Out of the Mouths of Babes: on street life & why the good kids join gangs.

Amaya*

“Pancakes, bacon, toast, and scrambled eggs.” That was the standard answer Amaya gave every time a teacher would ask what she had for breakfast that day. She rattled off the breakfast she wished she would’ve had, her stomach growling with hunger. The truth was that she hasn’t had a decent breakfast in many years, probably since her father threw them out and changed the locks. He told them to never come back.

They have been living in their car ever since. Amaya was really good at caring for her little sister and her mom. As her mother’s belly grew, mom became even more abusive. Amaya can still remember all the names mom called them, locking them out of the car in the cold and hitting them. Never in the face though, she didn’t want to leave marks.

All along, Amaya had perfect attendance at school. She was “that” kid for a couple of years. “That” kid in a positive way. She even got one of those paper awards that she brought to mom, but mom didn’t care.

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No one ever knew she was homeless, or rather, living in the car (she always thought that sounded more fancy than “homeless.”) It’s not like she bragged about it, showed off her bruises, and she was an expert at lying. Sure, the teachers suspected something and fulfilled their obligation of reporting to CPS. It didn't ever go anywhere, her mom trained them well enough. Every time her sister and she were questioned, even separately, they always gave the same story. They didn’t know anything, see anything, and were perfectly safe and loved their family. One part of it was true, it was difficult to “love” those rough conditions, but staying with mom was far better than the alternative. At least here they expected the abuse. It was mom after all and maybe they did deserve it, they weren’t the perfect kids, after all.

The teachers might have noticed, but not many asked. Freshman year it all changed. She went from being “that” perfect attendance kid, to “that one kid”. Skipping, hanging with the “tough” crowd and failing every class became the new norm. She’d have her homie’s back when time to fight came. And she could beat a$$, at least that’s what the word on the street was.

Her math teacher noticed, and pulled her aside, offering to help at lunch. The deal was that Amaya could retake the test (first she had to cram all those months of math into her brain), and if she got a “B”, she would get a prize. Amaya spent weeks wondering what the prize would be. Maybe it would be donuts, or one of those fidget spinner things that everyone had. She worked so hard to get that “B”, she was ready for the test. She did not get a “B” though. Amaya hoped a “C+” would be good enough, she hoped the teacher would understand, let it slide. “Sorry, almost there, Amaya. Maybe next time, I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow?” Amaya never came back for extra math help.

Then she was placed in one of those alternative schools for the "bad" kids. She already hated the idea when her counselor mentioned it, but now she had no choice. Amaya was miserable until Lucy joined the school. She had a new insta bestie. School became so much more bearable with a friend by your side. School actually became “fun” with kids that understood, and were just like her.

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“Pancakes with extra syrup, scrambled eggs and a side of bacon,” Amaya rattles off the order at the diner, as she tells me her story. Her stomach won’t growl today. Amaya and her bestie are on their way to opening their own beauty salon. One day. First they have to finish school, and they are both going for perfect attendance.

AJ*

His mom used to be a teacher, he should be better than this, AJ thought. He grew up listening to stories of his mom leaving family behind and escaping Vietnam. He doesn’t remember all the details, he just knows they ended up in Los Angeles and his mom was never the same. Now she didn’t leave the house, and she was more of a ghost than mom.

AJ tried to be a good son. He was kind, the type of kind that stood up for that little boy that was getting bullied by the gang on the way to school. The streets were never safe, you walked, kept your head down, and hopefully got to school safely. The neighborhood thugs weren’t as kind. He might have saved that little kid, but they turned on him instead. What was he going to do? Tell his mom? Tell a teacher? Right. They also all walked with their heads down, and that’s just how the streets were. First came the knives and then the guns.

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Someone had to protect him. The gang AJ joined became his new family. They raised him, watched out for him, they cared, they were his true brothers. He would do anything for them. His best bud, Junior, was a tough one. During initiation they messed him up so badly that he was in the hospital for three weeks. That kid was tough, scared everyone. Jr. put in many years, but it was time for him to get out, he wanted a new life and a fresh start. AJ agreed to help Jr. The plan was that they would rob a convenience store, one last time, as part of Jr.'s exit from the gang. They weren’t supposed to kill anyone, they weren’t supposed to shoot.

Jr. was ahead of him, he fired a warning shot, the bullet pierced the ceiling. AJ remembers pointing the gun at the clerk and it going off. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, he didn’t mean to. Jr. wasn’t supposed to shoot, AJ wasn’t supposed to get spooked and kill. Jr. didn’t get to start a new life, and AJ was sentenced to life in prison.

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San Quentin was the most horrifying experience, even for the baddest gangbanger. AJ had a choice, rot in prison or get it together. The better he behaved, the more freedom he got. His life had purpose again. He found men just like him, the ones that motivated him to study, supported him in group therapy, and congratulated him when he became a mentor. He was now running the therapy sessions. He was turning it around.

AJ used his past life as a lesson for youth. He became a counselor, mentor, and a member of the Squires. He wanted to reach kids before they ended up like him. The Squires would welcome troubled youth to spend a day in their shoes. They saw San Quentin close up, attended group therapy with inmates, ate with them and heard all the stories. AJ’s hope is that the troubled and the most vulnerable teens don’t make the same mistake.

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Passing AJ on the street you’d never guess that he killed an innocent woman. You can now pass him on the street, after 25 years, he is finally out. He still has the same purpose and passion, and is the role model & family that youth needs. His repentance is his deep commitment to his community, and AJ is a blessing to those around him. AJ realized that he can’t turn back time, he cannot undo the wrongs. How he wishes he could bring her back to life. AJ can’t fix the world, but reaching one future gangbanger means saving more than two lives. After all, he has learned that knives and guns aren’t the answer.

*names have been changed