Blades of Steal

Puff has daddy issues. As I get to know him more, the void that has been created by his father becomes more apparent. Initially, I didn't get why he smoked a lot of weed. Three years later, his need for weed makes a lot more sense. It's literally his release. Like the problems that he has encountered through life, Puff takes in all the smoke then slowly releases a cloud into the atmosphere. Although the cloud disappears, the evidence remains in his eyes.

To Puff's credit, he wants to be a better man than his dad. That's why he's in school. Someday, he wants to work in a major financial district. He loves numbers. Math is fun for him. After initially taking classes as a General Studies major, Puff declared Business Administration as his major. Although he loves children and works really well with them, the allure of making a lot of money is too difficult for Puff to pass. Unlike his father, he wants to make a lot of money legally.

A few days before the school year started, Puff stopped by my office to talk. This was unheard of a few years ago when we first met. I spent an entire school year trying to figure him out, but he wouldn't let me in. Years later, after taking some time off from school, Puff was willing to share more with me. I think he finally realized I was a good guy. It could also be that he finally learned how to relate to a man.

Me: Welcome back! Second time around, man. You ready?
Puff: Yeh coach. It feels good to be back. You still doing those early morning practices?
Me: That was three years ago. I'm all set with that. It was a bad experiment. Let's just say that. haha
Puff: Oh good! I couldn't mess with those no more. I used to wake up at like 6 to be ready by 645. That was rough!
Me: We practice in the evening now. No need to worry about that.
Puff. That's what's up.
Me: How's the family doing? How's your dad?
Puff: Enh. Not good, man.
Me: He okay?
Puff: I mean, he's locked up. He been locked up since I left here.
Me: What happened?
Puff: Okay, so one night a news crew shows up at the crib and I'm like what the hell is this?!?!
Me: Damn. What did he do to get on the news?
Puff: He robbed a convenience store at knife point! 

One More Chance

People on the outside think I'm a bitch. Often times, my players have the same feelings about me. They think I'm a bitch because I put up with a lot of stuff that the average coach just wouldn't deal with. In this case being a "bitch" just means I'm a human doormat in their eyes. For instance, a few years ago a player called me a faggot in front of the team and I didn't cut him immediately. Another player blasted me publicly on facebook one summer for ruining the team's chances to win a championship, yet I took him back on the team months later.

In both cases, I issued a punishment for the slight then moved on after an apology was issued to me. I don't offer explanations to anybody but my coaches about my rationale, so the perception just grows about me among those who are in the dark about my thought process. My players, who are all told from Day 1 that I'm a devout follower of Bill Belichick, are left confused as to why I would just accept an apology for something Belichick would NEVER tolerate...

Last season, Lanky came perilously close to getting the pink slip. It was his first season on the team. Not only did he often stray from the game plan on offense and defense, he was a major headache in practice. Along the way, I suspended Lanky from games and made him run laps around campus, but the change in his attitude was often short lived. One day, I decided if he sneezed at the wrong time in practice that he'd get the boot.

I told my Assistant (who had coached him in high school) about my intentions. He begged me not to do it. I told him to have a side conversation to let Lanky know that I was done waiting for his attitude to change. After practice I decided to speak directly with Lanky.

Me: I'm just about done with the bullshit, man. I don't know what the fuck your problem is. I've spoken to you like an adult countless times and nothing changes!
Lanky: Did I have a bad practice?
Me: Your body language sucked. Your grades suck. Why are you here?!?!
Lanky: I love ball. I wanna be on a team. I don't know.
Me: So then act like it!
Lanky: I don't get what I did, though?
Me: You don't know that your body language sucks? You think it's okay to ask teammates for an explanation of shit that I just explained? Do they speak some kind of fuckin language that I don't know?!? Are you oppositionally defiant?
Lanky: Nah. I mean, I don't know. My teacher in elementary school had me tested for that. What is it?
Me: It means you act like a 4 year old when people ask you to do simple shit!
Lanky: I mean, I don't do it on purpose. I respect you and all. I don't know. I guess I just do it without knowing.
Me: What would you do if I kicked you off the team right now?!
Lanky: I'd drop out of school. I'm not really feelin school to begin with. It isn't for me.

