“If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

Posted: October 25, 2012 in Uncategorized
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“If you touch me again, I’ll kill you,” were her thoughts as she pressed herself against the wall. She hadn’t moved from that spot since being thrown against it the last time and slid down. He was sitting on the bed, facing her but looking down at the floor. Catching his breath for the next go round. She couldn’t get to the door without going past him. She didn’t know if she could stand-up. As hard as she tried to melt into the wall, it was of no use.

She didn’t know how she had gotten herself into so much trouble. It had started so innocently enough.

She was working a summer job at a department store. She had graduated a month before and her parents insisted she work, which she loved to do. She liked having her own money and felt she was learning responsibility and almost felt like an adult. She had decided not to go to summer school. Right after graduation, everyone had disappeared for the summer. She didn’t know if she would ever see any of them again, so was thrilled when she saw Peggy walk into her department.

She and Peggy had met in PE three years earlier. They had a few classes together and over time had developed a close, tight-knit circle with others. Somehow they helped each other survive High School.

“Is that you Peggy?” she asked as she walked up to her.

Peggy turned around and smiled. “Yes! Is that you Sheila?” she asked as they embraced.

After talking for a few minutes, Peggy invited her over to her new apartment that night. Sheila jumped at the chance and could hardly wait for her shift to be over. Seeing Peggy again reminded her how much she had missed all her friends. The summer was almost half over. It had been boring but was now looking like she might actually have some fun.

Peggy lived in a bad neighborhood but Sheila didn’t care. Peggy was on her own, had her own apartment and seemed to be doing what she wanted. Sheila had often imagined what it would be like to live on her own when she moved out of her parents house.

Peggy answered the door and the smell of marijuana hit Sheila immediately. She had never done drugs but knew Peggy did. She often wondered if she had been raised as Peggy had if she would use them. Sheila came from a stable and loving home. Peggy did not. She had been in and out of Juvenile Hall and never knew where her parents were.

There were several people already there. Sheila didn’t realize it would be a party and immediately worried that she wasn’t dressed properly. She smoothed down her hair and stepped inside. There were several men standing around. She and Peggy were the only women.

That was the exact moment Sheila knew something was wrong.

She smiled and talked with the men she met. She did not like the way they looked at her or the things that they said. She saw Peggy sitting on the couch with two of them, kissing both of them.

Sheila wanted to leave but didn’t want to be rude.

As the evening wore on and the drinking increased, Peggy went into one of the bedrooms with a man. Sheila picked-up her purse and started to leave. As she opened the door, someone behind her slammed it closed. She heard him whisper in her ear “You’re not leaving. The party has just begun.” He spun her around and pushed her against the door. He started kissing her. She pushed him away. He pushed her back and then slapped her across the face. She started crying and he slapped her again. Suddenly he was dragging her into a bedroom. He threw her down on the bed.

Now pressing herself against the wall. she didn’t know all that had happened but she knew she was still a virgin. He had not taken that away from her. He was stoned and drunk which gave her the advantage when she fought back. He was much bigger than her but clumsy. Whenever she pushed him off of her, he would fall over but every time she got up and tried to run, he grabbed her and threw her down again.

He kicked her a few times in the small of her back.

She was tossed around, thrown against the wall so many times that she couldn’t count the times anymore. Every time she was thrown, her head slammed against it and she would crumble. When he was done, he would sit on the bed and mutter. She learned that if she kept very still, he would forget she was there. When she moved, he would do it again.

Finally he slumped down on the bed. She waited. When she heard him snoring, she quietly got her purse and started to crawl to the door. Her voice was gone from her screaming. No one came to help her. She could hear them in the living room and she knew they could hear her, but no one came.

The apartment had finally gotten quiet. She got to the door and opened it. She could taste the blood in her mouth. Her ribs were hurting and she had a horrible headache, but she was alive and she was moving. Her back felt bruised and sore.

Suddenly he was behind her and kicked the door closed. She rolled over onto her back and looked up. He was still muttering.

She had a perfect shot and took it. She was still wearing her steel toed hiking boots. She raised her right leg and kicked him as hard as she could between his legs. He screamed, grabbed his crotch and fell. As she scrambled out of the room she could still hear his screams of agony. She ran to the front door, opened and ran down the stairs. She never looked to see if anyone was in the living room.

She got into her car and sped away. She couldn’t think. She didn’t know where she was going. After ten minutes of driving though the neighborhood, she pulled over. She opened the driver’s door, leaned over and thew up. She looked at the clock.

She had been in that room for over four hours.

It was late when she got home. Her Dad was still up and waiting for her. Even though she was 18, she was still his child. He saw her and jumped up. She collapsed on the couch and started crying. He said nothing and just held her.

She went to the doctor’s the next day and her parents made her tell her what had happened. Soon her older brother’s heard the story. An eerie silence fell over the household for the day but she saw quiet glances between her Dad and brothers. She would be fine and only had a slight concussion and 2 cracked ribs. Her Mom made her rest on the couch and bought every kind of ice cream she could find. Sheila was grateful to be alive. It was the first time anyone had ever laid a hand on her.

Two days letter, Peggy called, hysterical. She didn’t remember the evening and hadn’t known anything had happened to Sheila but her friend was missing.

The man who had hurt Sheila had gone missing.

Sheila hung-up the phone and knew to never ask her Dad or brothers about it.

She didn’t want to know. She remembered one of her older brothers telling her she didn’t need to file a police report. This surprised her but she didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened.

She knew there was at least one bad man in the world and that she was surrounded by many good men.

No one could ever beat that out of her.

“Please don’t kill yourself.”

Posted: October 12, 2012 in jail, Uncategorized
Tags: ,

Looking down at Julie I wasn’t sure I heard what she had just said. She was sitting quietly with her head down. It was a subtle and quiet statement. I asked her to look up at me. She refused. I put my hand under her chin and lifted her head up to me.

“Look at me and repeat what you just said,” I said and gently pushed her chin up further.

She looked up at me and then quickly looked away. I pulled her face back up. “What did you just say?” I demanded.

“I don’t want to live anymore,” she said and started to cry.

Julie was young. She was in her late 20’s and had been incarcerated 6 months before for intent to sell meth. She lost her child to foster care and had been a runaway since the age of 14. Somehow she had survived on the streets and her stories were gut wrenching. She was sent to me because Steve felt there was hope for her. Steve was my firewall and no one got into my program unless he said they could.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because I’m a bad person and my daughter deserves better than me. If I’m gone then she’ll be better off.”

