“I believe in you, Thomas. Why don’t you?” It’s never simple talking to inmates; they aren’t usually the most intelligent or trusting. I don’t normally counsel juvenile offenders anymore, but something about the kid got to me.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Franks, none of you do. You guys act like it’s so easy to go back on the streets and tell them people you quit the gang.” Thomas shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”

After nearly fifteen years and four prisons, I had heard this many times before. I have also seen some teens leave the gang, and make a life for themselves. I won’t lie, most come right back to prison or get killed after they're paroled, but as I looked at the sixteen-year-old, I hoped he could be a success story.

“Boy, I’m not stupid, I know what I’m saying isn’t easy, but what part of life is? Point to the man who was born with an easy button stamped to his ass.”

Thomas raised his head and stared at me.

“Do you think running a marathon is easy?” I asked him.

He lowered his eyes.

“Answer me, boy!” I yelled.

He looked up and he shook his head. “Nawl, it ain’t easy.”

I leaned forward on my desk, and stared him straight in the eyes. “Then how do people win it?”

He slowly shook his head again. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit, you know damned well how they do it. Tell me. Say it.”

“I guess they practice.”

“And,” I hissed at him.

“They …they work hard at it.”

“Do you think they win the first time they run?” I saw a small gleam growing in his eyes.

“No, they probably don’t.”

“What do you think they do then, Thomas?”

“They run harder the next time.”

I leaned back in my chair and picked up his file. I knew he wanted to go home, and we both knew that wasn’t a possibility; some bridges once burned can never be rebuilt. But not being able to go home again isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it’s just what the doctor ordered.

“There is a Residential Placement facility outside of Chicago. It is not near your mom’s house and is in a completely different neighborhood. They have beds open, and I talked with them. They are willing to take you. Another good thing about them is that once you turn seventeen and a half, they will set you up in an apartment of your own, and the state will pay for all of this.” I pointed my finger at him. “All you have to do is follow their rules, go to school and forget your old friends. No one there will know what gang you were in, unless you tell them. Do you understand what I’m offering you, Thomas?”

He looked at me. “Yeah, I do.”

That answer wasn’t good enough for me. “What do you understand?”

“You’re giving a place to parole to,” he said with a sad look on his face.

“No, Thomas, it’s more than that.” I took a deep calming breath. “I’m offering you a chance to start over. The life you knew can be a thing of the past, if you let it. You can leave this place and become whatever you want. But it’s up to you. If you go back to your old neighborhood and gang, it’s because you chose to. For the rest of your life don’t you ever blame anyone, if you come back here. I know you’re sixteen, and it sucks to be laying this on someone so young, but those are the cards you’ve been dealt.  Now what are you going to do?”

“When do I start, sir?” he asked, and the gleam was brighter.

“Thomas, you already have.”
*****

That was two years ago, and I haven’t seen Thomas since. I keep tabs with the Residence home, and they told me he finished high school, and started community college. He now lives in a one bedroom apartment and works part-time at a Wendy’s. They say he seems happy. That's one, Lord. Thank you.