I kept Lanky on the team. At the time he had a 1.8 GPA. A year later, his GPA went up to a 2.46 and he's now headed to a 4 year school--which was a pipe dream just two years ago. The two guys I forgave for insulting me are working towards their Bachelor's degree as well. That's the price I pay for being a bitch...

Easy Skankin'

Tood liked to wear tight clothes. Many years later, I remember Tood mostly because of her "Juicy" sweatpants. It seemed like she wore those everyday. I would've called her Juicy but I didn't want to make her feel bad about wearing the same pants multiple times a week. My guess was that she wanted everybody in the program to know that her backside was Juicy.

Tood also had an attitude. She was one of the more difficult students on my caseload. It seemed like she did things just to get under my skin. I really disliked working with her. Talking to her never solved anything because she would just argue for the sake of doing so. After some time, I concluded that she acted out just to get attention from the counselors.

Another thing I remember about Tood was that she liked to be around the boys, in general. When we went on field trips, I often had to keep an eye out for her to make sure she wasn't sitting next to a boy. We had strict rules against boys and girls sitting next to each other on the bus. Some students, like Tood, tried to push that boundary but since I wasn't far removed from playing "pocket pool" with the ladies in high school, I knew better than to let the boys and girls sit together on the bus.

Within weeks of joining the program, there were rumors swirling about Tood and another girl in the program. Apparently, they were working out their neck muscles in some dark corners of the building. I never found out if the rumors were true. I didn't tell the Program Director for fear that he'd dismiss her from the program. Then again, I didn't think there was an easy way for any of us to find out if she was in fact "shining guys" in the hallway. It's not like any of us could just ask if she was doing that. It was just a rumor.

Upon investigating I learned that her father wasn't in the picture at all. Tood had never met him. Her mother was around, but she lived with her grandmother. However, that living situation wasn't going well because Tood was a handful. I wondered why she didn't live with her mother, but it wasn't a question I felt comfortable asking Tood. Instead, I asked the Director.

Me: Why isn't Tood living with her mom?
Director: There are a lot of issues there.
Me: Can you elaborate?
Director: It has to remain confidential, though.
Me: Of course.
Director: Her mother's a prostitute.

Cutting Edge

Some people are great at hiding their pain. I never knew Minh had issues until she decided to let it all out one day. Minh was one of fifty students I worked with through an afterschool program. She was an A/B student that many students looked up to in the program. Even though Minh was just a sophomore, her resume was filled with leadership roles she had taken on in school and the community. I had no reason to believe that Minh was depressed.

During my senior year of high school I volunteered with the Samaritans hotline in Boston, which was a call center for people struggling with emotional issues. It was a great experience for me. Through Samaritans, I learned what it meant to be a listener. Before the volunteers were allowed to take calls, they went through an extensive training on how to listen. I thought this was strange since I figured most people do that naturally, but I learned a lot about myself and others during the training. As a matter of fact, I almost got sent home during a session for being insensitive.

While the trainer told a story about a man who called in regularly because he suspected that the government was spraying homosexual gas under his door, I burst out laughing. As a matter of fact, I was in tears. The trainer allowed me to leave the room to regain my composure. Upon returning, I learned that the volunteer who patiently listened to this bogus claim saved the caller's life. The man who called the hotline admitted that he was strongly considering harming himself because he couldn't bare the stigma of having homosexual desires. I learned an important lesson that evening and was grateful that I wasn't dismissed from the training...

Minh looked rough on one particular evening. It looked like she hadn't slept in awhile. I was ready to go home since it was late, but Minh needed me in that moment. She told me that some "things" were going on at home, but wouldn't elaborate. As I continued to prod Minh, she asked if I could keep a secret. I told her that it was based on what she had to say.

Minh confided to me that she tried to kill herself the night before with a razor. She said the only thing that saved her life was the fact that she was "too chicken to do it."