I was obligated and contracted by the County to report any and all statements of threatened suicide, violence and all sorts of other things. It was a snake pit to go that route. It was not something I wanted to do yet.

“So you’ve done some bad things. I pretty much figured you guys didn’t end up here because you are all such angels,” I said and sat down.

She smiled for a moment and then it was gone. I looked at the time and it was running out. I told her I would be right back. I ran over to Steve’s desk and pleaded with him if I could keep Julie a bit longer. I explained that we were talking and I didn’t want to stop her. I said nothing of what she had said.

He sighs and throws his pencil down. “Lewis, if she’s not back in her bed by 9:00, she gets written up and sent back. You want that?”

“No, but…”

“But what?”

“Who’s doing the head counts tonight? Maybe I could talk to them…”

He rubs his eyes. “No, I don’t want you talking to anyone. What is so damn important that it can’t wait until you come back here?”

I tell him. He sits down and swears. He looks at the clock and then back at me. “I’ll handle it. Just go talk to her and then come back here and tell me everything. We’ll figure something out.”

We ended up talking for an hour.

When it was time for her to go, I asked her a question. “Julie, did you know that anything your skin comes into contact with is absorbed into you?”

“Huh?”

“You know, if I touch anything, some amount of it goes into the body. You don’t have to be cut for that to happen. Did you know that?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I put out my hand and spat on it. “Go ahead and spit on your hand,” I say.

She looks at me funny.

“I said, spit on your hand and do it now!”

She does. I shake her hand with mine and hold hers for a few seconds. “Part of me is now in you. Part of you is now in me. That means if you hurt yourself, you hurt me too. Please don’t hurt me,” I said.

“I won’t, I promise,” she said and wouldn’t let go of my hand.

“Good. I am going to trust you to take care of me. I’ll see you next week,” I said.

She looked better when she left and hugged me. She was escorted back to her cell. I walked up to Steve and told him what she had said.

“Is she talking to anyone around here?” I asked.

“Yeah, you. You’re elected. I’ll keep an eye on her, but you’re going to be the one she will talk to,” he said and walked away. I swear I could hear him chuckle.

Every time after that, when Julie came to class she told me she was taking good care of me.

She turned out just fine.

My adventures in the “Adult Business” – Part One

Posted: October 11, 2012 in funny stories
Tags: ,

“Lewis, you have a call on line 2. Someone wants some information from you. You also have 3 other calls waiting.”

I picked-up the phone. It had already been a long day and it was only 11:00 in the morning. The phones had been ringing off the hook and suddenly everyone wanted to talk to me.

I was new in the business of setting-up merchants to accept VISA and MasterCard. This thing called “the internet” was just starting to take off. Merchants were finding out very quickly that they needed to get up to speed with accepting credit cards online. Most of them were small or start-up businesses and very few of them knew anything about computers. Shit, most of us were learning as fast as we could.

I was getting lots of calls because I represented a bank that only did “high risk” business and could help merchants that had either been declined or shut-off from a previous bank. Travel agencies, dating services and the adult business market were considered high risk, so word had gotten out that I could place them and the calls were pouring in.

As soon as I answered the phone, the woman on the other end began pleading with me to help her. I had no idea who she was but I wrote down my notes as fast as I could and waited for her to take a breath.

“OK Angela, I think I understand the gist of what you are saying. You need a merchant account for your new business. It’s a dating service. You have no credit, filed bankruptcy last year and this is a new venture for you, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s really important that you help me. I’ve been turned down by 10 other banks and they all gave me your name. The problem is you’re too expensive.”

I chuckled to myself. This was a typical conversation from someone who knew nothing about business, who had no idea how things worked and yet thought she would jump on the band wagon of the dot comm bubble and make a million dollars overnight. Ten banks had turned her down and I’m too expensive? Little did I know that this would be the exact attitude that would later burst that bubble down the line. Those of us who understood at least the basics of business would survive. The ignorant and naïve would not.

After telling her what it would take to get the bank to consider her application, she hung-up and told me she would call me later. I was surprised when she did 2 hours later. She had come up with a very large deposit and guaranteed me she could hand me a check when we met. I set the appointment for the next day. She lived 2 hours away and I needed to see her place of business and take pictures.

As I approached the address I began to be concerned I had the correct address. This was long before cell phones were as advanced as they are now. Many of us didn’t have one but we had pagers. I pulled over, double checked the address. I was in the right place but I was in a residential area. I walked up to the door and rang the bell.

Angela answered the door. She was a very large woman in a wheelchair. We greeted each other. We sat at her kitchen table. All her paperwork was spread across the table. While she served me coffee I looked around. It was a nice house but I was trying to figure out what to do now. There was no way the bank would approve her application unless she had a store front. Running a dating service from your home was not something that was making sense to me.

I handed her the application to fill out. “Angela, I’m a bit confused on your business. Are you considering running a dating service out of your home? I don’t see how that will work and I don’t think the bank will approve it,” I said as I sipped my coffee.

“Well,” she said and sighed. “It’s not technically a dating service but it does involve men and women getting together.”

I scratched my head and sat back. A very dim light was just starting to go on. “OK, I’ll bite; explain it to me, please,” I said and sipped my coffee.

“Well the dating part is on the phone. Truthfully, it’s all done on the phone,” she said. “You know…”

“No, I don’t actually,” I said. The light was getting a bit brighter.

Just then a man came in the front door. He was large also and had a big smile on his face as he walked up to me and shook my hand. He said his name was Robert. “Oh, you must be the bank lady!” he said and sat down with us.

“OK, Angela, I need you to explain to me in great detail what your business is and how it works,” I said.

“People call and talk to me. Or they talk to Robert. Whatever they prefer,” she said. Robert nodded his head up and down.

“No one comes here then?” I asked.

“Oh God no! No way! No, we just talk about…things and then when they are…done, then we hang-up,” she said. Robert’s head was still nodding up and down quickly. I turned and looked at him.

“So…”

“We really need to be able to charge their cards. I mean, it’s not like they are going to send us a check when they are…finished, ya know?” Robert said.

The light bulb in my head was as bright as it could be. “No of course not. You do need to take credit cards, but…” I said.

