I am having a little crisis here. Nothing earth shattering, nothing horrendous. But I'm feeling weird, and confused.

The funeral today started it all off. By the way, I took Andrew's name and identifying information off of my last post, so that I may talk a little more openly about my feelings about him, and the kids I "help."

First, several of us had a discussion of some length about young Andrew. He first came to us, dragged in by 6 cops. He was a mommy beater, landed his mother in the hospital twice last summer, once with a broken jaw. Gang banger. Explosive. Without remorse. By the time I got to know him, he had come around...at least at school. He was going to be at our vocational high school program this fall, and was going to be transitioned 1/2 time back to his regular high school.

What happened? Did he want to get out of the gangs, but saw no way and killed himself? Did he have a psychotic episode and snap on himself? Drugs? Girl problem? Had he done something illegal for which he thought he'd be caught? He got out of going to summer school because he got a job, seemed to be keeping himself clean.

Seemed to.

But there he lay in that casket, looking all stiff and dead. Poorly made up so he looked very dark. Turtle neck sweater to hide the damage done to his throat I guess. And lying on his chest were his gang medallions. The Playboy symbol. A Superman charm. Shit. I wanted to grab them and throw them off. But I didn't. I sat in the back of the church and watched the family and friends, the straights and the wannabees and the gangbangers' girlfriends (they don't come out much during the day, kind of like the bloodsuckers they are). I met his mom, not quite 30 (she looked no older than her late son). Yes, she had him when she was 14. Jesus.

So I sat there wondering if I do anyone any good by my work, or is it just smoke and mirrors? Illusion? Does it REALLY do any good? And about the time I thought I'd convinced myself that all kids CAN be saved if they have the right intervention by the right person at the right time, I got another piece of news.

Did you read or hear in the news the other day about the girl who took her baby to the baby's father's place, and the father got upset that the baby kept crying so he threw her against the wall, killing her? Well, that father is one of the students in another of our schools. I had heard the story, and it sickened me. It wasn't until today that I learned that he is/was one of our students. And now I am even sickened more.

And I am left wondering if maybe it's not such a bad thing when the "bad boys" die. And I am feeling guilty for feeling like that. I know I don't really mean it. I know that I'll see the kids after Labor Day and I will "fall in hope" with most of them. But today I don't feel so hopeful.

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