Listen to thisMark Krueger: We have come full cycle. This month John Korsmo, who was the first youth worker to share a story, returns with two new stories, Boss and Red Cliff. For those who are reading our column for the first time, we (a group of people who have experienced youth work) are sharing stories from a research project we have been conducting called Moments With Youth. Briefly, we use a process of research called Self in Action Inquiry to project ourselves into our experiences with youth, step back, reflect, and write and interpret a story about a significant moment. This process not only helps us understand our experience, but it also opens us to new ways of looking at key themes in youth work, such as human connection, rhythmic interaction, silence, and presence.
In this column we simply share our stories without our interpretation, which is left up to the reader with the hope that the story will ring true with and shed new light on his or her practice.
Boss
He’s shooting pool as his usual after school routine. I’m happy to see him and start to walk over. Watching him I remember last summer when he asked me if he could start a pool league for the center’s younger kids.
He bought a billiards rulebook with his own money one day and the league took off from there. We decided that he could be called the commissioner. He wrote “Commissioner" after his name on all of the flyers he posted all over the place.
I gave him a clipboard and he wrote “POOL LEAGUE “DOn’t TOUCH" on it in big red letters. He came to the center every day with a lesson plan written out on lined notebook paper and clipped to the board. He brought his own red binder and created an attendance sheet that I made copies of for each practice and each tournament. He kept them in the binder and took the binder home with him each night.
One day he showed up with a ten question test for the kids to take and let them know that the only way they would get a certificate of completion was if they passed each test. They had to get seven out of the ten questions right in order to pass.
He is a big, solid kid. He has bright red hair, fair skin and huge freckles on his face, neck and arms and is one of only a few white kids who come to the center. At least six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds, he has thick rolling shoulders and his left forearm and bicep are huge. His right arm is lame and dangles, half cocked, from his thick shoulder. His pointer finger on that hand sticks out pretty much straight in the air but his other three fingers are tightly curled up toward his bent, limp thumb. He has a pronounced limp protecting a weak right leg and hip flexor.
He takes his time as he lines up for a one handed bank shot. Kids walk by and poke him or smack the cue.
"It’s a cue, not a stick, Johnny." He always calls me Johnny when he’s trying to make a point.
I have known him for a couple years already and have been at times impressed with his patience and tolerance of harassment from other kids, but I am frightened at other times by his ability to snap without warning. The harshness and power he exudes sends a bit of tension through the entire center.
He doesn’t realize how strong he really is. I talk to him often about not touching other kids because he squeezes too hard and hurts them. We talk a lot about feelings and anger and options for dealing with it and alternatives to breaking pool cues and throwing people to the ground.
Today he’s letting kids get away with their free pot
shots at him, answering with a sideways half-grin and a nod, “What’s up?"
I wait for him to make his shot before approaching to say hi. His mouth
is moving and I’m sure he’s calling his shot to himself. He draws back
and strokes forward, the cue hitting the ball with a thud that was
clearly a bad shot.
"Fuckin ball".
"It wasn’t the ball’s fault."
He turns around and smiles, limping over to give me a hug.
He’s called Red by most of the kids in the center on account of his thick, shiny red hair, but we call each other Boss. He reminds me of Steinbech’s Lenny from Of Mice and Men. We joke around a lot and I go into my Lenny impersonation when he squeezes me from the side for a one armed hug that makes me feel like my ribs could crack.
"Oh, come on, Boss. Let me pet the rabbits."
We both laugh and he lets up his grip.
"I won’t hurt the rabbits, Boss," he tells me, and then giggles like mad, turning back towards the table.
"Where you been, Johnny?"
He always asks me where I have been even though he just saw me yesterday.
* * *
Red Cliff Trip: Self Talk
Why did I agree to do this?
Why didn’t I take it more seriously and do it the right way?
Why didn’t I have the guys get together a few times to meet each other
and at the very least cut some of the tension?
Wonder what they are thinking, heading up to the middle of nowhere with
some guy they never met.
What an idiot.
Bad small talk. Bad air. Bad idea.
Its loud, I am not in any sort of control.
I am the driver – that’s it.
I screwed up with this group. I should have spent time getting to know
them.
I didn’t have time.
I agreed to fill in at the last minute.
It’s not my fault.
Make something good happen.
Don’t let them gun so hard on each other.
I can see the two to watch out for.
I need an ally.
Which one?