Robert leaned over and put his hand on my arm. “You know, you would do really well in this business. You have a great voice…”

“Can you do different accents?” Angela asked. “Some of my customers like a Southern accent and then there’s this guy who like a French accent. Can you do either of those?”

I started to blush and stutter. This was one of the most interesting propositions I had ever received.

“You would make a ton of money and we could set you up so the calls could go to your house…”

I stood up. I knew this account would never go through unless I lied about it, which I was never going to do. “I am so sorry, but I can’t write your account. This isn’t a dating service and I can’t lie on the application…”

Robert stood up and went and got his checkbook out of his desk. He sat down, wrote a check and handed it to me. I looked at it and my mouth dropped open at the amount.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

They smiled at each other. “That’s your bonus if you get our account set-up. Maybe you would prefer cash instead?” Robert asked.

I looked at the check for a long time. It was more than enough to pay my mortgage for the next 6 months. All I had to do was lie. I didn’t ask where the money came from. I remembered her telling me I was too expensive and yet here was a large check in my hands.

I handed him back his check and thanked them for their time. They spent the next hour trying to convince me to work for them and help them. When I heard the amount of money I could make for working ½ day, I kept thinking about what I would have to say and do to get a paycheck.

I really suck at accents.

I left and wished them luck. They were nice people and I then understood why so many people were running this type of business on the phone and not face-to-face.

Little did I know as I drove away, word had gotten out in their line of business that I was someone who could help.

The phone calls tripled within 24-hours.

Life was suddenly about to become much more interesting.

You should have killed me.

Posted: September 24, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: ,

Going to class that night, I was stressed out. I was going through a very rough divorce because my soon-to-be-ex had turned vicious. I was facing complete financial ruin and bankruptcy. I had been strongly advised by my attorney to settle as quickly as possible and to avoid going to court because I would lose. The law was clear; he was entitled to half of everything and the fact that he hadn’t worked for years didn’t mean anything. He was going after the house, my retirement, alimony and because I worked for my family, he wanted half of my father’s business. This meant he was doing everything he could to put me and my family out on the street.

It had been a rough couple of weeks and it didn’t look like it was going to get any better.

I started class on time and everyone was there. I felt a bit off but didn’t think anyone could tell. I had my usual cup of coffee and the topic of the evening was one’s own personal integrity. I had them all read about integrity and honor being more important than your immediate life. It was a good class that lead to over an hour of discussions. A couple of times I had to raise my voice to get their attention because they were starting to talk over each other and I couldn’t keep up with all of them.

As I was packing up for the evening and grabbing all their lessons to grade in the days to come, one of my student’s stayed behind. Her name was Maria and she wanted to ask me a question. We had time, so I pulled out a chair for her, sat down and listened.

“I just wanted to know if you are alright,” she said.

“I’m fine. Maybe just a bit tired, that’s all.”

She shook her head, reached over and put her hand on mine. “No, it’s not that. I watched you tonight while everyone was talking. There’s something bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”

Maria always brought me a cup of coffee when I came in on Friday night. She was bright and attentive and was always smiling.

“Well, I won’t lie but it’s not anything I can talk about right now. Besides, this class is for you guys and not me and it does help me to come here and be with all of you. Truly it does and it means a great deal to me that you took the time to ask.”

“Stay right here. I’ll be right back,” she said as she ran out of the room. She was back a few minutes later, out of breath and running out of time before her bed check. She put a photo down on the table. It was a picture of a young child in a wheelchair who was obviously suffering from cerebral palsy. It was her son.

“I’m showing you his picture because I want you to know something. What I did that got me in here was wrong but I didn’t think I had any options. It was a stupid mistake and now he’s staying with my Mom. You said earlier that your honor and integrity were more important that your immediate life. I made a choice to help him. I committed insurance fraud and got caught and you know what? I’m glad I did it because it got him some care for a few months that he needed.  Whatever you are dealing with, I just want you to know that I will listen, even if you’re not supposed to tell me anything because I know you have to remain anonymous for your own protection, but I’ll listen anytime you want.”

I leaned over and hugged her. I looked at the time and she had less than a minute before her bed check. She gave me another quick hug, grabbed her picture and ran out the door.

Driving home, I thought about what she had said. The fact of the matter was I was running scared and being threatened and pushed around by a man I had been married to my entire adult life who I no longer knew. I was scared and worried and being careful. I was being careful and I had never been that way.

People often ask the question “What is truth” and the answer is so simple.

Truth is what you say it is. Nothing more and nothing less. You decide what is true for you and that is what it is. Truth is static and can knock down walls and cut through steel plates and always remain what it is you said it was.

The truth of the matter was I was a hypocrite.

That was my truth.

I was not doing what I was telling others to do. I was making decisions based on the fear of what would happen to my life if I did fight. I had turned into a cowering, scared and somewhat pathetic woman.

I had turned into someone I no longer respected or liked. I was a coward because I was worried about money. The realization hit me so hard while I was driving home that I had to pull over and take a few deep breaths.

What right did I have to go there, teach these women everything I could if I was not going to practice it in my own life?

I had no right to do that.

The rest of the way home, I kept seeing that little boy strapped down in a wheelchair along with his mother’s face shining with pride and love over her little boy. A woman who had decided, on her own and without any help from me, to give up her immediate life to help her child.

I was ashamed.

I walked into my house, threw my purse and briefcase on the couch and picked-up my phone. It was late but I didn’t care. I had something to say to someone.

The soon-to-be-ex answered and before he could say anything, I told him to not say a word and just listen.

“Sam, I’ve thought long and hard about your demands. I know you are legally entitled to them, but that’s not the point of my phone call. I just want you to know that after all these years of being married to me, you should have known better.”

“Known better than what?”

“That if you were going to come after me, you had one shot and you should have killed me. You didn’t and that was your mistake. Game on,” I said and hung-up the phone.

My attorney was going to kill me, but so what? If I was not a person who was going to live by what I preached, I was already dead. I formed my game plan and took my shot and guess what?

I did what I preached and everything turned out just fine.

If only my students understood that they teach me as much, if not more so, than I teach them.

Timothy

Posted: September 12, 2012 in Uncategorized

For the previous post on this, go to this link and then come back here :https://idisagreecompletely.com/2012/09/11/you-want-me-to-like-you-i-can-do-that/

He and I spent the program sitting in the back, holding hands and listening. Cheryl had taken over for me on teaching the program and was doing a great job. All the kids were responding well to her. They were quite interactive, constantly raising their hands, discussing what they thought and challenging her.