Crash

I've seen lives cut short by emotional issues. Almost ten years later, I vividly recall seeing the blood stream from Princess' arm. A few staff members rushed over to help me address the situation. Meanwhile, Princess sat there pale and expressionless as the nurse treated her wound. It was as if nothing had occurred. I was in total shock. My body went numb. I was so visibly disturbed that the school director gave me permission to leave for the day.

As a teen, I never contemplated ending my life--nor did I have any friends who talked about feeling suicidal. When I decided to work with teens for a living, I never expected to be confronted with such deep seated emotional issues. My lone familiarity with teen cutters was from tv, and even then the whole notion of that was far fetched. I really thought cutting and teen suicide, in general, was a Hollywood phenomenon.

I learned quickly that depression was very real. Princess was the first of many teens I met who struggled with depression. Years after Princess' cutting episode I met a young man, Suave, who was battling depression as well. He died in a car accident after flipping his car over on a highway. Months before his tragic death, Suave told me about his love of thrills and excitement. I also know that he had bouts of deep depression. I think about him every time I pass the site of his crash. I often wonder if his death was really just an accident...

Princess was removed from my caseload after the cutting incident. Initially, I felt relieved. It wasn't long before I missed working with Princess. However, I recognized that it was probably best for her to work with a more experienced counselor. A couple of years after I left the position I went back to the school to ask about her. I was told she died in a car crash.

Red, Red Wine

Princess had psychological issues. That's why she was in a therapeutic high school. In contrast with her pale white skin, Princess wore dark colors all the time. She wasn't much of a talker either. At first, I thought Princess' unwillingness to speak was a function of her being shy. It turned out that she suffered from anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder.

I took a liking to Princess despite her subdued nature. Princess' reticence was not a reflection of her intelligence by any means. She was very bright. Even though brevity defined our interactions, I was always struck by her keen level of insight. Getting her to consistently share those deep thoughts was a challenge, however.

Even though I didn't have much experience working with young people suffering from emotional issues, I knew better than to push too much. It didn't seem like much was needed to put Princess over the edge. One morning I reluctantly asked Princess to complete an assignment. She didn't seem to be in a good mood, but I was getting pressure from my supervisor to get paperwork done sooner. Up until that point, I had resigned myself to collecting assignments from Princess on a different timetable for fear of agitating her. On this morning, however, I decided to pry more than usual.

Surprisingly, Princess complied with my request to get her paperwork done. Prior to completing the forms, Princess asked if she could go to the bathroom. I granted her permission to go. Just so she wouldn't take long, I accompanied her to the lady's room and waited outside...

When we got back to the office, I asked if she was ready to complete the form. Princess said she couldn't write. As I was asking her why she was unable do it, I looked down and saw a stream of blood coming from a wound on her arm. Princess had slit the inside of her forearm with a diabetic needle while she was in the bathroom.

Papi Chulo

Broken homes often lead to shattered lives. It's always nice to hear about the stepfather who was a great influence on his stepchild(ren), but I've seen and heard rare cases of that. Growing up, I recall hearing about the abuse my cousins experienced at the hands of their stepfather. Not only did he make my aunt's son sleep in the bathtub, it was also believed that he slept with her teenage daughter. Today, my cousin leads a very tough life because of the abuse she experienced.

In my life I've heard a lot of disturbing stories about families and abuse. A girl I dated years ago was molested by her cousin. Another one was fondled by an uncle. In the fourth grade, I remember finding out that the girl I teased all the time was similarly victimized by her Grandfather. As a youth counselor, similar stories of sexual abuse were rampant. That was partly why I got out of that field. My skin wasn't thick enough to handle those very tough conversations with students I cared deeply about...

One afternoon I was driving my niece (12) and nephew (13) to camp and decided to have a conversation with her, in particular, about boys. She's going into the seventh grade, and he'll be in the eighth grade this Fall. Without realizing it, I opened a huge can of worms.

Me: Whatever you do, don't write notes to boys! They'll share it with their friends. I used to do it.
Niece: I know that. A girl at my school gave a note to a boy and he showed it to mad people.
Me: Okay. So you already know...
Niece: Yeh. I couldn't believe she'd write to some boy talkin about getting molested!
Nephew: That's nothing! This girl at school told me that her stepfather once said, he'd do her in the butt so hard that she'd have an orgasm.

