Young Beasts

Young Beasts

Curly might have been trying to keep the hostility away from himself; create a certain distance between him and the friction of the energy undulating in this coliseum of tension and virulence. What demon had possessed the consciousness of this terror he was fighting? Was he about to die on a cross? Would this hostility succumb to the will of the powers that be? Succumb to the forces striking down from the heavens; with incredible voices and the authority to bring down the wrath of god?

Stepping back for a moment; heeding the instruction of the energy that controls him. He put his wrists to his ears. Leather, the winter jacket. Rolling in that field. Dead leaves and dirt, and the grass that never could grow right. Or resting his head on the green table; one tired morning eight hours ago.

Why does this keep happening he wondered?

Attacks. Small assaults that escalated in depth and danger. This personal attack. A bad grade. That attack. When they tried to break him. Make him stare at a tank of fish. In the kindergarten classroom. He knew that the hammer was going to come down for this one. What would she do? He hoped nothing. It was just not fair. He was getting beat up.

They are picking on him every two seconds. Sherman wouldn't stop drawing funny pictures of him. Sherman was making him look stupid. And all that that was was what didn't really matter. Because the only thing he saw was the pudgy butthead with food on his face. There was no teacher around. But he knew the other kids were there. He even knew exactly how each one of those other kids felt exactly about what was going on with him. Here. With the evil one. That monster! His shirt stretched out at the neck from where Curly tried to use it to keep himself standing.

He fell under the lunch table. And his head hit the hard floor of the cafeteria and there wasn't really any sight in his eyes when he was getting to my feet. Only now with his hands over his ears did he understand further than what he felt in spots on his body. In his ribs and in his head when he hit the ground. Physical pain creating emotional pain.

That monster was saying it was Curly who started this. And he went after Curly! He pushed Curly down! He had been in trouble all day! Why doesn't it stop?

Harry was going to call his mother again. This time for sure. He's not going to let Curly off again this time. All he had done that day was mess everything up. They don't even give him a chance!

He doesn't know. Angel called him a monkey fart when Curly poured that juice into his snack. Harry took him out of class. They always say those things in front of the girls too. His teachers all hate him. They don't even want him to be in their class. And Curly hates everyone in this school.

He is sitting down now. These people don't matter. That bald head butthole Harry. Who does he think he is?

Looking over his shoulder there are the girls screaming about what just happened. They're all telling Harry.

Harry thought it was Damien that was fighting. Damien was just trying to get the fat slob Moe off of him.

And the way Harry looked at Curly when he realized he was the kid under the lunch table. He was going to give up on him. Curly knew it. And he didn't care.

Harry doesn't know anything. Shaved head monkey with his stupid white binder. Curly doesn't want to be here anymore. Harry made him walk around all day at his side. And he gave Curly a grade for how well he could sit at the table and stare at the wall. And when he made Curly sit in the kindergarten class he told him he was going to get a grade for how well he could stare at the fish in the fish tank. But there were no fish in the tank. It was just murky green water that had fake plants with things growing on them. And Curly yelled out at the story about the drip, drip dripping water faucet, and Harry gave him a D- because of that. So he didn't care anymore.

Everyone was screaming everywhere. Harry was not going to do nothing. Ms. Stevenson was here handing out the paws. Harry wasn't even around. Curly could see him across the cafeteria at the bus five table; trying to get everyone sitting down like he was always doing.

That lady that was always canceling recess was giving out the puppy paw stickers to the kids sitting down quietly. She put one down in front of him. Curly didn't think she even knew that he was just fighting.

He wished his bus would get there. Harry could call his parents. What did it matter? He just wanted to get out of there.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It had been a long day. Another one of those miniature eternities Bruno had been dealing with everyday for years. Except in the summer. Or when they gave them those weeks off sometimes. Like for Christmas, or in the spring. He could go for one of those for sure. What month was it? February? He had a vacation coming up! Oh, thank goodness.
Bruno was in the gym waiting for his afterschool program to begin. The guttural roar of the heating system above drowned out all the sound, and reverberated in these giant walls of dirty brick. And it rolled across the scuffed and gouged hardwood floors. The vents made all the other children scream over them.

Bruno stood at the front of the gym, just beside the doors, and he looked across at everybody there. If there was anybody that he knew.