And laughing. People learn best in a fun and silly environment. I strongly encourage laughter while teaching. We did have a few food fights during the program, which is completely against our policy. I think we enjoyed it as much as the kids.

Timothy and I would sit in the back and watch. He would often comment to me what he thought. He wasn’t missing one thing and was sharp as a tack.

One day Mama Betty approached me after class. Timothy had soon become one of our guards on getting us in and out of the building. The kids were always quite kind to him and no one hassled him. They accepted him just as he was, which is something I think many adults need to learn.

“I need your help for something. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I would like to feed everyone.”

I assumed she meant everyone at her center.

“Sure. How many kids do you have now?”

“No, I mean East Palo Alto. I want to feed them and I’ll need your help…”

And off we went on another project for her. We all jumped into it, got others to help and made the necessary apologies to our families for not being able to show up for dinner on Thanksgiving.

Spending the day serving hungry and homeless people is something I was never quite prepared for. It was a tremendous amount of work for all of us and we ended up running out of food, but to watch children and adults line up for food broke my heart. All of them were grateful and most of them turned around and pitched in to help after they fed their families. We had more help than we knew what to do with.

Timothy helped carry heavy boxes, unloading the cars and moving tables around. He never spoke but just worked. He kept close to me and Mama Betty and stayed away from everyone else. When one man I was serving food to said something inappropriate to me, I saw his eyes grow large as he looked behind me. Timothy had heard him and stepped up close and was looming behind me and glaring at the man.

The man shut-up and left. I looked up at Timothy and nodded. He looked at the ground and stepped back.

After the New Year and our break from the program, I got a call from Mama Betty. “They’re shutting me down and I need your help.”

Long discussions ensued but the bottom line was this – she had been funding her program herself when the government money ran out or wasn’t quite enough and we had done some fund-raising, but there had been budget cuts and she lost all of her funding. This was a huge blow to her and all of us. We had become family. She was not worried about herself. She was worried about her kids.

She was just like the rest of us; poor as a church mouse and yet we always managed to figure something out.

Not this time.

“What happens to them?” I asked.

“We lose them to the system. They go back until they are 18 and then they are on their own.”

We were going to lose Timothy. The others would be fine, but not him.

Over the next few weeks, we tried everything we could think of. I had no idea what to do. She had many contacts and none of them would help her. These were “throw away kids” though no one ever had the guts to say that to her. She couldn’t get one damn public service employee to listen to her, and this was a strong and loud woman who took no crap from anyone. People often complied with her because once she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her.

She made me look like a timid and scared wallflower.

She was shut down the following month and the kids were taken into custody and farmed out. They all ended up all over various facilities in California.

I went to her house one evening after she called me. We sat and drank coffee. She was heart-broken but had been in touch with all of the kids and they were hanging in there. I started crying and she told me to knock it off.

“Timothy is in Juvenile Hall, awaiting placement. He doesn’t have anyone who can take him in so there’s no place to send him. He will most likely go to the ranch and stay there until he turns 18.”

“How old IS he?” I asked. He was so tall and big, it was hard to tell.

“He’s only fifteen years old.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t…”

She grabbed me, pulled me out of the chair and put her hands on my shoulders. “You can and you will, just like the rest of us. You know what your problem is?”

I shook my head.

“You’re a guppy, swimming with the sharks and you don’t even know it. That’s your problem,” she said. “You think you’re a shark and you’re not.”

She was right.

I would like to tell you that I saw him again and we held hands and laughed. I would like to tell you that everything turned out just fine and life always has a happy ending and he and I walked off into the sunset, sharing private jokes and throwing food at each other.

I would like to think that there are people who truly feel that crime needs to be stopped and criminals can be rehabilitated.

But I don’t think that. I think that empty prison beds must be filled to keep the money flowing and people employed. There is no profit if “throw away kids” are helped and loved. Where is the profit if someone never re-offends? There isn’t any.

All it would have taken to save the program and these kids was ONE person in the entire system standing up for us and demanding it. That’s all we wanted and no one did it. Why? Because it wouldn’t have helped them upon re-election. That’s the reality that I know.

Yes, there are many of us that do this work quietly and steadily. And though I may write about it, never forget that my stories include so many nameless people who helped. My stories are only from my point of view and my experience. Most of them wish to remain anonymous. I will always respect that wish.

But it’s about time someone talked about what it’s really like to walk into an intentionally created snake pit and come out alive from it. Barely alive, but I still have a pulse.

I made the fatal error after this of becoming known for the work my group did in two counties. It was a fatal error because we were viciously attacked, personally and professionally. That story can never be told due to the vested interests that crime continue. We hit too close to the pocket-book. But it was well planned and executed. None of us saw it coming and we all paid a heavy price for the work we had done. Mine is only one of many stories.

We were all guppies and the sharks knew it.

I believe that people are good and are often misguided. I will never subscribe to the notion that anyone is natively bad. People do bad things but there is a basic rightness of the individual and all you have to do is get them to see it. Punishment only re-enforces more badness. Focusing on the goodness gives you more goodness.

As long as people are further punished for their misdeeds and have no safe haven to go to, the badness is reinforced. It will continue and I believe that our system is set-up to make sure the vicious cycle continues. It’s not accidental.

I have refused all requests to come back. I now only help on a one-on-one basis and never tell anyone about it. I am under the radar and will stay there for as long as I live.

You want me to like you? I can do that.

Posted: September 11, 2012 in jail, Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

I got the call that I didn’t want to get. It was from a woman who heard about the work we were doing in Juvenile Hall and she wanted us to come to her place and work with her kids. Her name was Mama Betty. I didn’t know who she was but that didn’t matter. She wanted our help and insisted we show up. She gave me the directions and told me what time to be there. She got my name from my friend Denise. After I wrote down what she said, she hung-up.

I called Denise to find out what was going on. Denise had run into her on something else she was doing and they got to talking.

Mama Betty was from the South Pacific. She found a place to rent and started grabbing South Pacific Islander kids out of jail and having them live with her. How she was able to do this was something she never explained to us.

The problem wasn’t what she was doing. The problem was where the location was. It was in East Palo Alto which, at the time, was one of the top 10 worse ghetto’s in the United States. No, not in the Bay Area; in the United States. Everyone stayed away from there. My cousin had been a fireman and they would not go to a fire there without a police escort. He had been shot at several times before retiring. It was a place that was scary to see as you were driving 75 MPH down the freeway.

