Coming of Age in the Mouth of Madness
The kids of Skid Row
Speaking of which, I keep calling Tony V., but apparently he’s too busy to talk about kids on Skid Row unless there’s a camera with national feed rolling. The lady in the mayor’s press office has stopped returning my calls. I’ll have to tell her I can’t be held responsible for my gathering rage about these Skids. I don’t know what I’ll be compelled to write. Apparently it has a life of its own. It’s cumulative. Just like Skid Row.
Like the others who have gotten off the Row, but haven’t gotten the Row off them, Darrell still comes to the CCCO afterschool program. To the room with the ratty couches behind the big green door with the sturdy lock and the sign that says “Destiny in God.”
In an adjacent room, 15 children sit in a circle with a couple of young life-skills/moral-development instructors who are teaching today’s lesson about Jesus. It’s all about whom to trust. I’m guessing that would be Jesus and people who believe in Jesus. Soon after there’ll be a healthy snack, homework tutoring and some play time.
Like always, Tim Peters is in his tiny, cluttered office just off the main room. He’s just secured a shelter bed for a disheveled, blond teenage boy when a kid named Terrell storms in and demands his attention. “I didn’t spit on Carrie!” Terrell pleads. “What I’m spit on Carrie for?” Tim patiently hears him out, and tells him he cares about him before Terrell turns on his heels and heads out the same way he came in.
Five-year-old Darion lives in the Union Rescue Mission and is a CCCO regular. He’s small and stammers a little. He’s a frustrated boy who struggles to express himself. I met him a few weeks ago, and he’s obsessed with my fancy-looking Nokia cell phone camera. I let him snap a couple pictures. The little boys here climb all over any man in reach .?.?. a biological impulse to fill the daddy void. If you show up more than once, you are family.
I’m talking to his mom when Darion climbs into my arms and lays his head on my chest. His nose is running. He’s got a cold. His openness with his needs overwhelms me. I’m not optimistic like the chief. I predict a very difficult life for Darion.
Then, when no one is looking, Darion whispers in my ear.
“Take me with you,” he says.
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