His teachers say it must be clinical; the behavioral problems he displays in class. His classmates cannot learn when he is in the room. When he is tearing through the stacks of plastic baskets to see what they hold, and the teacher must interrupt the lesson to discipline him. The other students have trouble remaining engaged for the simple reason that they are engaged no longer. Now the teacher is distracted. Bruno will give his irrelevant arguments for the behavior. But what Bruno does not, and seemingly cannot, understand, is that what he has to say really does not matter.

The reasons for Bruno's disturbances, to himself, are valid. There is a legitimate reason for him to be digging through the background instead of listening to the lesson the teacher is trying to present. Perhaps he wanted to see if there was a piece of paper in there. Because he wanted to write a note to Caleb to tell Caleb to stop making faces at him. And Bruno might even go so far to say that it was out of a desire to not interrupt the class that it seemed appropriate to write a note.

This claim cannot be valid. Because Bruno has been told enough to know that the proper response to Caleb's making faces is to ignore it. And to focus on the teacher. His misbehavior is the manifestation of many factors; social incongruities, a family out of touch, a lack of desire to learn, and a lack of interest in what is taking place in the lesson.
It is not impossible to gain the attention of this uninvolved child. Like many other kids, he likes dinosaurs and volcanoes. He likes sharks and he likes tornados. And luckily for Bruno; things of this nature are often taught in his school. Or at least sometimes the curriculum is open ended enough for him to gravitate towards them unrestricted.
Later in life it will be those subjects his recollections of this place crowd around inside of his thoughts. Where he was when he learned that sharks had rows and rows of teeth that replaced themselves as they are torn from the mouth over time. And at the same time he discovered that dolphins have more teeth per mouth than any other creature. As he sat in a corner with some other kids and read the teeth segment of a picture book about sea creatures.

He will not remember that day's math lesson. But overtime he will understand mathematics. As the years drag on into high school Bruno will get satisfactory passing grades in all of his classes.

But he won't remember what he was taught that day. No. What he will remember about today are the tears.

He only wanted to whistle. And he could not do it. But Steven could. And when he tried James made fun of him.

James was always picking on Bruno. Every time he says ANYTHING James makes fun of him. Bruno doesn't know what he says sometimes. But everybody laughs at him. And they think he’s weird. James always tells him he’s rotting because there is a fungus on his face. And then all the other kids say it.

In a subtle way the people at school don't look at Bruno very often. The teachers or the students. It is also similar inside of the home. He has three brothers and sisters in the house, and his mother and father.

His parent's both work significant hours and come and go constantly. They can only pay so much attention for a great part of the week. Often only spending ten minutes a day with the young ones. The children ages 4, 8 (Bruno), 13 and 17 are more often then not doing the daily tasks home life requires by themselves. The parents give the older ones specific instructions. The older children know how to run the house, how to feed and monitor the children. And which neighbor to go to in case of a crisis.

Bruno really only has his little sister Keisha for company in the home. He used to spend a lot of time with his older sister, Diana. But since she had switched to the other school she was not the same. She was on the internet all afternoon and she was on the phone all night. She did not seem to remember that she even had a brother. And Joabel, the oldest, struggled with his high school obligations and trying to get into college. Joabel has a girlfriend, Christy. And it is only with minimum interest that he spends limited quality time with his younger brother.

Bruno is at a stage in his life when the events and knowledge that once mattered and counted for new and important are fading from prominence through repetition. He is through learning to read and do basic arithmetic. Tying his shoes and not wetting the bed are of the past. Now social interactions are sifting their way to the foreground.
Friendship is more important to him than ever. And he is learning of a spider web like presence that is all around him. One he must navigate without making contact with it or to suffer the tearing of the adhesive from his skin. The spider web is his peers. The spider itself, for Bruno, is James.

James whom has the power to wind Bruno into the web so tightly it will suffocate him; and James will continue to suck the good parts out until Bruno is released from the school. The web will be there waiting for him the next day. The spider will be waiting to trap his favorite prey.

Bruno, with the fungus growing up his face. Little, rough, tear drop shaped patches of infested white flesh rising along side his nose on his cheek. Stopped just below his eye and by no means contained.

Dejected from his peers and isolated from his family. He spends his evenings with Keisha, watching her shows on the television; doing his homework and playing video games. His brother makes dinner at night and he eats it. There is not any one person, save for Keisha, he talks to about himself.

They took him out of class. And now Harry was telling Bruno he is going to call his mother because he doesn't behave in class. It's not even his fault.