I didn’t want to go and I told Denise that. It was a very dangerous place and based on what she said, we were going to be walking into a situation without any security. A bunch of white people going to that part of town was a very bad idea.

Denise convinced me to go meet her and at least see the place. She said she would go with me, so off we went one afternoon.

The place we ended up was an abandoned store that was rundown on the outside. It was located in a tiny strip mall with a few other empty stores. I was nervous getting out of my car. There were lots of teenagers standing around on the street, all staring at us. Some called out to us. We kept our heads down, walked up to the door and knocked. Some of the kids were starting to circle around my car. The door opened and that was the first time I met Mama Betty. She looked up at the teenagers and they quickly ran.

She was short, very large with piercing brown eyes and dark skin. She looked us up and down, held the door open further and told us to come in. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I was transported to the South Pacific.

Everything was spotless with lots of plants and furniture. The floor was bare. We walked into what looked to be a huge dance floor with couches and table all around. There were at least 10 teenagers sitting on the furniture, reading and talking. She took us into the kitchen and made us eat. The place smelled like heaven and I was suddenly starving. Before we could say anything, we each had a plate of food piled high. She looked down at me with a very stern look and said “You need to eat and get some meat on those bones. Eat and then we’ll talk.” I nodded and dug in. I was overweight at the time, but not to her. You just knew to do exactly what she said.

After eating, we sat and talked. She worked in the criminal justice system and was able to work with judges and probation officers to get the kids released to her custody. No warden was ever as tough or as kind as her.

She wanted us to run our program and was very clear that she couldn’t pay us.

“What makes you think we want your money?” I asked. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I pay my debts, but I want to make it clear that I will pay you. I will feed you when you come.”

I smiled. “That’s very nice of you. I have to be very honest with you. I am going to have a very tough time getting anyone to help. The neighborhood…”

“Then you must meet the children and after you do, then you come back to me and see what you think.”

With that said, she brought them in and had each one sit down and talk. They had all been in jail, they all had their stories and they were the politest kids I had ever met. I asked one a question and when he gave me a smart ass answer, she actually did smack him on the back of the head, made him sit up straight and apologize to me.

All was good until she brought in the last young man. His name was Timothy. He was very tall and large. He sat down and never once took his eyes off the floor. He would not respond to me. I waited for her to nudge him, but she did not. She stood back and when I looked up, I saw a tear run down her face.

Then I knew. This was the one she wanted help with. Whatever had happened to him was bad. He would not speak or look at anyone. I thanked him and he stood up and walked away with his head down.

I told Mama Betty I would see what I could do. I was not hopeful I could get anyone to help me, but she was right; after meeting all of them, I wanted to help.

It took a lot of work and quite a bit of pleading, but two weeks later I had a group of five additional people. Four women and one man. Driving up there that evening, we were nervous. We pulled up and they didn’t want to get out of the car even though the building was ten feet away. Just as I was opening up the car door, five of the young men from Mama Betty’s came out and escorted us in. Mama Betty had arranged the furniture so everyone had a place to sit at the tables. Food was brought in and so we began.

Timothy was there but sitting off to the side by himself. No one would go near him and he scared my group. I asked Mama Betty what to do with him.

“If any of you can get through to him, that would be enough.”

Over the next few weeks, we developed a routine. We would arrive, be escorted in and someone would stand by the car. We would be escorted out after hours of eating and teaching. It was difficult not to fall asleep on the way home from the work and the food.

Everyone had tried to get Timothy to talk and I started to see that the more they tried, the further withdrawn he would become. He also made them nervous and I was certain this made him more reluctant to talk. It was his size that was scaring them.

One night, I turned to class over to someone else and went and sat next to Timothy. I said nothing, I didn’t look at him or try to get him to talk. I just sat there. I did this every week and on the fifth week, I put my hand on his hand, very gently. He reached over, squeezed it and held on. We sat like that for over an hour. I still said nothing and didn’t look at him. When the class was over, I got up and left.

The next week, I did the same thing. This went on for three more weeks until one night, right after I sat down, he reached over and held my hand. I looked over and he looked up. He smiled. I smiled back. He then mumbled something.

I nudged him and indicated I hadn’t heard what he said. I was not going to speak to him until he spoke to me first. Until then, I would sit and we would hold hands.

“Do you think you could like me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“That would be good,” he said and smiled. Mama Betty saw the exchange and was smart enough to leave us alone.

That’s what we did throughout the program. We sat and held hands. He would say something once in a while and I eventually started to see how bright and intelligent he was.

One day, I decided to ask him something.

“How come you don’t talk much?”

He squeezed my hand harder. “Because I don’t have anything to say to people who don’t listen.”

I chuckled. “That makes sense to me.”

“Yeah..”

I now smile every time I drive through East Palo Alto. I miss Timothy.

A night of horror in Bonaire.

Posted: September 1, 2012 in funny stories
Tags: , ,

It started out innocently enough.

My friends and I were coming back from our vacation. There were 10 of us and we had spent the previous week on a cruise. We had an early flight, so ended up being up most of the night before. We got to the airport on time, but the flight was cancelled.

We weren’t in the United States. There wasn’t another flight that day. We were told we might be able to catch the next one the following day. Maybe, maybe not. I looked at my friends, all 8 of them, and they were all thinking what I was thinking; we might have to spend the night in the airport and that’s not good.

One of my male friends tried to find out if there was a hotel we could stay at. He was told probably not since we were in the middle of summer and most of the hotels had been booked for months. He tried to reason with him, he tried to charm him and then he tried to get angry with him. The man never changed his expression.

I watched this for a few minutes and then looked over at my friend Jennifer. She was about 15 years younger than me, beautiful and smart. I didn’t have to say a word. She winked and we walked up to the skycap and smiled. He smiled back. We talked to him for a few minutes and suddenly, he knew of a place where there were some vacancies. We thanked him and walked back to the group.

“What the hell did you say to him?” my friend asked. He still looked pissed off.

“You don’t want to know,” was all Jennifer said. All we had done was smile, explain our situation and batted our eyes. He didn’t need to know that.

Soon we were at a hotel that was beautiful. We checked in. They had 3 rooms for us, all with double beds. Jennifer and I decided we would share a room and the rest of them could figure it out. While we were checking in, there was a man standing there. He was leering at us. I didn’t know who he was. Jennifer noticed also. He was making it very obvious what he was thinking and when I saw him lick his lips, I almost screamed.

