I Am My Community

The first thing I noticed while driving down the straight, narrow road to the city park was the teenage boy hopping the fence that divided the park grounds from a nearby basketball court and restroom area.

For some reason it struck me as strange.  He could have gone around the paved walk.  Hopping the fence seemed unnecessary, almost delinquent.

In addition to a mini golf course, a large duck pond, and walking trails, the city park also has a main building with a community pool and fitness room.  I pulled into the parking lot and planned to let the kids sit in the air-conditioned car for a second while I ran in and grabbed the pool’s new schedule.

The boy who had hopped the fence was just coming around the side of the building when I pulled into my parking space.  Before I could finish my “don’t unlock the door for anyone but me” speech (I was leaving daughter H14 in charge, I knew they’d be fine), another boy came out of the building and met up with the first boy.  They were very animated as they stood on the sidewalk talking.  I thought out loud, “Let me just wait here with you a minute until those boys leave.  I don’t have a very good feeling about them.”  And I didn’t.

The boys left, I ran into the building, wasn’t gone for but three minutes, then ran back out to the car.

We had two more errands to run, so off we went.  Driving back out the straight, narrow street, I noticed a group of teenagers sitting on some benches behind the restrooms near the basketball court.  I hadn’t seen them when we came in, but it looked like they had been gathered for a while.  A young boy sat on the concrete, all by himself, along an adjacent wall of the restrooms.

Just as I was driving by, one of the boys I had seen earlier went over to the third boy and started punching him in the face.  The boy on the ground did not get up, did not fight back, but did try to cover his face.  I stopped my car in the middle of the road, and as safe as I could, did a 3-point turn in order to drive closer to the basketball courts and the teenagers.  I’m sure the car behind me thought I was being irresponsible, but I definitely didn’t care.

By the time I got turned around and closer to the teens, the punching boy had gone back to the group of teens.  The boy who had been hit was now standing, but inching his way further along the building.  I didn’t understand why he didn’t leave.  He looked miserable, meek.  My heart ached a little for him.

The two boys I had seen earlier (one of them being the attacker, remember) were now sparring with each other while the other teens looked on.  It was relatively clear that they were friends, or something close to it.  After horsing around for a few seconds, they then both went to find the third, beaten boy.  He saw them coming, and again, didn’t run, but didn’t look at all pleased.  The two boys started hitting on him again, and then pinned both his arms behind his back.  That’s when I started honking my horn like crazy.

The three of them looked over at me, and the two boys loosened up on the third and started walking him around a corner of the building where I couldn’t see.  I promptly sped out of the parking lot, onto the road, where I parked in the middle of it and made them aware that I was watching them.  They finally let go of the boy altogether, but something was just NOT RIGHT.

It finally occured to me that the police station was just next door.  I hurried over to it and ran inside to tell the receptionist what was going on just over their fenceline.  She said – with only a little bit of commitment – “We’ll send someone over.”

When I left, I headed back over to see what has happening.  I immediately saw the three boys walking together, crossing just in front of the police station.  I say “together,” but the first two boys were in front, and the third was walking miserably behind.  He looked like some animal being led to doom.  The other teenagers were still gathered behind the basketball court, unperturbed.

I didn’t follow the boys, because it was then that I realize that MY four kids in my car were getting scared.  I trusted that I had done the best I could in the situation, and now it was time to talk to my own kids and comfort them.

I explained that I had never put us in any real danger, and I would have NEVER gotten out of the car to confront the boys.  We could have sped off in the car if I thought anything was going to happen to us.

I also explained that I could not just see that boy getting hurt and not do anything about it.  And that even if the police didn’t do anything or didn’t find anything, I was not responsible for anything other than what *I* could do about the situation.

While talking to some friends later about this whole experience, the wife guessed that it was probably some kind of gang-related initiation or “jumping.”  Listening to her list the characteristic of someone being “jumped” into a gang, I could see how the situation would fit.  I’m not positive that’s what it was.  I just know it was disturbing.

I think about the videos we’ve been seeing too much of in the media – the ones with teens beating each other silly and then posting the video on YouTube.  In almost every instance, there are other kids standing around watching.  I heard one psychologist say that as long as there is a social acceptance of what is happening, it’s still going to happen.  But as more people stand up and say, “This is not right!”, we will see a decrease in such senseless violence.

I thought about that when I honked my horn and waved my hands at those boys.  I was telling them, “I see you!  I’m here!  This is not okay with me!”  It’s scary to get involved, and my heart was certainly pumping at that point.  But if I want my world to be the kind of place where my kids are safe, then I have to say something.  At least in this one instance, I don’t know if I changed anything or helped anyone, but I did stand up and have my say.

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