KIDS & CAMERAS A STORY ABOUT KIDS IN THE TENDERLOIN
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.” ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye,
Dedicated to the teachers and staff of the Glide After School Program, who are out there standing on “ the edge of some crazy cliff... catching them.” and to the continual inspiration of my daughter, Phoebe...
THE WEIGHT OF OBJECTS
There is a moment when the world is swinging and swirling, when the mass of bodies, the weight of objects and things are in constant motion, like a kid on swing set, like juggling balls in the air, like a fast flowing river winding through the valley, like a kaleidoscope of transcendental images swirling and falling and careening and balancing and spinning, like orbiting planets each within their own projections, their own lineage and histories, their own gravitational field held within personalized physics and reality. It is like families and kids and young lovers and friends and teachers and lost uncles skating in circles in an ice rink. Sometimes you just want to stop it and hold it in your hand for a moment. Take a picture print it on a piece of paper and then say… yes that was a day when all those things were moving around, but now that I see it like this, I feel particularly fond of that memory. You begin to see the world as a book of memories and they are your guide. They are your balls caught in mid flight, your river on its journey, you kaleidoscope adventure, your planet’s destiny. This turns into your dream…. You can write about it, draw it, print it out, cut it out and glue it into a small book but most importantly… you can call it your own.
THEY CALL ME MR. DAVE
They call me Mr. Dave and I work with kids in the Tenderloin. I teach these kids photography while walking the streets in an area of downtown SF that no tourist wants to find themselves lost in. A few blocks away is Union Square with its fancy department stores and throngs of tourists spending money. Up the hill from that is Cathedral Hill with Grace Cathedral standing majestic and the Marc Hopkins hotel standing elite like a fortress of disdainful elegance. On the other corners bordering the Tenderloin quadrant is Market Street and the Civic Center area with the old municipal buildings, library, museums and parking lots. In the heart of this section is Glide Memorial Church. A beacon of faith for those whose lives have lost their centers, their bearing, their health or whose life choices have placed them in a world that is incongruous with the morals and values of the traditional religions that sit atop the more prestigious hills overlooking the city. Camped out in front of Glide there is always a line of homeless people who are waiting to be fed. They are of ages, color, bearing, health and mental stability that are beyond a simple description but create a collage of fallen humanity that draws a noose around the neck of your convictions. The children call them hobos and many are alcoholic and are very tired and rest on the ground as if they have fallen from a ladder.
The children have been taught not to make eye contact or to engage in conversation. They have learned to pass by as if they are silent phantoms. Often these fallen men’s eyes follow the children as they move down the street swinging their cameras. There is a look of sadness as if there is part of life they will not be able to touch, but there is also a glim mer of a smile that connects to a part of life that they have not completely forgotten and in that moment recall the enjoyment of hope.
On many of the corners are liquor stores and bars and in front of these places are groups of African American men who are hanging out. There are bottles in bags, drugs in pockets and prostitution leaning against the walls. There is a banter and sound that is like a language from another world, like the sound in the forest where you hear animals and insects making a cacophony of sound and communication that is a solid drone that is indistinguishable until you stop and listen and focus into the unknown. The children have learned to put their head down and not make eye contact. They will often hold my hand and squeeze it tightly. Often there can be a fight or some erratic movement and the children have also learned to be agile and ready.