After we got everything taken care of at the front desk, I almost ran away when the front desk handed the pervert our room key. He was our bellhop! Oh, this day was just getting worse and worse.

As we followed him to our room, Jennifer and I kept looking at each other. He kept looking back at us and smiling. We held each others hands and slowly followed. Visions of “Psycho” kept flashing through my mind. I didn’t want to end up like Jennifer Leigh.

We weren’t in Kansas anymore. My friends were getting their rooms, so it was just the three of us, walking down hallways, further and further away from the front of the hotel.

We got to our room. He opened the door and dragged our suitcases in. I saw him put our key in his pocket. I put my hand out for it and he smiled and looked me up and down. He licked his lips again. I kept my hand out and glared at him. He shrugged his shoulders and gave me the key.

“Where do you want me to put your daughter’s suitcase?” he asked me.

Jennifer choked. My daughter? Oh no, he did not just say that!

I pointed to the dresser and said nothing. He dragged it over there and left mine by the door. He held out his hand for a tip. I could not go near him. I needed a shower. Jennifer gave him a tip and he held onto her hand and wouldn’t let go. I walked over and looked at him. He suddenly lost the smile on his face and left. I locked the door behind him and put the chain on.

Jennifer fell down on the bed, laughing. “Oh, hey MOM!” she said. This got me laughing. We had now been up 36 hours and I think anything would have made us laugh.

I grabbed a few things and went into the bathroom to take a shower. It was filthy. I sighed, didn’t care anymore and pulled the shower curtain back.

Sitting there, just waiting for me, was a cockroach that looked to be a foot long. I think it hissed. There isn’t a person alive who hates and fears cockroaches as much as I do. I screamed and couldn’t stop. I turned to run out of the bathroom at the same moment Jennifer came in to see why I was screaming. I slammed into her and we both fell on our asses. I had fallen against the tub which caused the cockroach to hiss again.  More screaming ensued as I pushed myself away, crawled over Jennifer and out of the bathroom.

If it got in my hair, I would die.

I crawled as fast as I could across the floor and made it to the bed.  I was too scared to walk.

Jennifer still didn’t know why I was so terrified.

I climbed onto one of the beds. I yelled at her to shut the bathroom door and to never open it again. She did and came around the corner and saw me shivering on the bed.

“Ah, so Susan, what the hell? What happened? You OK?” she asked as she sat down.

I nodded. “There is a hissing cockroach the size of New York City in there. You either have to kill it or never open that door again. Do it for your Mom, will ya?”

Her eyes got huge and she shook her head. “No, I hate those things. What are we going to do?”

“We are going to get someone…” and then I remembered the bell hop. We were in a foreign country. There wasn’t a soul around for miles except for him, my friends and one or two other employees.

We were all going to die.

I called my friends to see where they were, but it was pointless. No cell phone service. They could be anywhere and I wasn’t about to leave the room and go wandering around looking for them. The place was too big and was getting creepier and creepier by the moment.

It was so late and we were so tired. “Let’s just go to sleep,” she said and pulled back the covers of her bed.

The sheets were stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in months. She sighed.

“I have to pee and brush my teeth,” she said.

“Do it outside on the lawn or go kill that thing in…there,” I said as I pointed to the bathroom. I just knew it was still hissing at me and figuring out a way to get out and come get me.

Now I had to go to the bathroom and all because she said she had to. It was like a yawn – contagious. I looked at the time. We had to be up and out the door in five hours. I was determined to make it through the night without either one of us getting raped and butchered by the pervert or torn to shreds by “The Thing” in there, that was plotting to get us.

She collapsed on top of the bed and was instantly asleep.

I sat up all night, ready to kill anyone or anything that came near us. I did not sleep for one second and kept the lights on.

A few hours later, I woke her up. The sun was up, no one had attacked us and it was time to go. We grabbed our suitcases and as soon as we saw a bathroom, we ran.

We met up with our friends. They ended up having a wonderful time. They went swimming that night and having a party. They couldn’t get in touch with us either when they tried to invite us. They were laughing and talking about how much fun they had. They loved their rooms even though they didn’t sleep in them.

I hated them and so did Jennifer. Somehow she and I had ended up in another universe on some cosmic plane. We were taken to hell and they were taken to heaven.

Jennifer and I ended up in the last row of seats on the plane. I got stuck with the aisle seat. This meant I was one foot away from the bathroom and every time someone wanted to use it, they had to turn to open the door. This resulted in them shoving their butt in my face. So in order to avoid that happening, I had to sit up and lean over to the right and rest my shoulder on the guy next to me, who wasn’t very pleased with that arrangement. I think he had a phobia of women with big hair. Anytime I did doze off, he would shove me back.

By the time we hit Miami, I was a walking zombie. We had a layover of a few hours, so Jennifer and I found the nearest bar and started drinking, calling and texting people.  Two of my friends complained about being tired. Both Jennifer and I snapped at them to shut-up as we ordered another round of Margarita’s.

Boarding the next plane, we made two of our friends move and give us their seats. They had the best ones and there must have been something about the way we looked that they didn’t question us. I finally slept from Miami to Denver. Boarding the last plane home, they insisted on she and I having first pick. I slept from Denver to San Francisco.

Coming through my front door, I made my husband check the shower before I would go into the bathroom. He gave me a quizzical look but did it anyway. The coast was clear.

Fifteen years later, Jennifer still calls me Mom and introduces her kids as my grandchildren.

But I do smack her if she hisses at me.

Surviving lock down

Posted: August 27, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

You really haven’t lived until you’ve walked into a jail that was in lock down.

Lock down is when something bad happens inside and all communication in and out is cut. There is no visitation and all inmates are confined to their cells 24/7. This can go on for a few days to a few weeks. Inmates are escorted by armed guards to use the bathroom and showers, but all food is eaten in their cells.

This occurs after there has been a violent incident in the facility. There are other things that happen, but you get the general idea. It’s not a fun place to be at the time.

Well, no one had told the group of us that arrived at Juvenile Hall that they were in lock down. We were supposed to be called if our class for the kids was called off for any reason.

The call never came and so we showed up, like we had been doing Tuesday and Thursday nights for the last two years.

I remember thinking it was way too quiet as we walked in. The night was cool and there didn’t seem to even be a breeze in air. No one was walking in and out. The building loomed before us as we walked in and I got a shiver up my spine.

