breaking a cycle

This semester I am taking a sociology class called "Control and Prevention of Crime and Delinquency".

Confession?  I haven't even cracked the textbook.  But I get this stuff.  I understand it.  I spend the majority of my time talking about the very things that the professor is trying to teach about.  And I have a motive for learning how to control and prevent the two very things perpetuating a cycle of violence and poverty amongst my children.

They are mine, in the very sense my heart loves them as much as it is humanly possible to love a child who is not your own.  And I have devoted my life, in many literal senses, to inciting change and bringing hope. I want to get in the way.  Their way.

In my purse is a folded-up post-it note.  I remember writing it in my office, years ago.  "Break the cycle of poverty and violence by investing in the lives of children."  A three year old post-it note has survived. Because on it, is written my life's mission.

For my sociology class today I had to do a homework assignment.  Read a book, trace a family lineage, and create two discussion questions.  Did I read the book?  No.  Did I go to the library late last night, find the book in the massive William T. Young library and then find a summary of the book online?  Absolutely.

All God's Children, by Butterfield.  Written about the life and lineage of Willie Bosket.  New York's most dangerous criminal.

A story about a boy.

With a familiar diagnosis.  Brilliant.  Funny.  Descending from generations of hardened criminals, brilliant men.  Who were all searching for one thing.

Respect.

My professor is a young guy.  Really intelligent and awkwardly funny.  Great at making you feel smart too.  He's interested in what your opinion is, but he's opinionated to a fault.  I bet his best friends want to punch him.

He came to talk to my discussion group (none of whom had finished reading the book).  And a classmate told him I was on to something (meaning, "Anna, make something up.  Quick!")  Hmph.

"I'm in social work," I explained.  I saw the light bulb go off in his eyes.  Now he knew why I was in this class.  "I work with urban, at-risk youth."  He nodded.  And that's when my light bulb went off.  There are always those moments when something finally makes sense, when dots finally connect, when what happens in class connects with what's happening in the real world.  Welcome to my moment.

The cycle of violence in Willie Bosket's family was initiated and perpetuated by an inherent desire to be respected.  For generations, this respect has been earned on the streets.  How strong a man is, is determined by how hard he fights.  How he responds to threats and how he fights back.  Intimidation, dominance are all used to assert yourself.  It's what's learned.  It's the example set.  It's the lesson taught.

Honor.  Pride.

Once again, it boils down to misdefining "humility" and "strength".

To believing that you are less of a man if you walk away.  If you turn the other cheek.

Sitting in the Chem/Phys building today, that's when it clicked.

In order for the cycle of violence and poverty to be broken, we have to find a young boy who is willing to never earn (or lose) the respect of his father.  Or the respect of his uncle.  Or the respect of his peers.  The respect of the brothers in the gang.

To incite change, to transform a neighborhood, to impact generations, we are looking for one little boy.

Who will live out the Gospel to its fullest.  Who will walk away from his family.  His neighborhood.  And not even in a geographical sense.  Who will choose a stature of humility and develop a character of integrity.  Without emasculating himself.  Without separating himself from true community.  Without discarding his personality.

Who will find strength and freedom outside the honor and street cred he was raised to covet.

One little boy who will love one little girl.  A little girl who must be willing to disregard the societal pressures about her physical appearance and her sexuality.  Who has set her standards so high no abusive, neglectful, disrespectful man will ever steal her heart.

My prayer is that there will be more than just one.

That revolution will roll through the streets of the ghetto.

Which is why I do what I do.

I am seeking.  The little boys and the little girls.

Because it's nothing I can do.  It's nothing I can cause.  It's not within my power to change anything or anyone.

It's in them.

And every day, we fight for them.