The next day I had them play some dodgeball. Some of the smaller boys looked a little worried when I said that, some of the bigger boys gleeful. So I told them the new rule we were using. If anyone hit another boy with a ball directly, he was out. They could only hit boys with the ball bouncing on the ground first. I had them start, and younger boys got the hang of it fast; because they were smaller and more agile than the bigger boys and could dodge more quickly, they ended up lasting longer, and were having more fun. I followed up that game by getting a large rope out of the storage room and setting them up for some tug of war. Most of them had never tried that before. I thought it would be more fun if I added some humor to it, so as they were tugging, began telling jokes. The team that started laughing first almost always lost. Hard to dig your heels in and pull with all your might if you’re laughing. Pretty soon I’d run out of jokes, so just went up and down the line, and when one team was winning, I’d reach over and tickle someone on that side. I didn’t get away with that very long, however. I was tickling Bryce, one of the smaller kids, when suddenly everyone stopped pulling on the rope and, with roars of pretend fury, jumped on me!
I was quickly covered in kids, and they were all tickling me.
“Get off me, you rebellious rascals!” I shouted between laughs. “You beastly brats! You moldy mob of Munchkin moppets!” Some of them, notably the younger ones, decided to try to save me, and it degenerated into a mass of wrestling kids, with accompanying whoops and hollers. Eventually I was able to scramble to my feet, and I ran to my backpack and grabbed my water bottle. I began spraying the kids as they were rolling around on the ground. The whoops and hollers turned into shrieks. Then I was once again attacked, and soon drenched. It was great!
We took a break, all tired from the melee. After that, I got them to play a couple more games. We stopped frequently, getting water and just resting. Those times were fun, too, because we talked. I was getting to know the boys’ personalities, they were getting comfortable with each other and me, and it was easy for me to sink back to their level. We talked about a lot of things. They seemed especially interested in girls, and asked me a lot of questions. I think they somehow got the mistaken impression when I mentioned I had a good friend named Becky that she was my girlfriend. I don’t know how that happened, it just did. If it elevated me a little in their eyes, then it simply happened that way and I didn’t have anything to do with it. Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
I left them together at lunch again and I ate with the other counselors. Afterwards, I got my group and we gathered around a huge old oak tree that was a long way from the street, far enough so we didn’t have any noise to compete with. I asked them what story they wanted me to read them. I’d brought all four books; they were in my backpack.
Several of the guys started talking at once, and then others got involved. Finally, Cam hushed the others and told me, “We don’t really know any of them, other than a few of us who saw the movie Holes. You know the books, why don’t you choose? Choose the one you like best.”
Everyone sort of agreed with that. I’d guessed it might happen this way. This allowed me to pick the one that I thought might engross them the most, which is what I wanted to happen. The whole purpose was to keep them all coming every day. Well, that and to have them hear some of the books I’d found so great when I was their age.
I picked up Where the Red Fern Grows. I knew they’d love it. The main character is ten when the book starts, and I knew they’d take to him right away. The book had 20 chapters, so it would take me about a month to finish it. It was perfect.
When I finished the first chapter, they all wanted me to go on. I put the book back in my backpack, laughed about reading some more tomorrow, and organized a touch football game. My rule was that everyone had to play a different position on every snap and the little kids were allowed to tackle the big kids if they wanted to. I was able to keep the game fun, which is what they all liked.
The reading had taken up some of the afternoon, so they didn’t get to play too long. When our time was about up, I pulled them together. I told them that reading the chapter had cut into their day quite a bit, and asked if they’d rather we not do that. They were very vocal. They wanted to hear a chapter every day, and there was quite a bit of noise about maybe reading two chapters, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.
I told them one was probably enough, they weren’t supposed to get fat this summer sitting around listening to someone read to them, then told them it was time to go and we should have our group cheer before everyone took off. I saw them all looking at each other funny then, grins on some faces, but had no idea why. I ignored it and got them all massed together, said, “One, two, three,” and then yelled Yaaayy. Except I was the only one yaaayying. They all yelled, “Matt’s Mob!” Then they all laughed as we made our way to the waiting cars.