Something was wrong, something was off but I didn’t know what it was. I just followed my friends, but even they started to sense it.

We got to our first check point to gain entry. This is where you sign-in, provide your ID and sign all the documents. The staff are behind a bullet proof glass wall. You have to go through two doors. The second door will not open until the first door is locked. This prevents anyone escaping or gaining unauthorized access. Purses, cell phones and any other personal items are left in the trunk of your car. I always removed all my jewelry at home. I didn’t do that because I was afraid of it being stolen. I did it because I didn’t want one indication of anything that I had that they did not.

Why rub anything in their faces?

These kids came from all different backgrounds. Some came from affluent homes and some came from very poor living conditions. They were various ages, but none of them were older than 18. If they were, they were shipped to the Main Jail to fend for themselves.

No one said a word to us as they buzzed us in. We walked up to the second floor and went through our next check point. Every move is recorded on camera. Approaching us was a handcuffed prisoner walking towards us, escorted by two armed guards. Etiquette is very specific here as it is everywhere else. We stopped, backed up to the wall, put our hands behind us, leaned against the wall and looked down until they passed.

Never look a prisoner in the eyes in a hallway unless you are staff. It’s considered rude and it can humiliate or antagonize them.

We were cleared and went to cell block to collect our kids. None of us spoke as we walked as that is the correct way to behave. We walked with our heads down and our hands at our sides, in plain view.

When we walked in, it was deathly quiet. Normally the kids are out of their cells, watching TV, talking or reading. There were about 5 staff to handle 25 kids. But tonight, no one was out, all the kids were in their cells and you could hear a pin drop. We stopped at the desk and waited. Again, we kept our gaze down and did not make any eye contact with the inmates.

One of the staff looked up and said “What are you guys doing here and how did you get through?”

We had no idea what she was talking about. My friend Steven spoke up. “Well, it’s Thursday night, our usual night…”

“But you can’t be here! We are in lock down for two weeks!”

She explained that there had been a fight the night before – about 20 feet behind us -and someone had been stabbed. We listened quietly and nodded. I guess it was time to leave and I started towards the door.

“Hold on, don’t go. You want to hear something interesting?”

Like this evening could get any more interesting.

“The only kids who weren’t involved in it were yours. Whatever you guys are doing with them is working, so I’ll tell you what; I’ll make an exception since all of you are here and they behaved themselves. You can have them tonight, just like always.”

We smiled and went into the room they had for us, trying not to jump up and down. The program was working! Who knew?

We unpacked our gear. Soon all 10 of our kids were running into the room (a big no-no, that running shit) and grabbed us and hugged us. They were all talking at once and laughing. It took us a few minutes to get them to calm down. I said one person could tell us the story. Jose raised his hand and asked if he could. We said yes.

“You should have been here! This one kids shoved another one and then suddenly there was this huge fight! It was so cool! Everyone was screaming and yelling, but all of us remembered what we had learned about not responding to violence with violence and all the practicing you had us do on being patient. So, we all ran in here, grabbed the chairs and sat and watched. We just stayed together, kept telling each other to not react and it would be OK. And it was!”

My friends and I all got teary eyed. You try, you work hard but you never know if it does any good or not. You hope it does, you hope you are making a difference but it wasn’t until that moment that all the hard work was worth it.

By then the others starting talking and telling us their version of the story. They were proud of themselves and none of us could have been happier. We didn’t get much done that night, but it was OK. They had to participate in the lock down too, but they didn’t care. They were now using the time to read and write. They had never done that before our program. Some brought us their writing and discussed the books they were reading, quietly, intelligently and with great passion.

You never know when you will make a difference, so never give up. Some of these kids were in for felonies, some were thrown away, many were gang members. Say all you want about how we need to handle crime, get rid of the gangs, make things better for the rest of us.

Talk all you want, stand on as many soap boxes that you have, but there is only one way to deal with problems. Face-to-face. You save one child at a time and no amount of posturing for election and getting a degree and thinking you know all there is to know about people will accomplish a damn thing.

For every child you save, you save the future of this society. Save the child = save the future.

Phone call from Chanteel

Posted: August 13, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

She called me last week. I saw the unfamiliar number ring on my cell phone and almost didn’t answer it. I don’t like to do that, but I suddenly recognized the area code was the same as her previous call to me. Don’t ask me why I can remember that from a few months ago and yet can’t often remember why I just got up and walked into another room.

If you don’t know who I am talking about, go read this post and then come back here.https://idisagreecompletely.com/2012/07/20/today-her-name-is-chanteel-tomorrow-who-knows-what-it-will-be/

As soon as I answered it, I heard her familiar voice.

“I love what you wrote about me,” was all she said.

My heart suddenly stopped and for a moment I felt as if I had just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar by my Mom. I knew I would never write something that would betray someone or hurt them, but having the subject of your writing tell you that is, at best, an odd sensation.

“You did? Really? You read my blog?” I asked and held my breath.

“Yes and I love it. I knew you were talking about me and I wanted to thank you for the story.”

I felt a huge smile cross my face. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and I was camped out on my couch, getting caught-up on last season of “House” on Netflix. Drinking iced tea and trying not to think about Monday morning. I am very good at putting things out of my mind.

“I’m so glad you liked it and I almost didn’t write it. I didn’t want to say anything…”

“You have given my life meaning with your writing,” was all she said.

I did not expect this comment. “I have?” was all I could think to ask.

“You have. I’ve been following your blog since the beginning. I remember some of the people you’ve written about and thank you for showing people we are human too.”

I couldn’t help it; I started crying. Right then and there, I was sniffling and wiping my eyes, thankful I wasn’t wearing any make-up. Make-up on a Sunday just seems sinful to me.

“Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

I shook my head, as if she could see that. “No! No, you didn’t say anything wrong at all. Your words have touched me more than I can say…”

“Susan, what’s wrong? Why are you sad today?” she asked. She was right. I had been sad for a few days but hadn’t said a word to anyone. Suddenly, she was the person I needed to talk to. This beautiful and messed up soul who comes into my life once in a while, touches down and then flies away until the next time.

I took a deep breath and decided to talk. Just talk. “I have, or had, a friend but I’m not sure if we’re friends anymore,” I said and the words just jumbled out of my mouth. No thought to them, no attempt to make sense or to try to even understand what I was saying.

