Child psych is not the most uplifting of professions. The patients are heartbreaking -abused and abandoned five year olds, ten year olds contemplating suicide, seven year olds with post-traumatic stress disorder. The worst that humanity can do to itself is present in child psychiatry.
I had been warned about him in morning report. He had been in inpatient twice for suicide attempts. He had been kicked out of the halfway house for bad behavior and violence. He had failed residential treatment three times. He was in trouble with the law, with school, and with his doctors. No one would touch him. Dangerous. Gang-banger. Unreachable. Unsalvagable. This was his last chance.
DeShawn was a big guy, a boy trapped in a man's body. An African-American kid who walked with that arrogant swagger particular to those who have survived a rough neighborhood or a rough life. His cornrows braided tight against his skull, a clean white do-rag, an oversized sweatshirt, and baggy jeans gave him a "don't mess with me" air. He took a seat in the front of the room. The other teens eyed him cautiously. The interview began.
He was guarded at first. Slowly, he began to share his story.
"I got stuck in here after I tried to hang myself. Had the rope around my neck, felt it tight. Staff came in before I could get myself down. Then they were trippin' later, sayin' I was gonna drink the bathroom cleaner. I was just jokin' with my home-boy; he didn't think it was funny. Guess I ended up in there 'cause I was at the end. Death is just life man, just a phase, everyone dies, I was just choosin' my time. Felt bad though, real bad. Abandoning my sisters, good girls, can't protect 'em up here."
He told us he was from East St. Louis. Vastly different from St. Louis, Missouri, which he was quick to point out. He was raised by his mother.
"She done gave me up when I was eleven. Terminated all her rights. Didn't matter none to me. She lied. I was about ten when I found out my dad, Derrek, what did I used to call him... daddy. He wasn't my daddy. There was talk, and I heard. Then he'd raise his hand to me, knock me around some, I was like 'you ain't my daddy, why you layin' hands on me?'. So I left when I was ten, was at the courts, started kickin' it with this home-boy. He got me into some business. They were my family."
He went on to tell us that all of his friends had been murdered when he was ten. He had just left the house where the killings were to do a job. The rival gang set the house on fire after the shootings. He threw buckets of water on the fire waiting for firetrucks that never came.
"It was messed up. I lost my family again that night. I went a little wild. That's when she gave me up, my mom. Bounced around foster care awhile. Got in some trouble."
DeShawn went on to talk about his real father, an aberration in the scores of single fathers I had met. His mother lied to his father about his existence - told him that she had a daughter not a son. Swore he would never see his daughter. He had been searching for ten years for his child. He found him in foster care and then fought two states for three years to get custody of DeShawn.
"He's superman, the coolest man I ever met. He tells me to think before I act. Told me to hit Derrek where it hurt. I was gonna kill him. Make him pay for what he did. Then I got to thinkin' about what my dad said. I didn't want to go to penitentiary for him, and then my sisters, you know? Their older brother killed their dad? I can't do that to them. So I'm going to go to school, in the Air Force, gonna be in aeronautical engineering. I'll hit him there. He was wrong about me. I'm gonna be famous, be somebody. I've been working hard, you know? Following all the rules, 'cause I had to get home for my dad's birthday. I did it too. I don't want to disappoint him."
He wrapped up the interview shortly after that.
"I'm stronger now - in my head. I know we die; we all die. I ain't gonna die that way though; I ain't takin' it in my hands. I'm not religious or anything, don't make it to church most Sunday's. There's something though, some reason."
He paused. "I'm done now. Can we finish?"
He sat slumped in the chair across from the interviewer, his eyes downcast, the realization of how much he had shared becoming clear.
Connor, an artistic teen with a flair for the dramatic, spoke first.
"You're so optimistic. You had a terrible experience with your family, and yet you embraced your dad with open arms. You're looking to the future. I'm having some trouble with my family now, but hearing your story makes me want to work harder at getting through that. Thank you so much for sharing."
After a few more comments, the teens were invited to write a note to DeShawn if they desired about what his story had meant to them. Every single one stayed to write. DeShawn spent the next thirty minutes reading the notes, tears in his eyes. He told us that no one had ever asked him about his story. No one had ever listened to him except his dad. The exercise had brought him together with kids that in his mind were his complete opposite and allowed him to see how similar they actually were to him. It had given him support and acceptance for that brief period of time. He asked if he could take the notes home. I pictured him pulling them out and re-reading them when he was having a rough time.
Seeing this child society had labeled unsalvageable so vulnerable was one of the most touching experiences I have had. His story, one of death and rebirth, of a father searching for a lost son against all odds, struck me. It was symbolic to me of God searching for us, of our need to become dead to this world and reborn in Christ. His resilience, his optimism, his determination to succeed against all odds with the help of his loving father were inspiring.
DeShawn has a long way to go. I know the odds are against him, and I don't know how it will turn out for him. I do know that I am in his debt. He helped restore my faith when it was at a low. For that, I am grateful.
I'm glad you had this experience.
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