Now he’s crying and James is there too. He got taken out of class as well. And tomorrow he is going to make fun of him for crying. Because school is over that day anyway. The after school buses are already there. Curly is in trouble and he is here too but Bruno doesn’t know why.

And Harry is telling him that crying is not going to do any good. But he doesn't know what else to do. Bruno doesn't want him to call his mommy. He doesn't want her to yell at him. Mr. Farmer wasn't being fair.

This was not fair. It was not fair. I don't deserve this. It was not fair.

They're going to make fun of me. It's not fair.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When I spin in circles everything changes and gets wobbly. I cannot see straight and sometimes it makes me fall down. I like the way it feels. I do it a lot. I like to watch because everything gets blurry and swirls around my head. And it's like I can't tell one part of the room from another.

I am in the gym and there is so much space in here. Sometimes I run into a teacher and they make me sit down. But I like spinning a lot. My backpack and my jacket come off my shoulders but I keep them on my arms and it feels like they are pulling me in the circles.

"Pedro! Go sit down on the line," said the man with the shaved head. We call him baldy sometimes. I sit down like he told me.

All the other kids are in here too. But not all of them are in my afterschool program. My program sits on this line over here. And another group is on the line over there. And there is another group at the back. Geoff is here and he's pulling on my backpack. Ha ha. He's pulling me across the floor and I'm trying to kick his hands away from the straps.
"You, you, you, and you! Look at me right now! I want all of you sitting next to each other on the line right here!" Baldy said. And we all got next to each other and sat quiet until he was happy and he walked away.

And then he wasn't looking at us anymore and Geoff tried to take my backpack again. I held onto it and he stood up and was pulling me with it more. Geoff is my friend. This is very fun. But when I look over Baldy is coming back again. Uh-oh.

"You four," he waved his finger around me, Geoff, Bruno, and Henry, "get back on the line!" He yelled and his eyes half closed and his nose scrunched up. "If you just sit on this line and behave until it's time to go to snack, when we get there, I will give you a surprise. Ok?"

"What surprise?" Bruno asked him.

"It's a surprise. Just behave until snack. Alright?"

"Ok!" we all said.

"What do you think it is?" Henry asked.

"I bet its tokens." Said Geoff.

Everybody in our program got up and stood in line with their afterschool teacher. I start spinning in circles and I fall down again.

Baldy came back and said, "Pedro! Catch up with everyone else. You're getting left behind."

I stop spinning and walk to the back of my group's line. I was smiling. Spinning in circles is my favorite thing.

Baldy kept telling me to stay with the group. I was close to them. I want to spin in a circle more.

We are in the cafeteria now and I sit down for snack. And Baldy hands me an orange juice, a bag of teddy bear crackers, and an apple.

Everybody wanted an apple juice when he was handing them out. He gave them orange and they wanted apple. They were all saying, "I want apple juice. I want apple juice."
When he finished giving everybody snack, Bruno asked him what our surprise was and he smiled real big and gave us two thumbs up and he said, "Surprise!" Bruno said, "No! Give us a real surprise!"

Baldy said, "No," and walked away.

Curly poured his juice into Angel's bag of crackers. And when Baldy came to yell at him, I asked him for another snack and he told me no and kept talking to Curly.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Is this really what I was like when I was their age? I never knew what they meant when they said that being disruptive in class is making it harder for the other kids to learn; until I watched them; Curly, Bruno, Pedro, and all the rest. Then I got a new perspective.
The kids are so active. They throw things and wrestle constantly. They are always chasing each other. And you can just imagine them acting like this in a jungle. But we aren't in a jungle. We are in an elementary school. And they could slip and split their skull open. And that is what your mind’s eye sees after the initial image of that jungle.
Blood everywhere and a child clutching his face as another staff helps him off to the nurse's office. And then they will question me. “Why weren't you controlling these kids?” they'll ask. Control? No one could possibly realistically expect me to have control over them. There is too many of them and too few of us.

I was a bad kid at their age. And in my adolescence I must have been straight out of my teacher's nightmares. Still, I never gave it any thought until I found myself here. Working with kids is more or less what I do for a living.

I never went to school for it. I just started working with people who have mental disabilities a couple years ago and my career evolved into this.

Curly can barely be in his afterschool classroom. His teacher can't teach the class when he's in there. I do my best to be a caring and involved individual. But I kept Curly out of his class because his teacher wanted me to. I didn't think it was the right thing to do, but she's pretty hot. So I did.