“We were really good friends for a long time. Talked everyday and shared so much. Now the last few weeks, he no longer has time for me. I’ve tried to say hello a few times, I’ve sent a few text messages but I never get a response anymore. If I contact him, I have a 50/50 shot he’ll reply. I don’t know what I said or did, but I’ve had to accept the fact that I am no longer important and I guess it just hurts so much.”

There. I said it. I opened my soul a bit. “So, I am going to respect his unspoken wishes, even though I don’t understand, and try not to be hurt and bitter, and leave him alone. I don’t stay where I am not wanted, but right now, I am hurt and there’s not much I can do about it,” I said. I actually felt better having finally faced the fact that I was very hurt and I was grieving and didn’t know why I had lost such a dear friend.

“He’s an idiot,” was all she said. This made me laugh with the way she said it and the absolute certainty she had. Once I started laughing, she did too. I ended up talking to her for a long time and all she did was listen.

Suddenly the teacher became the student. She spoke to me quietly and in the only way she could, got me to see that I had done nothing wrong and that it was natural to grieve and I would until I was done with it.

I passed onto her the well wishes I had received from my readers and this made her giggle. I told her I was proud of her – she was steadily employed, drug free and fighting her demons every day and today she was winning. Tomorrow was too far away to worry about.

She had to run, but before she hung-up she said “I love you Susan and I love that I can call you anytime, and you’re always there. If this so-called ‘friend’ of yours doesn’t know your true beauty and strength and value, then it’s OK. I know you love unconditionally and always will. I do too and that’s why I can see it in others. We are rare, crazy and we hurt all the time, don’t we?”

“Yes,” was all I could manage to say and she was gone.

She will be back and I will be here and we shall carry on our conversation. After she hung-up, I felt the sadness leave and knew that there was a person out there who cared about me and had replaced the one that no longer did.

Nothing like trading up, eh?

You’re pathetic

Posted: August 1, 2012 in funny stories, Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

She was. Completely and utterly a walking mess. One of the strangest girls I had ever seen and she was new to our High School.

I knew most of the kids that I went to school with from 3rd grade and now all the way into High School. We all lived in the same neighborhood, but over the last couple of years, they began busing kids in from all over the County. There were new faces almost every week and soon the school began to divide into separate groups.

Maybe all schools do this, but this was the first time I became aware of lines being drawn and I did not like it.

There were the cheerleaders who in Junior High looked just as awkward and fat as the rest of us, but something must have happened during the summer between Junior High School and High School, They became pretty and slim while the rest of us were still trying to figure out who we were and what we wanted to look like. They found the magic pill and weren’t going to tell us.

Suddenly they didn’t have time for me and our other friends. They were too busy bouncing around the grounds in their uniforms and I remember feeling jealous and hurt for the first time since Cindy Thayer stole my 3rd grade boyfriend away from me.

Another group were the brainy kids who did actually attend the debate class, along with the chess club and a few other things I had no interest in.

Then there was the losers and these were kids “with a past” that had been sent to our more affluent school. They came from “broken homes” and lived in “foster care,” of which I knew nothing about.

There were a few other groups and I bounced around between them until the lines were drawn. No one told me about these lines and suddenly my friends that I had grown up with no longer had time for me or would talk to me.

I ended up in the “parking lot” group, which is where we played music, acted cool and smoked cigarettes. I sort of ended up there by default but at least I made new friends who liked me. We spent many hours sneaking smokes between classes, talking about how horrible the world was and how adults didn’t have a clue, wrote bad poetry and read books on philosophy. I often climbed the big oak tree and was known to suddenly drop onto people walking past.

One day I heard some odd laughing while I was smoking. Daryl was on lookout for the principal. There were several girls who had surrounded some new girl and they were taunting her. I looked up and saw what they were doing.

Her name was Dawn and she looked pathetic. I don’t say this to be cruel. I say it as my first impression of her. She was very tall, large and had this hair that was frizzy and stood straight up. It was completely cut wrong. To make matters worse, she was wearing a plaid skirt and an over sized sweater and her plaid knee socks had crunched down around her ankles. She was crying and they were taunting her. The more she cried, the louder they got.

I had known these girls since 3rd grade and for a moment, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I figured I was just dizzy from the nicotine and rubbed my eyes and looked again. Nope, I had seen it right. I looked up at Daryl, who was standing guard in the tree, and before I knew it, he had jumped down and was walking towards them. I put out my cigarette and followed him.

I felt nauseous at what I was seeing. These girls had turned into a pack of baboons and had now started to shove her. Dawn wailed louder and they laughed more. Daryl started to run and so did I. I didn’t have a plan of what I was going to do, so I followed him.

He walked up and started yelling at the girls to shut-up and leave her alone. Daryl was one of those kids “with a past” who had been put in foster care and didn’t know where his family was. He was lost, confused and only 16 years old. Many people judged him immediately, including the group of baboons, and he also had been shunned into the parking lot group with me.

Suddenly, one of the girls shoved Daryl and then put her hands on her hips and stuck her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do, dick head? Hit a girl?” she laughed.

Daryl looked at her for a moment. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,’ he said and shoved her back. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was enough for her to have to step back a few feet to catch her balance.

It was suddenly deathly quiet as everyone stopped teasing Dawn and looked at the girl he had shoved. Daryl didn’t flinch and just stared at her. She started crying. Daryl grabbed Dawn’s hand and marched her to the parking lot.

I had watched the whole thing and I have to admit, when he shoved her, it made me smile. It was about time someone stood up to that bitch. I figured he would get into trouble, but he didn’t seem to care. I ran behind him. At one point I turned around and flipped them all off. They were still standing there with their mouths open. God I wish I had a camera for that shot.

Daryl brought Dawn to the parking lot and we all greeted her. She had a strange eye and I found out later it was a glass eye from a car accident. She was all wrong for our school and that made us like her even more.

Daryl ended up getting suspended for a week and nothing was done to discipline the baboons. That was fine with all of us because from that moment on, Dawn was never left alone.  We were all her body-guard of sorts, I guess. It just happened naturally. She eventually blossomed as the year wore on. She lost weight, grew out her hair and started wearing make-up.

I was wrong. Dawn was not pathetic. Those ‘perfect” girls were.

But there was one thing she and I would always do and somehow get away with it. On occasion, we would wander by the cheerleaders during practice and moon them. I swear the coach saw us and said nothing.

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