compton: No, not really. It's just a situation that got out of hand. I'm gonna discuss it with the Dean.
Me: Honestly, I can't have that sort of thing happening when you're supposed to be representing my basketball program. You know I'm real picky with who's wearing our gear around campus.
Compton: I hear you. I just think she came at me the wrong way. Just cuz she works there, she thinks she's high and mighty.
Me: What's the problem with a student worker asking you to leave the gym five minutes before closing? She's doing her job.
Compton: Nah. She came at me the wrong way before and I just wasn't havin it.
Me: What did she say to set you off?
Compton: It wasn't about what she said. I just hate how women can say and do whatever with no repercussions. They're protected and they know it.
Me: Okay. So knowing that, why not just back off?
Compton: I felt she needed to know that she's a white bitch, that's all.

Window Pain

Ashlee is on pins and needles. The state currently has custody of her one year-old son. Ashlee is doing everything in her power to get him back. It has now been two months since the state took him away.

When I met Ashlee, she was just coming into her teenage years as a high school freshman. I still remember our first meeting. At the time I was a counselor with an Upward Bound program in town. I was looking for students to fill fifty slots from the area high schools. Ashlee was a perfect candidate for the program.

I recall being struck by her poise and demeanor. As a fourteen year old, she was very articulate and thoughtful. During her entrance interview, she gave us every reason to admit her into the program. Ashlee seemed determined to be the first person in her family to earn a college degree. In addition to being very driven academically, Ashlee also came from a low-income, single parent household. Her father was not in the picture at all. For all of these reasons, I felt like our program was just what she needed.

Eight years later, Ashlee and I reconnected on facebook. These days, she is a single mother without a college degree. She also carries the low-income label now as an adult. After high school, Ashlee tried college but didn't persist. Life happened to her--much of which she posts on facebook. One status update, in particular, triggered me to reach out to her.

Me:  Is your son okay? I just saw your post about going to visit him. What happened?
Ashlee: He's okay now. Thank God. You didn't read about what happened in the Telegram and Gazette?
Me: No. I didn't.
Ashlee: We were at a motel looking out the window. While I was holding him he pushed the screen and fell out. He fell something like twenty feet.
Me: Oh my goodness!!! And he's alive? Thank God!
Ashlee: Yeh I know. The only problem now is that the state has custody of him. I can only see him once a week.

99 Problemos

Poyo may have stepped in some serious caca. He's now facing possible jail time for selling weed. The last time I saw Poyo he claimed that he was trying to stop, but apparently he didn't jump ship soon enough. Now, the little bit of progress he has made academically and the part-time gig he just got could all go up in smoke.

When Poyo told me he was hustlin', he didn't convey any fear of getting caught. That left me to assume he was better at his trade than the average dealer. Clearly, I was wrong. His clock was just ticking.

Before he could tell me how his cover got blown, I assumed some serious operation went down. I thought he was being followed by detectives and got pinched during a raid. The other scenario I imagined was that he sold stuff to an undercover. It turned out that I was way off.

Me: How'd you get caught? 
Poyo: It was stupid, man. Real stupid.
Me: Did you sell to an undercover?
Poyo: Nah. Not even that. I wish it was that. lol
Me: The cops didn't just pull you over, did they?
Poyo: Yeh. They pulled me over cuz I drove by a cop car that pulled somebody else over.
Me: Are you talking about that new "Move Over" law?
Poyo: Yeh. I guess I was supposed to change lanes, but whateva. 
Me: Okay, but how'd they know you had stuff in the car?
Poyo: I blazed in the car and my eyes was red so when he smelled the weed he told me to step out the car.
Me: And?
Poyo: They asked me if I had stuff in the car and I told em yeh. I said I had stuff in the trunk. My whole stash was back there.
Me: How much?
Poyo: A good amount, man. And they found some more in my glove compartment. I forgot I put stuff in there too. 

Growing Pains

Poyo sells marijuana. He has been dealing weed since high school, so at 21 he's now a veteran in the game. I've met enough people since my high school days who make a living doing that, so it didn't come as a surprise when Poyo opened that can of worms.

Since meeting Poyo a few months ago, I've become his sounding board. Initially, he was just coming to me with questions about his classes. Naturally, those conversations evolved into matters dealing with his academic struggles. That, correspondingly, brought about a slew of issues that seemed to be affecting Poyo's performance in the classroom. To that end, I began racking my brain for ways to help him succeed at the college beyond simply suggesting that he spend more time at the tutoring center.

One of the primary ways I try to help students is by offering them ways to broaden their network. I truly believe that success doesn't occur in a vacuum. Individuals who come from supportive villages become strong people. In that vain, I offered Poyo the opportunity to participate in a focus group I'm running at the college. Through this group he would be able to rub shoulders with Deans, Vice Presidents, and other power brokers at the college--individuals who could possibly open doors for Poyo that have previously been closed.

Without hesitation, Poyo opted to be a volunteer for this focus group. We then agreed on a time to meet at the college so he could start helping me with the first project. He didn't show up at all for the appointment. I was disappointed. Surprisingly, he texted me the following day and showed up at my office to meet with me.

Me: You let me down, man. Where you were you yesterday?
Poyo: Yesterday? I thought we was meetin a hour ago. That's why I sent you the text, because I was runnin' late.
Me: Running late? We were supposed to meet at 11 am yesterday not today.
Poyo: Oh. My fault! I thought it was today. That's what I thought you said in the text. I'm so sorry. I really thought it was today.
Me: Our signals got crossed then. I can't meet with you now, though.
Poyo: Really. I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind right now. I could've just confused the times and what not.
Me: What's on your mind?
Poyo: When I got home, my mom's face was all bruised up. My stepfather beat her.
Me: Oh. Damn. Really? What did you do?
Poyo: Man, I was ready to... but she was making excuses for him, talkin about she started it and she hit him too. It was crazy, man. I still don't know what to think about that. The day before I got in some trouble too.
Me: For what?
Poyo: Memba how I was tellin you that I move stuff.
Me: Yeh.
Poyo: I got bagged on the highway by the cops.