When I was waving at them, seeing them off, something caught my eye. I looked over towards the administration building. There, sitting on his bike, looking back at me, was Stewart.
We looked at each other for a moment, neither of us saying anything, and then I turned back to my kids and continued waving at them and saying goodbye till they were all gone. When I turned back to Stewart, he was gone, too.
I went in and told John I was taking off for the day. He stopped me and asked me to come into his office. I took a chair there, and he sat on the edge of his desk.
“How’s it going so far, Matt?”
“It’s been really great, John. I was a little nervous before I started, but I’m having a great time. If the entire summer is like this, it’ll be the best summer I’ve ever had.”
He smiled. “That’s really great, Matt. Some guys find it hard, dealing with young kids. I’ve got a question for you, though. I heard a lot of talking at lunch that you were going to read to them. No one’s ever done that before. I guess you read to them after lunch. How did it go?”
“It was good. I asked afterwards if they’d like me to continue it, and it was unanimous. They even wanted more story and less playing!”
He laughed. “Why’d you decide to read to them? Most guys your age are more into video games and movies than reading.”
“I’ve always read a lot, but that wasn’t the reason. When you told us a lot of kids stop coming every day, I thought about how to keep them here, and I decided if I’d read them a chapter a day of an exciting book, they’d show up for that. We’ll see how it works.”
“What a great idea! What are you reading to them?”
I told him, and we chatted a little more. Then, because it was on my mind, I told him I’d seen Stewart Gostens hanging around outside just before I came in.
“I think I should tell you about this. He picked a fight with me after school just before the year was over, and his brother—well, I think it was his brother—got involved and had a knife. The thing is, I don’t want any of my kids to be involved in anything, so I thought you should know about it. Stewart was here today, watching me, but I have no idea why. He might have just seen me and been curious.”
“Do you think he’ll cause trouble?”
“I don’t know. When we had our fight, he didn’t seem really eager to be doing it. He was being urged by his brother, and it seemed to me that’s why he was fighting. He stopped when I hit him. I just thought you should know about it.”
“You were right. Thanks, Matt. We’ll keep an eye out.”
I left then. I was tired. Keeping up with 16 pre-teens can do that to an old guy like me.
The next day, John caught up with me before I went out in the morning to greet my guys.
“Matt, I need to ask you something.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I had a bunch of phone calls last night. It’s about you reading that story.”
“Oh. Well, if it’s a problem, I can stop. The boys’ll be disappointed, but . . .”
“No, no, it’s not that. Your boys were talking to boys in other groups, and they talked to their parents, and they called me. They want their boys to get to hear the story too.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “Matt, I think you’ve started something here. You wouldn’t mind adding some more boys, would you?”
“No. But they’ve missed the first chapter. I guess I could briefly describe what happened in it, and then go from there. How many kids are we talking about?”
John looked at me a little sheepishly. “Well, I sort of told the parents we’d announce it to all the kids today, and let them decide if they wanted to listen. So I don’t know how many, but it might be a lot.”
“Uh, John, if we have a whole lot, I’ll have to read really loudly. I’m not sure my voice can hold out.”
“We’ll just see. I’m happy to see the parents excited about something we’re doing. You’re doing.”
He let me go then, and I joined my group. Today was swimming day, and every kid had brought a permission slip with them. A couple of the 9-year-olds told me they couldn’t swim very well, and I told them to stick with me and I’d watch out for them. We all went to the city pool, which was part of the park, and changed in the dressing room into our suits. It was noisy in there with most of the 130 kids in the parks program all dressing out at the same time.
I wasn’t in charge of my kids at the pool. The life guards were. So I could just swim and enjoy the water. I spent all my time with Casey and Ted. Both had taken lessons but were unsure of themselves. I worked with them, getting them to float face down in the water, then working on their strokes while holding them so they could stroke but wouldn’t go anywhere. By the time we all were done, they were both swimming better than when we’d started, and didn’t seem nearly as fearful of the water.
