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Kevin

John Stein

Kevin was one of those bright-eyed kids you couldn’t help but like. He was the only kid I ever thought about bringing home to live with my family. I knew better of course and never considered it seriously, but ...

When we reviewed the referral material on Kevin, we were most apprehensive. Although barely thirteen, he was in the Youth Study Center awaiting disposition on a robbery charge. That in itself did not bode well. He was a tough inner city kid from New Orleans; we were in a small community outside New Orleans and served mostly local kids. Moreover, his school record was dismal. He was truant more often than not, often for extended periods. He was recommended for special education because of his low scores on intelligence tests. School was a big deal in our program. Our kids attended regularly and were doing pretty well academically. We did not even have staff scheduled during school hours. But we had a vacancy and no other referrals. We scheduled him for an interview.

He impressed us enough in the interview that we accepted him. He was, however, a tough kid. Not big for his age but muscular, he hung with our older boys, our 15- and 16-year-olds, rather than our younger ones. He was athletically talented and could hold his own with the bigger boys in football (American style) and on the basketball court. But staff had to be on their toes. There were several near fights. Kevin didn’t back down from anyone.

Before he could be scheduled for evaluations for special education, his teacher informed us that she didn’t think he needed special education. He was doing just fine. Then one night at the dinner table, one of the other kids “dissed” Kevin. I was ready for trouble. Kevin didn’t “take nothin' from nobody.” To my surprise, Kevin just sat back and let staff handle it. We had really reached Kevin. He was doing great!

Kevin was a star. He completed the school year with solid passing grades in all subjects and completed all other aspects of our treatment program on schedule and with flying colors. Because of his prior history of school problems, especially attendance, we decided to transition him home after the start of the next school year. We were afraid that sending him home during the summer months and having his mother be responsible for getting him back to school might be a recipe for failure. We arranged for him to attend a charter school near his neighborhood in New Orleans. After a few weeks attending school in our program, we gave him passes during the week so he could begin attending his new school from his home in New Orleans. Everything was going great. We had lost funding for our aftercare worker and no longer had someone in that position, but one of our staff volunteered to check in on Kevin periodically. We discharged Kevin with the highest expectations. He was clearly one of our greatest successes.

Two weeks later, I got a call from the principal of his school. They had found Kevin with a lot of money, too much for his mother to have given him. I was thinking maybe $20. His mother couldn’t afford to give him that much money. But it was more like $100. I didn’t know what to say or do. The staff who volunteered to check on him hadn’t done so yet.

Kevin was arrested a week later while we were pondering all of this. He had knocked down an elderly woman while snatching her purse. She suffered a broken hip. Kevin was sentenced to “juvenile life” a few weeks later. Juvenile life in Louisiana is until the age of 29.

In three weeks, Kevin went from being our greatest success to being our greatest failure. I never heard anything more about Kevin. So much promise. He could have thrived with a family in my neighborhood.

We treated Kevin, but we didn’t prepare him to face what he had to face upon return home. Kevin was one of those “impressionable kids.” We impressed him and he bought into everything we were selling. He fit in with our kids. When he returned home, apparently the kids on the street impressed him and he bought into their stuff. He did what he had to do to fit in there.

He wasn’t yet ready to thrive in the world he had to live in. That was my failure, not his. I vowed to do all I could in the future to prepare kids for the life to which they would return. Think we did pretty well after that, but it was too late for Kevin.

And so we learn from the kids. We pride ourselves on their successes; we suffer their failures, even after 25 years. Their failures are, after all, ours. Whatever happened to him? How did he end up? Did he ever get back on track? Did he ever approach his potential?

But we did better with the kids after Kevin. That’s my only comfort.