Disclaimers: Each and every character in this fictional story is real, in my mind, only. Nobody under the age of 18 partakes in sexual stuff. A little slow at the beginning, but it does get better. I think.
My name is Jon Andersen. I'm 29 years old, and just completed my fifth year, as a teacher and counselor at A. C. Davis high school, in Yakima, Washington. This is one of the oldest high schools in all of Central or Eastern Washington. It's also one of the largest, most diverse schools in the entire state.
Unfortunately, for many years it also had one of the highest drop out rates in the state. Our school boasts one of the most diverse student bodies anywhere in our state. With minorities of every color. African/American, Hispanic, native American. You name it, they went to Davis.
Across town, the snooties went to Eisenhower high school, much newer, and far less diverse.
Let me start with a little background, if I may. I was born and raised in the north central city of Omak. Not too far from the Canadian border, and right on the Western edge of the Colville Indian Reservation.
All my life I've lived with native Americans, and never had any issues with them. With my Norwegian heritage, I was never mistaken for a native. With my blond hair, and standing nearly 6'5", it was obvious I was Scandinavian.
In a town that maybe had 5,000 people, in high school I was one of the largest students there. It goes without saying that I was on the football team. Pushing nearly 300 pounds as a freshman, I started all four years. The more I played, and the better shape I got into, the more I thought about a college scholarship. I also turned my body into more muscle than flab than when I started high school.
Nobody in my family had ever gone to college, and my grades were really good enough to get in, but there was the matter of money. My parents ran a little dry goods store in Omak, and made enough to live on, but not for me to attend college.
During my senior year, I played at a very well muscled 275 pounds, and stood out in our league. I actually had several offers from in state schools, but accepted the offer to play for the University of Washington, in Seattle. I liked their programs working with under privileged kids, so off I went.
Making the decision to play defense was the right one, because I wasn't big enough for an offensive lineman. Yes, at 6'4" and 275, or so, I wasn't big enough to be an offensive lineman.
To be truthful, I much preferred hitting people, than being hit. I did play four years, and the last year, I was in Grad school, on my way to a Master's degree.
All during college, I had several girl friends, but nothing close to something serious. Yes, most of them wound up in bed with me, much to my enjoyment. If any of them even hinted at going bareback, I put a stop to that nonsense. I knew enough that I didn't want any little Andersens running around until I was good and ready. Call me old fashioned, but that was my way of thinking.
I knew, for certain, I wasn't going to play in the NFL, but I also knew, with a Master's degree, I would have my choice of school districts to teach, as I found out, my qualifications were in high demand. I also knew, that I wasn't going back to Omak.
Its not as if I disliked my home town, but advancement wasn't there, as in the larger school districts.
In the year and a half it took finishing my Master's Degree, I applied to several of the larger school districts in Eastern Washington. I knew I wanted to stay closer to my folks, as they were getting on in years, and not in great health. They were both older when I was born, so I wanted to keep an eye on them.
I had a great interview with the Yakima School district, which had the two high schools I mentioned, plus a position which would allow me to counsel the middle school kids, too.
After accepting a position to teach American Government, and be a counselor at Davis high school, I was off to Yakima. A city that was way bigger than Omak, but nothing like Spokane or Tacoma, and just a fraction the size of Seattle.
My second year teaching, the head football coach at the middle school where I was also a counselor asked if I wanted to help with his team.
I thought I could do both jobs, as well as teaching. I needed to keep busy, and could help some very at risk boys, at the same time.
As we started our practicing, I noticed two young boys being picked up by a much older woman, who I found out was their grandmother. Neither of the boys was very big, one in the 8th grade, and the other in the 6th grade.
They were black, and seemed to have chips on their shoulders, especially the older boy, Darnell. One practice, I had to step in between him and a Hispanic boy, when the pushing and shoving got to be a bit much.
I took both of them aside, and asked them both if they had an issue with each other. When neither of them spoke up, I told them they both would have to sit out of the next practice, if I didn't hear anything.
"He's the reason my moms is in jail," Darnell said.
"My family had nothing to do with that gang your moms got mixed up with," Hector Sanchez told me.
"OK, lets sit down and both of you tell me whats going on."
As they both told me their own version of what got Anisha Harper put behind bars, I soon learned both of these 14 year olds were way more accustomed to gang activities, than they should be.
When they both finished, I told them they could return to practice the following day, if they could behave.
As practice was getting ready to start, the next day, I saw several carloads of people driving up to our field.
From one side, about 8 Hispanic young men got out of their cars, and from the other side of the parking lot, another 8 or 9 African/American young men got out of their cars. None of these guys were model citizens.
I moved right into the middle of the approaching groups, and just stood watching them close in on me.
"Let me have my say. This is an area where we're trying to teach these young men some sportsmanship, along with teamwork. If you gentlemen have an issue with that, shame on all of you."
I stood, silently, waiting for any response. Hearing nothing, I continued.
"Don't you want this generation to grow up trying to better themselves? Just so you know, I'm a teacher at Davis, and if any of you want to see these young men flourish, let them play football, free of any gang ties."
The silence was deafening.
Without saying a word, both gangs went back to their cars, without saying a word.
Most of my kids gathered around me, with the most common comment being: You are one stupid white man, Coach.
I guess they had a point, but I think I got my point across. If I could make the gang situation better by just a small bit, I'd have succeeded.
Word must have spread like wildfire, about the big white guy at Davis, who is trying to change about four generations of history.
The following Saturday, Darnell and his little brother, David, were just sitting around our practice field, where I would go on Saturdays, just to see if any of the boys wanted to play catch.
Both boys looked a bit down, so I asked them what was wrong.
Nothing, was the one word I got from both of them.
After a few minutes of silence, David finally told me their mother had some sort of legal issue at the county jail, Monday morning, and they weren't allowed to attend, without a lawyer.
I did some checking, and found out I could be there, representing them, and not their mother.