Amidst this street life there are many hotels and apartments. There is a different community that lives here. Most are immigrants and many of the parents do not speak English. Most of the families are either Asian or Hispanic. These are 4th and 5th graders, ages 9 and 10. I like to say that this is a good age because they haven’t turned too cool for school yet. Many of the children who I taught the year before are now in 6th grade and I can already see them waking up to the fact that their parents and school and neighborhood are beginning to disappoint them in a way they cannot explain. I tread this as they say hello and am filled with a sense of dread and concern. I take 4th and 5th graders out into this world and they take photographs of it. I had gone to Duke University with my wife Pam to take a seminar called Literacy through Photography that had the brilliant idea that underserved kids, or any kids for that matter, could access their cognizant ability to write if they first had a photograph as the idea. The eye of the photographer uses a more intuitive and spontaneous process that captures an idea with a more effortless, seamless, creativity. Writing then becomes a much less intimidating process than if you set the kid down at a desk and then tell them to write a paragraph about something specific. We received a certificate, but over the two years I have been working with these kids the original idea has transformed into something else, something simpler, more basic and some ways less tangible. We take photographs and the kids tape them into books, they write some captions and stories, we discuss why we like something or not. I make videos with their photos and add music and they watch them at the beginning of the class. There is laughter and pride as they see themselves and their work transform into a creative, spontaneous piece of art. They care about their photos as they tape them carefully and thoughtfully into journals. But none of this is what I feel is the essence
of what I am striving to create as the lasting effect. There is a place in all of our lives where marks are made in the process of perceiving our world. There are lines that are created from the education and development within our relationship to this world. Just this-- that a child’s innate confidence is creative and brilliant, spontaneous and happy. The moment a memory is constructed it lingers upon a time the child has effortlessly made something special and worthwhile, it was conceived spontaneously without shame or hesitation or fear, and in this moment, where the world stopped and they stepped into it and even amongst the trash and homeless and trafficking and violence and uncertainty of these streets-- they are able to find that intangible moment where they click the shutter and take away something that is theirs and theirs to keep. The smallest shift in the encoded DNA of their lives. It is the memory of this moment that someday might make a difference when a decision is to be made, a place that puts you in front of a series of gates, a defining moment in a rites of passage that only your gut can make the right choice and your gut will unravel the mystery of survival in a way that has no conscious words and set your course from blocks that have been placed without your knowledge. I move in this way without conscious thought but have an intuitive plan that always leaves everyone smiling. They will remember someone who showed up every Tuesday and took them on walks and let them take photographs and made videos and helped them make cool journals. They will remember Mr Dave’s tattoos that commemorated his fallen daughter and how I spoke of her and how they trusted me and I asked for nothing but their participation. They might even remember that life has colors and beauty and you can access these and your ability to do so can make a difference.
CAN YOU EXPLAIN THIS?
It is after Thanksgiving and the weather has gotten cold in the afternoons. I have decided that today’s class will go down the street to a small gallery at Glide. I checked it out earlier and there is an exhibit of some of the homeless people in the community. We enter the room and the kids are restless and unfocused. Cecil Williams is the inspiration of this Glide church and his wife, Janice Mirikitani, is also a pastor and a guiding light in the direction the church serves in the community. Cecil Williams is a warrior of mythic proportions. At 87 he is larger than life, his voice still carries weight if he is preaching or singing with the amazing Glide ensemble. “Best music you’ll ever find west of the Mississippi on a Sunday morning,” Cecil loves to say. His wife, Janice, is beautiful, strong and brilliant. Besides a church that sees two thousand people every Sunday, it feeds 700 homeless breakfasts, lunch and dinner 365 days a year, a health clinic, a roof top garden, and they have a whole building dedicated to an afterschool program to the children of the Tenderloin area. This is not about serving a religion or doctrine, it is about homework, art and creativity, physical movement, story telling and community outreach. Janice sees the children looking at the photos and taking random pictures around the room and beckons for me to come over. I introduce myself and the nature of our photography class. She explains that the photographs are about women who have been hurt or victimized but have dug down into their lives and found courage and joy and have reentered as vital and healthy people into the community. I look at her and then look at the kids taking photographs of pictures and their