Teenagers

 

(I've been working around teenagers most of my adult life.)

Yesterday, I got to work at 8 a.m. and read the headlines on my computer. A fifteen-year-old middle school student from the city of Nonsan got arrested for raping a woman in her 40s. He also beat her up very badly while he was forcing her to have sex with him. South Korea is extremely lenient toward juveniles. So this child will probably only have to spend a few years in kiddie prison before he’s eventually released.

I’ve spent the majority of my adult life working around teenagers. And I could tell you story after story about how fucked up some of them are. Trust me. It’s not that difficult to spot the ones who will eventually end up in jail. They tend to have a history of violence from a young age. I often wonder if crime is a hereditary problem. It seems to me that many criminals are born, not made. But what the hell do I know?

At noon, I went for lunch at the school cafeteria. I was served roasted chicken and rice. One of my colleagues sat down next to me. Her name is Betty, and she works in the elementary division.

She said, “How old is Rice-Boy Larry now?”

I said, “He’s almost sixteen.”

“Does he plan on going back to America for university?”

I shrugged. “He never really talks about it.”

“And what about your older child? What’s he up to these days?”

“He’s in college in Texas. His major is healthcare management.”

“What’s the name of the school?”

I smiled at her. “You probably never heard of it. It’s a little Podunk institution located in the western part of the state.”

“So he wants to get a job in a hospital?”

I nodded. “He was going to be a nurse, and then he suddenly changed his mind.”

“I wanted to be a nurse, too. But I couldn’t handle the biology courses. So I chose elementary education, instead.”

“I’m not a big fan of healthcare management. It sounds kind of boring to me. You know what I mean? Sitting behind a desk and planning the budget. Who the hell wants to do that for the rest of their lives? Plus he won’t have any friends. The money guys are always universally hated.”

I returned to my room and drank a cup of coffee. I started to feel a great deal of stress. For the last few months, I’ve been wondering if I should stay or go. It would be great to watch the NFL on Sundays again in the comfort of my mom’s living room. She has two great little dogs. They’re both Schnauzers. But another part of me says that I should let Larry finish school before returning. This fork in the road is killing me mentally.

Later in the day, I read a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson with my high schoolers. It’s called The Humble Bee.

I said, “Mr. Emerson was a real loon in my opinion.”

One of the boys raised his hand. “But you think that everyone’s a loon. Maybe you’re the loon.”

“You could be right. Yet Emerson went to Harvard and became a pastor. Then he started telling everyone not to go to church. Instead, he exhorted his readers to regard nature as their cathedrals. In my mind, that’s kind of goofy.”

The kid smirked at me. “Big freaking deal. It’s not like he killed anyone.”

“True. Very true.”

How could I argue? What he said is correct.

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