We all got dried and dressed, and then I took them back to the lunch area and turned them loose, telling them to meet me by our tree when lunchtime was over.
I ate, then grabbed my book and headed across the lawn to the tree. When I got there, most of my kids were already there, and the rest were crossing the lawn. Then I saw a crowd behind them. It looked to me like all the rest of the kids, all of them, were headed our way.
I waited till everyone was there, then put up my hands, spread out as high and far as I could reach, to quiet them. I didn’t shout at them. I’d watched Mr. T. in band. If he shouted at us, it took forever for us to quiet down. Somehow, it was more effective if he didn’t talk, just stood there. It made us uncomfortable to see him standing like that, and we all hushed up quickly so he could put his arms down.
The same thing happened now, although not as quickly as I’d wanted them to. But they did quiet down. I told everyone to sit down on the grass. When they did, some were still in the sun, so I sort of rearranged a few kids till everyone could be in the shade.
I had to talk louder than I wanted to for everyone to hear. But I did. I told them the book I was reading, and what had happened in the first chapter. Then I began reading the second one.
I was surprised how quiet everyone was. These were young boys! It was expected they’d be squirming all over the place, talking and restless. And they weren’t. I guess it was the story, which is very compelling. They all sat and listened, and I didn’t have to stop to quiet them even once. When I was done, there was some complaining that I didn’t go on, but I just told them that if they wanted more, to be sure to come tomorrow.
When we were done for the day, I went and spoke to John. I asked him if there was any way I could get a public address system set up so I wouldn’t have to talk so loudly, or if there was a better place to do this than on the lawn there. He thought the lawn, under the tree, was perfect, better than the band shell, because this was just a natural setting for reading a story. He said he’d get some kind of sound amplification for me set up by tomorrow.
As I was leaving, I spotted Stewart again. This time, he stared at me with a sort of scowl on his face, and he didn’t ride off as I hesitated, then walked over towards him. I stopped a couple feet away. He was still on his bicycle.
I didn’t speak at first, but then, when neither of us were talking, asked him, “Were you waiting for me?”
He didn’t like the question, I could see. He looked embarrassed for a brief moment, but then frowned to cover that up. Finally, he asked, some belligerence in his voice, “Why would I wait for you?”
“A splendid question. No reason at all, I guess. Well, see you around, Stewart.”
I turned and was starting to walk away when he said, “What’re you doing, babysitting a bunch of kids?”
I turned back. I waited a couple seconds, letting him see me digesting his comment. He’d said it rudely, almost challengingly, and I wanted him to see me deciding whether it was worth continuing the conversation. His nature seemed to be bent on being intimidating. I didn’t find myself intimidated at all by him, and hoped he’d cut it out, because instead of being scary, it was merely unpleasant.
“I’m earning money. What are you doing this summer?”
I didn’t think he was going to answer at first, and neither did he, I could see in his eyes, but in the end, he said, “Nothing.”
“Too bad,” I answered. “Doing something, almost anything, is better than that.”
He didn’t reply, but didn’t leave either. I looked at him for a moment, then waved, and said, “I’ve got to get going. See you around.” And left.
That day began the first of many similar ones I spent with all the kids at the park that summer. I had fun with my group in the morning, and we all got closer as the days passed. I’d eat lunch with the other counselors, then go to the tree. John had a small, portable PA system set up with speakers spread apart, scattered around where all the kids sat. All the kids in the summer program would show up, and even their counselors and a couple adults. I’d read the next chapter of the story. Then we’d break back into our own groups, and finish the afternoon.
Often, my kids would stay at the tree, and we’d talk about the story. They all had things to say about it. We’d argue some points, and I found it interesting that they had some excellent insight into the story, and even the kids that were nine had some very intelligent observations, ones that invoked a lot of thought.