friend’s shoes and says that that is a pretty complicated concept for this age. She looks at me very seriously and says again that she wants me to explain to them the nature and validity of these images on the wall. She is stern but smiling. I gather the children into a circle in the corner which is like herding a bunch kittens and puppies. I whisper in a soft gallery voice… 1..2...3… eyes on me and they whisper back 1..2… eyes on you. They gather in a tighter circle. There are ten of them. I explain it this way. When you look at these photos I want you to see something that is rather special and hard to explain. Each photograph shows someone who has gone through something difficult and at the same time is also showing something extraordinary. Something that makes a photograph special is when it shows several things at once. You can see suffering but you can also see something else that is hard to explain, maybe it’s the way they are smiling or maybe it’s the way they are holding a bunch of radishes in their hands. But I want you to look at the images of these people and try to see what it is that makes it special. You don’t have to come up with an answer just see if you can find that thing that is hard to explain. The kids go around the room looking at the photographs again. Janice
in a black dress comes out into the gallery and smiles at the laughing children. I have no lesson plan or idea for today’s class. Today is frigid cold and part of me just wanted to stay inside. A sudden inspiration pops into my mind from a place I recognize not with thought but with goose bumps on my forearm. I gather the kids around me and tell them today’s assignment. “On our walk”, I tell them, “I want you to take pictures of things that are hard to explain.” “What? ” they look at me like I am crazy. “Can you explain this?” I pick up Helen who weighs about thirty five pounds and toss her into the air. The kids crack up. “What do you mean hard to explain?” Trin-
ity asks looking bewildered. Everything is still so black and white, it is or it isn’t, there or not there, taught from survival to keep your eyes down, look invisible. “Look around you,” I say. “See these pipes why do they look like mushrooms, see this piece of trash next to a leaf how did those two things get there, see this dog in this ladies lap why’s she so happy, see this reflection in the water how do you look in it? I want you to try to have at least two things that are hard to explain in your shot today.” We are walking on Ellis street. There is a line of homeless men and women waiting for dinner. Dinner will be served in an hour, but they wait silently. The kids will ignore these lost souls but there is a dog with one and they take pictures. The homeless man puts the dog on his arm and the kids laugh and take pictures of dog on arm. “Can you explain this?” I say. They
run and jump and take pictures, they see trees and take pictures. They run to me and show me the digital screen on their cameras. Laughing. “Can you explain this?” They scream. Suddenly there is a chain of enthusiasm that is exhilarating. Chain link fence with
motorcycle. Coy fish painted on sidewalk with funny shoes. Old building bricks painted funny colors. Jesus skipping towards me waving his camera. “Can you explain this?” A flash of the camera in Garden of Eden Massage Parlor mirrored window that brilliant
reflection shows a glowing white orb where a head would be. Emily shows me her picture. “Can you explain this?” Eddie flashes his camera at me, “Can you explain this?” They have a mantra, they are singing, Can you explain this? and are skipping with it. They
are swirling the cameras as they take pictures and the lights are blurred. “Can you explain this?” They are running and jumping with the cameras and bodies are in positions that seem not held by gravity. “Can you explain this?” A street person is smiling at them
“Can you explain this?”
and waving their arms. Cameras in action. “Can you explain this?” Standing at the street corner waiting for the light to change the sun is setting down the end of the street. One of those perfect orange brilliant sunsets falling into an ocean we can’t see. The light is bouncing off the buildings. Cameras are moving. I stand in the street pointing at it. I think of how many times I have been on mountaintops watching a vivid sunset like this. And these kids have never been on a mountaintop. “Can you explain this?” I stand in the street and stops traffic while the kids photograph the sunset. “Can you explain this?” The Orange glow is changing everything and the kids are in awe of it. Just like the movies one of them says. The tall buildings looming over the long street makes the horizon seems so far away but the colors are reflected in the windows in the tall apartment buildings and the orange glow is all around them. The kids cannot stop taking pictures of it. “Can you explain this?”
FLYING
On the way home we stop at Cathedral Park and play on the playground. We put our cameras down. The kids line up on the swing set. I push them upward. Some are scared. Doesn’t anyone push them on swing sets so that they can see their feet point up at the sky? I give one more giant shove. I run to the other side and face them and tell them to jump. They are scared. One. Two. Three. Jump. Too scared they hold on. I count again. Still too scared. Finally with the swing almost stopped they jump off into the sand. Eddie is eight. I taught his older brother Anthony a year ago. Eddie is fearless, but also hasn’t jumped out of a swing set before. “Don’t be afraid Eddie. You can do this.” I say.