And I have never respected any ones authority over me. How can I expect them to respect mine? For the most part they don't.

The other ladies at the school can control them sometimes. The principle is young and clearly having an affair with this other woman. He gets to use a whistle. I bet without that whistle he's not much better than me. And it's easy for these older women. They look like anyone's mother. The connection is there; just barely under the surface.

But then there is me. I still talk like a child does. I am only 21 and a half. I don't want to be mean to kids. Mostly I just want to talk to them about movies and toys and things like that. But my job calls for me to control them.

We bribe them. As it is they don't even have to come to the program I run. So we have to bribe them to attend. We use toys and a token system of earning. But they always want more. They just want so much.

They expect to be rewarded for adhering to our simplest of commands.

And it isn't their fault. They are only kids. I don't know why I would expect them to understand. But we are trying to teach them. To raise the standardized test scores. We need time to do that. As an afterschool program, our time is limited to begin with. And the better they behave and follow our commands (by ours I mean mine), the better I can organize them, and the quicker I can get my five teachers with their classes to their borrowed rooms, and the more time they can have for our lesson. It is all very chaotic. My teachers help, but most are no better at this than me. Either they are just out of college, or have never worked with kids, or they're still in college. Either way, it is my job to control the kids out of the classrooms. And to handle the misbehaviors that happen within the classrooms. Also, since what I do is after all administrative work. I have got a lot of paperwork flying around.

I have to make sure the teachers have adequate supplies. I have to make sure the teachers have all of their kids in their class. I have to call parents. And I don't think anyone in this business is fond of that task. When a student falls behind I have to give them assessments. I am in charge of filling orders for the toys they have earned with their tokens. I have to keep our supplies organized. I have to keep my superiors informed. Everything needs to be organized and accounted for in our closet space. Plus there is more.

It would all be very possible if I didn't have to deal with the kids. Or I could deal with them fine if I wasn't juggling my other tasks.

I have been managing; I lie to them. I ignore them when they cry, even though I know they need me to say something reassuring. I make poor decisions when my mind is elsewhere.

My bosses tell me I am doing a good job and I never believe them.

I am forever waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the kid to disappear and I gave them to an assumed parent without having them sign out because I was busy. And the kid ends up dead and raped in a gutter. I wait for the injuries. I wait for the school staff to pay a little too much attention and notice I swear around the kids.

I know that if anyone can do this stuff it is me. But I don't want to. Those kids break me down everyday I go to work. I expect it and they know it.

There is a force that tugs at your pride when a child is making you question your future. When they are the ones putting you in your place. They can overwhelm you. They do it all the time. And I try to hide my struggle from them. They can see it in my eyes. If I look away; they can feel the nervous vibrations that emanate from me. They feed on it. It makes them stronger. And that demands more from me.

It calls for anger. You need to scare them with a loud voice, a scowl, and a threat.

There is a lot going on in the realm young children. I am sure parents know about it. And people who work in the field must know it. But until I was submerged in them I never realized what their lives are really like.

They are tiny humans. They have tiny human problems. We ignore the things that are important to them because those things are not important to us. But they have tiny lives inside of their school. They have crushes, and bullies, and friends, and they want to play. It is their nature to run free like any young beast.

It is the nature of education to go against the grain when raising children. This may be why homeschooling is as good of an option. One way or another these youth will grow up. Whether homeschooled and socially oppressed, or grinded through the public education system and socially uniform or outcast and obscure.

They are learning, but they are also being deeply affected by their environment. Maybe if this school wasn't so crowded, the quality of education would be of a higher standard.
And since that is not the case, and there is overcrowding, the problems in the tiny lives of these kids are going unnoticed and unresolved. The parents will not know the full extent of a child's problems.

Perhaps parents are used to their kids. They only see what they already know. They do not know if ones attention craving is the reason he is getting in trouble, or if another is acting out because of a poorly set example. That is just how Bruno is, or how Curly is.
And so be it. Who am I to save the world? I can hardly save my own program. I just hope these kids get something more out of life than I, or we, have to offer them.

Maybe I want to help them. And maybe I don't care about them at all.

But I remember crying in school. And I remember being taken from the class, though I never knew why. I remember being picked on. Never fitting in. I remember the feeling of being forced into a meat grinder. I remember that pain. And I don't think I would ever wish it upon another living soul.