I saw Stewart almost every day, hanging around the edges, staying on his bike, just watching all the activity. We
rarely spoke. He didn’t wait for me any longer, but was usually there during the day. Watching. I noticed
that he’d moved close enough each day to hear the story being read, though he stayed by himself.
It had been three weeks and I was nearing the end of the book when on a morning we were playing soccer, I saw Stewart watching my group, still on his bike, off a distance away. I sort of walked around a bit, casually making my way toward him without seeming to be heading purposely in his direction. Eventually, I’d come closer, and at that point, walked directly to him and stopped next to him. I didn’t look at him, just turned and watched my boys. They’d stayed with my original rules whenever they played soccer, finding they all enjoyed the game more that way.
I didn’t talk for a few minutes, just watched them play, then turned to Stewart. “You know anything about soccer?”
“Sure. I played one year in a youth league.”
I must have caught him by surprise. He didn’t sound surly at all.
I paused for a moment or two, then said, “I could use some help. I need to go get something, and they could use a referee. You interested?”
He didn’t quite know what to say. I could see his interest. In fact, he looked eager, but then tried to hide that. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I could help you out if you need me to.”
“Great. Here’s the thing. The less you interfere with them, the better. You notice, I’m way over here and they don’t even miss me. They’ve learned how to play together, and it works best if you just let them. Also, we have a few special rules.” I explained those to him as we were moving towards where the guys were playing.
When we got there, I blew my whistle and they stopped, then gathered around when I waved them in.
“Guys, this is Stewart. He’ll be reffing while I go get something. Okay, back at it!”
They scrambled back to their game, and I handed the whistle to Stewart. “You got it,” I said. “Just remember, the less you do, the better it is. They’re not playing to win, they’re playing for the fun of playing.”
Then I turned and walked away, towards the Admin building. I didn’t need to get anything. I was just wanting to include Stewart.
When I got there, I stepped around a corner, then looked back at my boys. Stewart was standing there, looking very unsure of himself. I gave him fifteen minutes, then ambled back to the game.
“How’d it go?” I asked.
“Fine. I didn’t do anything. They didn’t need me.”
“Then you were perfect. Thanks. And if you want, the speakers need to be set out for after lunch. They’re stacked over by the tree. It would save me the trouble if you wanted to do it.”
“Okay.” He started to leave, then turned back and handed me the whistle.
“No, you keep it. You might need it again. Bring it with you tomorrow. I’ll get another one for myself.”
He just looked at me, then slipped it in his pocket and headed for the tree.
◊ ◊
“You did what?!”
“You heard me. Stewart’s been hanging around the park all day, and I finally asked him to help me out.”
“Why?! The guy tried to get in a fight with you. He was bullying Tim. He’s an asshole. What’re you being nice to him for?”
Kevin and I were at the mall. We’d both had dinner before we came, but at the mall, you always stop at the food court if you’re a teenager. You have to. I think there’s a law. So he was eating some fries he’d bought, and I was stealing one every now and then when I could divert his attention from guarding them. I still had half my cup of Dr Pepper left.
“Kevin, the kid’s lonely. I can see it. He hangs around, just watching. He doesn’t ever have anyone with him.”
“Yeah, everyone knows he’s an asshole. That’s why he’s alone. You should be the last person to want to be nice to him.”
“I suppose. But you know, when he gets the chip off his shoulder, when he forgets he’s supposed to be a bad ass, when he’s just himself, he’s not so bad. He’s just another kid, then. I took him to see John, and I asked if any of the counselors needed any help, and John agreed to find things for him to do. He told Stewart the budget was already spent, that he couldn’t pay him, but he could find him things to do that would help everyone out, and if John liked what he saw, he could probably find him a paying job next summer. Stewart was really happy, and told him he’d come in every day to see what John had for him. He smiled at me when he left. He didn’t exactly thank me, but he did smile.”
“Well, he’s still an asshole, and you are too, for helping him.”
“I am not!”
Kevin laughed, and stood up, his fries now gone. “You’re such a wuss, you know? Always trying to be so good.”