“I’m not afraid,” he says. Eddie has never seemed particularly graceful or athletic to me. One. Two. Three. Jump. He Pauses. Scared to let go. He is eight years old and is small and compact. He is always smiling and even when he is standing still looks like he is running and everything in the room will go into motion at any moment. One. Two. Three. Jump. And this time Eddie lets loose at the top of the swing’s arch. He is flying. He arches his back and throws out his arms and legs like he is a flying X. There is a moment in the afternoon light where I am watching this young Hispanic boy’s body move through the air. This moment is frozen in my mind. There is no camera in this instant. There is no snap shot to cut out and put into a book. Eddie is flying like a super hero. Grace Cathedral’s spire is his backdrop. The San Francisco bay blue water shimmering in the late light is his landscape. His smile is the size of a summer watermelon sliced wide open. Eddie is looking down at me. My arms are reaching upwards to catch him. Eddie has no hesitation and he trusts those arms reaching upwards to him. That is the frozen moment. And then he is caught. We roll to the ground laughing. All the kids are laughing and begging to go next. As we walk down the street back to glide Eddie is walking next to me. “Hey Mr. Dave.” Eddie looks up and reaches for my hand. At eight it is still okay to hold hands. “I think this the greatest day of my life,” Eddie says. I am surprised. “What do you mean Eddie?” I ask. “This is the day that I learned to fly.” I pause for a moment and looks at Eddie. “You know Eddie that may be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.” I say this and I mean it. Eddie doesn’t quite understand what I mean, but understands the warm feeling and says. “I sure wish we could have had a picture of me flying, now that would be a good picture! Don’t you think Mr. Dave? “Yeah, now that would be an amazing picture.” “Can we come back to do that.” “Yeah, sure, of course. You have that shot in your head. You remember that okay. You have that now.” “Yeah but that is so hard too explain.” “Exactly.”
AROUND AND AROUND
The following week the class departs onto the street again. Where are we going today? They all yell this as they enter the street. There is an excitement. A sense of expedition. A thrill of the unknown. “Today we’re going to Union Square and take pictures of the ice skaters,” I tell them. “We need to talk about your cameras a bit.” I try to get their attention but again they’re all too excited to pay attention. I shout “1..2...3… eyes on me,” and they shout back, “1..2… eyes on you.” I think this is amusing how the kids have been trained by Paul, their teacher and loyal leader, to have this respectful response. Paul has taught at the Glide afterschool program for 8 years. He has learned to get the kids respect by being direct, honest and real. Because of all the factors in their life and the tenuous current on the street he has learned that to keep some semblance of order he must also be strict when it is time for them to get directed, focused, quiet or stand in a single file line. He can be strict, but his love and care shines so much brighter than his stern voice that all the kids lean on him for support that shows a kind of loyalty I have grown to respect and admire. I shout it out again and I have to admit I love the big chant and how the kids just snap to attention. I tell them about the zoom lens and how it works and how it is very difficult when zooming on figures far away to keep the camera in focus. “The camera jiggles.” I hold a pencil and shows how holding short or holding it long makes the pencil harder to balance. “Balance it against a wall, or a rail, or hold still like this.” We are working with it, but I know only one or two will even care enough to try a technique. I do not care… what happens happens and I am not interested in anything but their memory of the moment, not the outcome of the photo. I add with a laugh “I will give a dollar for the best falling shot. But I want feet in the air falling!” The kids start falling on the sidewalk and taking pictures of themselves in makeshift falling poses. “Come on, we have blocks to walk… I want falling ice skaters! Not a bunch of falling kids!” I start laughing, they are falling in makeshift poses as if they have fallen from the sky, “Get off the ground, the street is filthy, lets get out of here!”
The ice rink is in the middle of Union Square. It is a cold grey day and all the kids and families are bundled up. It is packed with cute families paying their promises to their children’s annual pilgrimage to the ice rink. They each come to me one by one and ask solemnly if I will take them ice-skating. They think I have money, but I have none and just say “wish I could, some time we can try to figure something out.” I show them a rail to stand against and remind them to hold their cameras steady. The kids are so excited about getting the perfect falling shot. The skaters move in their circles and the kids are shouting and laughing as they take the shots… always just missing the falling skater. I can’t help but laugh. The kids are in a place that is a part of the circle and part of the outsider looking in. For this moment they are relishing this place. They want to be on that ice rink, skating around and around, holding hands with their mom or dad, laughing with friends, circles of fun and adventure, circles of family, circles of memories, but for this moment they are outsiders looking in and their laughter and enjoyment to watch this circle revolve has just enough meaning to give them each a moment to see themselves in a place that is relevant and in relationship to the world. There is also a hint of sadness that is us and them and have and have not. As we leave a balloon man sees the children and beckons them to come over. He is kind and is a street smart vaudevillian and does not realize that it is a group of 10 kids… but now his committed with all the kids with their hands out and smiling faces pleading to be next and so he makes each one a hat, sword, heart or funny animal out of the balloons. The shinny transparent rubber sculptures seem to glow in the sharp angles of the afternoon light. They all feel lucky. There are gifts that come when you don’t expect. The boys jump and play with their swords and the girls take pictures of their balloon hearts as we walk back to Glide. Suddenly we have everything we could possibly ever want.
