Yes, yes, I know, I've been slacking on the blogging this week. While I would love to tell you all a whole bunch of stories about things that have happened in work the past two days, I fear that would break so many HIPAA regulations that I'd be forced to go into the witness protection program. Or something. So, instead, I'm going to tell you one which is beyond the statute of limitations.
Part of why I've been reminded of this particular story is that, as previously mentioned, I'm watching season 4 of The Wire, which is the season which follows the middle school kids. If you've seen it, you'll probably understand why it's brought up this memory for me. If not, just hang in there, 'k?
This happened, I dunno, 18 or 20 years ago--very late '80s anyway. There was this little 15 or 16 month old boy admitted for some relatively benign thing (probably a febrile seizure, but I won't swear to it.) In the hour or hour and a half that he was in my department being tested, he managed to make every one of us fall in love with him.
Oh, he was a beautiful baby, physically. Just gorgeous. But more than that, he was so smart. At an age when most toddlers, especially male toddlers, can say a few words at best, this kiddo was talking in phrases. Really talking. But even beyond that? At an age when most toddlers have a fair amount of stranger anxiety and in a situation where most toddlers would be scared and pissed off by strangers poking at them and sticking things to them, this kiddo didn't cry, didn't fuss. Instead, he smiled. He kept up a steady stream of chatter. He laughed, and he flirted with each and every one of us. He was frigging charming. Beautiful, smart, and charming.
No down side there, right? Well...
His mom was fifteen. His dad was sixteen. He lived in a very, very rough neighborhood. And he was bi-racial (which shouldn't matter of course, but unfortunately in our imperfect world, it's just another obstacle.) Now, both parents were with him in the hospital, and they were very good with him. They were such kids, but they were trying hard.
But still. The strikes against this poor baby...
He went back to the floor and we were standing around talking, all still dazzled by how incredibly bright and gorgeous and full of personality he was. And I turned to my friend and said, "Damn. That kid's going to grow up to be the smartest drug dealer on his block." And we laughed. Sadly.
I seriously hope it didn't turn out to be true.
xoxo
4 comments:
Great story.
And I sure hope you were wrong... the kid ended up at MIT, not "on the corner".
Yeah, see, I know you watched that season of The Wire, so I knew you'd appreciate the parallel.
I've always been uncomfortable with our societal characterizations of "success", and the limited opportunities afforded such large swathes of the population. "Smartest drug dealer on his block" is selling any gifted child short, but not because of the drugs part. (Better dealer than dealt, after all). It's the "block" part. See, I'd expect that gifts such as he showed all those decades ago would get a kid more than just a block. I'd want him to run whole sections of the city, and benevolently, (relatively as drug dealers can show such things), and fairly, and as a better example to others trapped under similar circumstances. I guess it's the conceit that drug dealing is immoral that's always troubled me. It's commerce. It's no different than what Gates did to cheat IBM out of their "cut" of the hardware racket. It's just that we don't let everybody trade in "legitimate" goods, and qualify for insider tax loopholes and looks the other way from the justice department. (Just listening to DiMasi rationalize preferential tax treatment for certain corporations while Patrick goes on about the "free money" that can be had from legalized gambling, makes my head swim). How far do you think some people get when they go up against Tammany Hall?
I'd WANT the kid to grow up to the top of whatever pyramid he finds himself buried beneath to start. Some of us get to hawk software. Others need to move whatever they've got at hand that has value. It's an honorable thing, we just make value judgments about what trade goods we consider "respectable". It's all business.
Good for him, I'd say, for his success. No quotation marks or qualification.
Now, if we could just get the criminals on Beacon Hill and Capital Hill to legalize the stuff, and clear our over-burdened prisons of the third to half who are there for just lighting something up now and then, and take the profit motive out of pushing bad things on our kids, then maybe such gifts would naturally be turned to something better. Like kneecapping "public servants" who are really just part of the largest and most oppressive street gang that we've got going.
Yeah!
Yes! That's it exactly. That's the whole point of season 4: that as much as many people would like to think of these guys/kids in the drug trade as different from you and me, they aren't, except for their opportunities and their socialization. The kids born into this underclass (and it makes me wanna spit that in one of the richest countries in the world, we have an underclass, but it can't be denied) who have gifts, whether those gifts are brains or charisma or business accumen or people skills or just big balls, use those gifts to get ahead in the only game that's open to them and that they know.
And even someone like Marlo, who's obviously a sociopath, who made it to the top with intelligence mixed with an absolute ruthless and unwillingness to compromise or cooperate and a total willingness to kill everyone who gets in his way, I mean, he's no different. Someone like Marlo who was born in Newton would go to an Ivy League university, date rape girls at his frat, go out into the business world and make it to the top by fucking over anyone he needed to without a second thought. Are we supposed to fool ourselves into pretending there aren't people like that running major corporations in this country? They only difference is that they may not have actually had to kill anyone directly.
The only reason I can't honestly root of that little baby of long ago--if he never caught a break and the worst case scenarios for his life came true--to have grown up to be a successful drug kingpin is that the life expectancy for someone in that profession ain't high.
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