“I am not!”
“Yeah, right”
Later, we were walking home, just passing what I thought of as our own private park. Kevin was busy during the day, and I was too, but we got together most nights. Tonight it was the mall. Sometimes it was a movie, sometimes we’d just walk. We’d talk, or wouldn’t. I was always happy just being with him.
We’d been mostly silent, walking from the mall to where we were. It was a warm night and the moon was almost full, providing enough light that we could see our way clearly.
I’d just been thinking about one of the kids in my group who seemed to wear the same clothes every day when Kevin interrupted my thoughts by saying, “You are a do-gooder, you know.”
“I’m no do-gooder. I just think it’s better to have friends than enemies.”
“No, you’re a big pussy who wants to help everybody.” Then he gave me a big shove, and took off running across the grass, laughing. I quickly gave chase.
Kevin was faster than I was, and we both knew it. Yet I was catching up to him. When I was almost on him, our Duck Duck Goose came vividly to mind. So, instead of pushing him, I grabbed him around the waist and tumbled to the ground with him, making sure he landed on top of me. We wrestled a bit. He was getting bigger all the time, and stronger, too, so I couldn’t manhandle him quite as easily as when we’d first been together. We rolled around on the ground a bit, me complaining I wasn’t a wuss, him saying I most definitely was. Wrestling in the grass in the dark, in the middle of the city but with no one around to see us had a sort of erotic quality to it.
“If I was a wuss,” I panted, rolling on top of him, “you wouldn’t love me. Since you do, I can’t be a wuss.”
“Hah!” he answered, “You’re crazy. I don’t love you any more.” And he rolled out from under me and attacked.
“You don’t? Then how come you’re so hard?” I asked, fending him off and looking at his crotch. “How come your pants are sticking out like that?”
“That’s because I’ve got a boyfriend who doesn’t know how to do his job right and take care of that thing in my pants for me. That’s why I’m sticking out. If you’d do your job right, I wouldn’t be so horny all the time.”
“Sure you would,” I said, and managed to pin him down again. “You’d be horny all the time whether we were having sex or not. And we’re not boyfriends, remember. Just friends. Really good friends.”
“Well, maybe if Timothy were around this summer, I’d have someone to work out my frustrations with. Maybe I’d have a real boyfriend.”
“Kevin!” This hit me like a hammer. “Do you mean it?”
He looked up at me and stopped trying to get loose. In the silvery light, I could see his eyes sparkling. Evidently he hadn’t heard the tension in my voice. “Maybe I do. Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Or maybe he had.
◊ ◊
I was eating lunch. I only had two chapters to go in the book, and the boys were restless, waiting for me to get done with my food and begin reading for the day. I sort of enjoyed making them wait.
Stewart was eating next to me. He’d taken to doing that. We didn’t talk much. I wasn’t the most gregarious of people to start with, and he didn’t ever seem to do a lot of talking to anyone.
But he’d taken to coming and sitting next to me every day at lunch, taking his sandwich out of his bag like we all did, placing it on the table in front of him on a napkin, all without saying a word, then pacing himself so we’d finish about at the same time. Then he’d walk across the lawn to the tree with me. Silently.
Something occurred to me, and I looked up at him, both of us about half way through our lunches.
I said without any preamble, “That big guy. Was he, is he, your brother?”
He chewed and swallowed before answering. Then he said, “Cousin.”
He didn’t say anything else, but I didn’t want to bother him any more and just took another bite myself.
He surprised me then when he went on, after a pause. “I live with them. My parents were killed in a car accident, and they took me in. When I was six. Bart’s four years older than I am. He’s 19. He’s a bad dude. Got a police record.”
He stopped and sort of looked at me, then quickly dropped his eyes. I didn’t say anything.