Friends

Chubbs has some shady friends. He realizes they aren't the best company, but according to him the pickings are slim when it comes to finding quality people at school. The teens who live in his neighborhood are just as troubled, so Chubbs just rolls with whoever he can get along with. This has yielded an unfortunate reality for him. Among his friends (male and female) Chubbs finds himself as one of the only non-sexually active boys even though he just turned 14 this year.

Chubbs isn't involved in any afterschool programs because there aren't any available in his town. The nearest YMCA, for instance, is twenty minutes away by car. However, his mother typically works twelve hour shifts so hanging out there isn't an option. As a result, he's home alone afterschool everyday with nothing to do but watch tv, play video games, and complete his homework.

His mother, for good reason, doesn't let him venture out into the neighborhood. She doesn't want him getting mixed up with the shadiness going on. Unfortunately, while he's staying out of trouble for the time being he's growing increasingly frustrated with being confined to his apartment. Meanwhile, he keeps hearing stories about what his friends are doing outside of school (and sometimes even in school) to keep busy in this boring town. Even though Chubbs swears that he hasn't gotten down and dirty like his friends, it seems like he's past due for some action since his outlets for self expression are limited.

Chubbs is adamant that he has everything under control. He doesn't see himself sliding like his friends. Like most teenagers, Chubbs thinks he understands how to navigate the terrain.

Me: Look, man. I was young when I decided to have sex but I regret it.
Chubbs: Why?
Me: I wasn't ready. Not only that, I was putting myself at risk for a lot. I thought I had a handle on the STD thing but I didn't know jack.
Chubbs: We learn about all that at school. It doesn't stop people from doing whatever.
Me: You learn about herpes and how it could be transmitted even with a condom on?
Chubbs: Yeh. We learn about all of that. There are girls at school who give head for fun. They don't care.
Me: Goodness! Really???
Chubbs: My grade was bad! Didn't you read about what happened to that kid at my school in the newspaper?
Me: No.
Chubbs: My friend got high on oxycodone under the table in the cafeteria.
Me: And this is your friend?
Chubbs: Yeh. Well, I don't do that stuff so it's whatever.

Poppa's Maybe

Chubbs doesn't like his father. He despises the fact that his father has been locked up four times in ten years. He hates that his father beat him as a child for misbehaving. Chubbs has a general dislike for his father's being, in general. Ironically, he looks just like him.

Chubbs is merely 14 years old. He's funny, sarcastic, and he absolutely loves football. Despite the fact that he has many friends, he seems to lack confidence in himself. This stems, in part, from being an underachiever in school. He's a "C" student who really struggles with Math. As a result of his academic difficulties this past year, Chubbs' mother actually asked for him to be kept back at school to repeat the seventh grade.

Chubbs has known his father for as long as he could recognize people. They just never had that bond, according to Chubbs. Since his mom and father never lived together, Chubbs has had the "luxury" of distancing himself from the man he so resembles. While he views this as a good thing, the tragic aspect of Chubbs' story is that he lacks the presence of a consistent, strong male role model in his life.

Chubbs' mother gave birth to a baby boy when he was 12, but his little brother's father bailed on the family after a year. Before leaving, Chubbs' stepfather told him bluntly, "I'm here for my baby and your mom, not you." He shared this with me, and more, while we sat on a bench at his camp. I agreed to be a mentor at this camp not realizing that I would have some heavy baggage handed to me.

In my experience as a coach and teacher, I have been asked many questions about a number of things--ranging from my personal life to my thoughts on what's playing on the radio. Usually, with some reflection, I have been able to answer these questions adequately. Chubbs asked me a question about black men that I continue to ponder.

Chubbs: My mom's father wasn't really involved in her life.
Me: Yeh? Did she tell you why?
Chubbs: No. She doesn't talk about it. My father doesn't even know his dad.
Me: That's interesting. Both of your parents didn't have relationships with their father, and you don't either.
Chubbs: I know. My little brother won't even have a relationship with his father either. Can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure.
Chubbs: Why don't black men like to be fathers?