Chapter 22
Do I Have to be a Drug Lord?
Tuesday morning
“Stay down! Both of you.”
I had no idea who that coach was, but I was very glad to see him.
“You okay in here?”
A passing teacher popped a head in the door and instantly regretted it.
“No! Get help,” I cowardly shouted.
“Stay down!”
The coach ordered.
“Just stay there holding each other until help comes.
Neither of you move!”
There they were, at my feet.
The school’s most respected soccer and basketball player, Marcus.
He was in a death grip with an undersized freshman, Alec.
They were hugging each other on the floor of my classroom.
I was not certain why the fight started.
From what little Spanish I knew, the smaller of the boys had just slipped up and told the larger one that he was “with” his girlfriend that weekend.
To make it worse, the fight involved the son of the military family vs. the son of a local family, so the classroom had already split up and taken sides.
There was blood, and somehow I was totally getting blamed for it.
It may or may not have been my fault.
The local boys were all saying I took Marcus down.
The other students were split on who they were yelling for.
Most of them had taken up my chant to “just stay down.”
“OK boys, that’s enough.” Coach Keller and Dr. Franks wedged their way into the room.
“Marcus, let go of Alec first.”
As soon as his arms loosened and pulled back, they began swinging again.
This is when the coaches stepped up and took control.
Marcus responded better to both of them.
Blood from Marcus’s nose and hand spilled on the carpet.
Marcus was pulled off of Alec.
The principal instructed which two students he would take statements.
They left the room.
Alec remained behind.
“That’s odd.” I wondered.
I had never heard of leaving a participant in a fight in the classroom.
I hadn’t been in country all that long.
“Sir,” I questioned his back.
“Do you need any statement from me?”
“No. I have two witnesses.”
“Sir?” This time he turned to look at me.
“The blood?”
“They’ll clean it this afternoon. I’ll send these two back after their statements.”
“Thank you.”
Corndog, you just said thank you for not cleaning the biohazard.
Get back to your classroom.
Teach.
“You were boss Ma’am!”
“You took him down!”
“Bow to the blood.”
As they filed back to their seats Juan stopped to bow down where the brown stain soaked the red speckled carpet.
The rest of the kids followed, bowing twice and sitting down.
“Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson.” Three times two bows.
“Ok, that’s enough wasted time, back to your seats.”
There’s no way my saying that is going to work, they will never organize.
Then before my eyes, little Juan stood on a chair.
He was one of my basketball players.
One of the twelve smallest boys in the school.
He said in a commanding voice.
“Hey, the teacher says sit down!
Respect.
She took out Marcus.”
“I did not…”
I stopped.
Juan put one finger onto his lips.
He slowly closed his eyes to me.
The kids sat down.
What the heck?
They were listening to him.
“Okay Ma’am, you can teach now.”
I couldn’t teach.
I was speechless.
What just happened?
“You shouldn’t have defended Alec!”
“You should have let Marcus kill him.”
What? Who?
It didn’t matter who, it was a soldier’s kid.
The class was going to split again.
It was so difficult to get them to do anything as a group.
Juan to the rescue.
He jumped up and came by my side.
He whispered in my ear.
“Squeeze my pinky when I hold it out.
Do what I say.
It will work.”
My eyes held so many questions.
He continued to the class.
“You all had better do as she says!
She’s tough!
She coaches us!
Watch.”
He held his pinky out.
I stood there doing nothing.
He literally picked up my hand and placed it on his pinky.
Then he dropped to his knees like I was killing him.
He cried and screamed.
I was frozen holding his pinky.
All the kids’ eyes were glued to him.
They didn’t seem to notice my total confusion.
“Let go, let go! I’ve had enough!”
They all believed him.
The class was silent.
What boy would publicly let a woman beat him unless it were true?
He overdramatically grabbed his hand, massaging it during his slow walk back to his seat.
I owe that kid one.
“Mrs. Jackson, that kid you defended is a drug lord’s kid.
He’s going to grow up to be a drug lord.
You should have let Marcus kill him.”
I couldn’t speak.
I walked toward the boy who said it.
Three more joined his jeers.
“A drug lord’s kid.”
“He deserved to die.”
“The world would be better without him.”
He is sitting right there!
I looked at the class, waving a hand.
“Who do you all think you are?
General’s kids?
Colonel’s kids?
Maybe your parents are the one person that has the power to get me sent back to the states?”
Their eyes still challenged me.
I pointed to one of them that had been yelling.
“Your dad went to West Point. When is your start date?”
“Ma’am. It doesn’t work that way.
I don’t even want to go to West Point.”
“Oh, I see. So, you.”
I pointed to another.
“Do you get to go and order your father’s unit around because you’re his son?
Do you get to wear his rank?”
“No Ma’am. It doesn’t work that way.”
I turned to Alec,
“And if you got mad at a group of kids…
Could you walk up to your dad’s protectors and order them to take care of it for you?”
“No, Miss,”
Alec almost whispered.
“That would make my father most upset.”
“It sounds like strong parents are something you all have in common.
It also sounds like you all expect to have choices with your future.”
I took a shaky breath.
An Alabama girl knew how to say a whole prayer in the space of a breath.
God listens.
I continued.
“What makes any of you think it works any differently for Alec?
What on God’s green earth makes y’all believe that you all get to dictate what a fourteen-year-old boy will grow up to be?”
Silence.
“Ma’am. What are you saying?” My heart stopped, then started.
It was Alec.
“Well Alec, I’m telling them that you are a young man just like them.
They get choices about who they want to be.
They set their values and pick a career.”
“I don’t have to be a drug lord?”
Ideas, fears, dreams and prayers all ran through my thoughts at once.
“I didn’t say that, Alec.
I said, you have choices just like them.
You are human.”
“No one has ever said these words to me.
Tell me what they mean.
I don’t have to be a drug lord?”
“Well, Alec.
Tell me something.
Is your dad a good dad?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“I mean, does he listen to you? Does he talk with you kindly?”
His reply was sharp.
“Yes. Why would you ask that?”
“Stay with me here.
I think you’ll understand.
Most people in Panama are Catholic, is he a good Catholic?
Does he sometimes go to mass?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Do you have older brothers?”
“I am sixth of six, the youngest.”
“Ok, now let’s pull this all together.
I’m not saying you do or don’t have to be a drug lord.
I’m saying if you already have five older brothers in the business.
Your dad is financially well-off.
He cares about you and whether you are happy.
If the thought of becoming a drug lord is something you don’t look forward to, maybe you should go talk with him about it.”
“Miss, no one has ever talked to me like this.
I have never heard these words before.
I do not have to be a drug lord?”
I smiled.
“I’m going to be very honest with you, Alec.
You need to respect your father.
If he says you need to grow up to be a drug lord to be safe, believe him.
But shouldn’t you go ask him?
Do you get to speak with him whenever you want, or do you have to make an appointment?”
He laughed at that.
“I talk with him at dinner, sometimes after.”
“Well, the next time you have dinner with him, why don’t you ask him?
Be respectful.
He loves you and wants to know what you think and feel.
Ask him if you have to grow up to be what these American children say you have to be.
Just ask him that.
Let him know how people talk to you about it and be honest with him.”
“Then, listen to him.”
“I can’t advise you about things that I don’t understand.
But I have kids and I would want my kids to talk to me.”
The room went still.
He sat up straighter.
“I might not have to be a drug lord.”
The words were the same, but his tone had changed…
Hopeful.
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