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People sometimes wonder why I'm such a bitter, cynical fuck. Here's one reason.
When I worked at a Boy Scout camp during the summers when I was in high school, I met a 12 year old crack dealer. He was from one of the Juvie troops we would occasionally get at camp. The Juvie kids were always cool as hell, mainly because going to the camp was a privilege, the kids who were there wanted to be there. The Mormon troops and the bastard neo-Nazi fucks from Vider were always hella worse, but these kids with records were the most enthusiastic, fun kids to hang with.
In any case, I got to talking with this one kid after the merit badge class I was teaching was done (something in the Nature area, I can't remember), and he mentioned that he was in Juvie for selling crack. He also mentioned that he was getting out of Juvie in a few weeks, and was going right back to selling crack. When I asked him why, he said there was nothing else he could do. He wanted money, his family was broke, I got the impression that if he bothered to go to school, it was a joke, and it really seemed that he really didn't have an alternative. The thing was that this kid was really smart, funny, and intelligent. If he'd had the opportunity to go to a decent school or something, he probably would have excelled at whatever he tried.
From the way he talked, he was even smart about selling crack, as odd as that sounds. He seemed to have taken a rather objective analysis of his situation in life, and selling crack did seem to give him the best return on his investment of time and effort.
I was amazed by this whole thing of course, me being a relatively privileged white kid from the suburbs. I asked him about gang stuff, and if he was scared of getting shot doing what he was doing. He said he knew it was a risk, but he honestly didn't care if he lived or died. He said it really nonchalantly, too, like it was no big deal.
After I got back to staff site, I broke down. I didn't know what else to do. I obviously couldn't do anything for this kid, and he felt he was doing just fine. Sure, I had my own problems, but the stuff I heard from that kid was so far beyond anything I ever had to deal with that I was ashamed.
That shit was completely and utterly hopeless. That was an experience that hammered home to me viscerally just how fucked up things can get. I have no idea what made me think of it today, but there it is.
When I worked at a Boy Scout camp during the summers when I was in high school, I met a 12 year old crack dealer. He was from one of the Juvie troops we would occasionally get at camp. The Juvie kids were always cool as hell, mainly because going to the camp was a privilege, the kids who were there wanted to be there. The Mormon troops and the bastard neo-Nazi fucks from Vider were always hella worse, but these kids with records were the most enthusiastic, fun kids to hang with.
In any case, I got to talking with this one kid after the merit badge class I was teaching was done (something in the Nature area, I can't remember), and he mentioned that he was in Juvie for selling crack. He also mentioned that he was getting out of Juvie in a few weeks, and was going right back to selling crack. When I asked him why, he said there was nothing else he could do. He wanted money, his family was broke, I got the impression that if he bothered to go to school, it was a joke, and it really seemed that he really didn't have an alternative. The thing was that this kid was really smart, funny, and intelligent. If he'd had the opportunity to go to a decent school or something, he probably would have excelled at whatever he tried.
From the way he talked, he was even smart about selling crack, as odd as that sounds. He seemed to have taken a rather objective analysis of his situation in life, and selling crack did seem to give him the best return on his investment of time and effort.
I was amazed by this whole thing of course, me being a relatively privileged white kid from the suburbs. I asked him about gang stuff, and if he was scared of getting shot doing what he was doing. He said he knew it was a risk, but he honestly didn't care if he lived or died. He said it really nonchalantly, too, like it was no big deal.
After I got back to staff site, I broke down. I didn't know what else to do. I obviously couldn't do anything for this kid, and he felt he was doing just fine. Sure, I had my own problems, but the stuff I heard from that kid was so far beyond anything I ever had to deal with that I was ashamed.
That shit was completely and utterly hopeless. That was an experience that hammered home to me viscerally just how fucked up things can get. I have no idea what made me think of it today, but there it is.