In a moment, he continued. “He was always hard on me. I couldn’t say anything. I tried, at first, and his mom let me know that he belonged there and I was only there because of how kind they were, taking me in, and she didn’t want to hear anything bad about her son. He’d hit me if I didn’t do what he wanted. I was just lucky I was young enough that I wasn’t very interesting to him. I couldn’t do much, or he’d have had me out doing what he got in trouble for. Tagging. Stealing stuff. Vandalism. Smoking weed. That kind of stuff.
“He loved to make me get in fights with other kids in the neighborhood. He’d set them up all the time. He’d catch kids and make me fight them, even if they didn’t want to. They’d be crying and not even fighting, and he’d make me hit them. I didn’t like it, but he’d hit me if I didn’t hit them. He told me he didn’t want any wuss living in the same house he was.”
He stopped then. I thought about what he’d said, then asked, “If you didn’t like it, why did you pick on smaller kids when he wasn’t around? Kids like Timothy?”
“I didn’t have any friends. All the kids my age stayed away from me, because I’d beaten all of them up. I’d been forced to by my cousin, but that didn’t matter to them. They stayed away from me. Kids were afraid of me. So I sort of just started thinking I was a bad ass. I sort of accepted it. I found some losers to hang with that were sort of like what I thought I was, someone that didn’t take any shit from anyone, someone out to prove how tough he was. I guess maybe I became that.”
I finished my sandwich and stood up. “Showtime,” I said, and grinned.
He stood up too, and shoved the last bite of his sandwich into his bag. We threw the trash away and headed across the lawn. Today, he spoke while we were walking.
“Bart got sent to juvie after that thing with you. He copped a plea to stay out of the men’s prison, but he’ll be inside till he’s 25. As soon as he was gone, I started thinking, I don’t have to be like that any more. I’ve been trying to change.”
“I think you might have been trying even before that,” I said, still walking.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I think when you were fighting me, you weren’t doing it because you wanted to. I don’t think you’d have done it without him there pushing you.”
He was quiet then. We kept walking. When we were just reaching the tree, he said, “Thanks.”
I didn’t know if he meant that for the comment I’d made, or getting him involved in the summer parks program. And then, I realized it didn’t matter.
◊ ◊
I finally finished the book. The end was pretty sad. I looked out over the quiet boys sitting in front of me and saw a lot of tears, and a lot of boys trying desperately not to cry in front of their peers. I slowly closed the book, then spoke in a soft voice, standing close to the mike. I said, “It’s okay to show your emotions. There’re some things, if you don’t cry about them, you’re not really as human as you should be. Everyone cries at the end of this book. So don’t feel bad if you do. In fact, it shows you’re strong enough to show your emotions, that you aren’t afraid to show that you’ve been moved by what you’ve just heard. You should be moved. So if you feel like shedding a tear or two, go ahead and do it. If you don’t, you might ask your mom to make a doctor’s appointment for you, because your water works aren’t functioning correctly.” I chuckled softly to show this was a joke. “But now, think about this, and tell me, how many of you thought this was one of the best books you’ve ever heard or read?”
A few boys yelled, “Yeah,” and then everyone was yelling and clapping, and the tears sort of vanished as their spirits matched their ages again.
When I’d given them time to let off a little steam, I quieted them and told them another book would start the next day. They cheered. Then I excused them back to their group leaders.
Stewart was gathering up the speakers, something he did every day. He carried everything back to the Administration building daily, and back out to the tree in the middle of the morning. He had several other regular jobs. I’d watched him when I could. He smiled sometimes now, and seemed happier.
I walked over to him and asked him if he’d liked the book. He turned to me and I could see the remnants of tears in his eyes. He gave me a sad smile, and nodded.
“Good,” I told him. “You’ll like the next one, too.”
“What’s it called?”
“I’ve decided to read Touching Spirit Bear. It’s about a teenager who gets sent off on his own as a punishment, and how he handles it, how he grows because of it. How he deals with not having parents and friends helping him, how he learns to make decisions for himself, good decisions, and to stand on his own two feet.”
He looked at me, and I could see the wheels turning. Finally, he said, “Sounds like it might be good.”
I grinned. “I think you’ll like it a lot.”