The next week we hit the streets again and it’s the same excitement as we walk down the block. “Where are we going today?” they ask. Today is the Carousel in Yerba Buena Park. This is one of my favorite trips. When we get to the park I races them to the fountain… it feels great to run. Everyone is dashing towards the water. Pictures and light and groups and smiles. It is nothing but excitement and inspiration. The Cameras are in the hands of the kids and are being pointed everywhere. The Carousel is such a wonder. It means so much to me in ways that I can’t explain to the kids. The carousel reminds me of my daughter Phoebe and to see the kids climb on the horses smiling with anticipation is a hidden reward that covers a large distance on the field of grief where I walk alone. For most, this is their first time. I have negotiated a deal and pay $20 to the ticket taker, it is sadly more than I can afford, but it is not a question of value. The kids are taking pictures of the horses and each other. Their sense of spontaneity is contagious. I am happy. It is the last line in Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye that the tragic irony of Phoebe going around and around on the Carousel, the endless journey of her smile and Holden watching her in big brother awe and love. I am feeling this moment, the loss of my daughter, Phoebe, but seeing the kids now beginning to move up and down and around and around-- I see the Rhythm of their lives and the continuation of my daughter’s life. Phoebe around and around everything I do. I know why I am here. This gives me a kind of strength, a kind of courage. It may sound cliché, but the laughter and smiles and movement of their cameras, the movement of their minds-eye engaging a shutter release, a point of view, a frame, is so engaged with life. They try to grab the ring as the carousel goes around and around, at this moment I already have it. The Carousel makes me emotional, but it has turned into manic joy as I wander about the moving horses taking pictures of these ten kids. I’m waving my arms, laughing. They are laughing and waving back.
A SPECIAL TYPE OF COURAGE
As we begin the journey back we stop at the edge of the park and the street into the city so I can collect the cameras and put them into a backpack. Javier looks at me confused and nervous. “I left my case over there.” He points towards the waterfall. “Well run back and get it, we’ll wait here for you.” Javier doesn’t complain or wait for a second request but just turns around and starts running, however, he is not running towards the fountain, he is running back towards the carousel and I suddenly realize that this is a much farther distance than I anticipated by Javier’s description. It is too far to send a 3rd grade boy by himself. I feel frozen, I am taking in the moment, the issues, the results and weighing the problems and the potential dangers. His older brother, Luis (5th grade), does not hesitate and puts down his things and takes off running as fast as he can to catch up with his brother. I see Javier already at the steps to the overpass and sees Luis in a blur of legs and arms is moving like an animation of speed. Javier is running towards responsibility to recover something he has forgotten and his brother running as a protector of his family. I stand up to run after them, but as I stand there is something bulky in my pocket. It is a camera case. I check the number and it is Javier’s. I stand and yell their names. Shockingly, as they seem far out of shouting distance, they hear me and both stop in their tracks. I wave the case and wave them back. I realize that there is something going on that is bigger than this moment and I take off running towards them. At the base of the steps we meet. I am out of breath. They are looking at me with large brown eyes. They are all breathing heavy and sweating. We start to walk back and then the words come to me and I stop.
“Wait,” I say. They are looking at me bewildered. “I have to tell you boys something. I am so proud of you two.” They boys look of surprise turns anticipation. “Javier, you realized you forgot something and immediately took responsibility for it and when I asked you to run to get it, you did not hesitate, did not whine about the distance, did not try to wiggle out of the problem. You saw the problem and acted. That is a special type of courage and dedication. I just want to tell you how proud of what I just saw. “ Then I turn to his older brother, “Luis, when you saw you brother take off you instantly saw the distance, and saw the issue of safety and took responsibility, there was no hesitation, no questioning of loyalty or distance. You saw the situation and did not stop for a second and took off as fast as your legs would go to follow your brother as a protector. You boys both showed a type of courage that I want to acknowledge.” We are facing each other still breathing heavy. There is a moment that is held tightly around our small circle. The brothers are being recognized. They understand what they are being recognized for. I see pride in the movement of their chests as they breath. I put my hand up and they both put their hands up and the three of us do a high clasp and grip tightly. One for all, all for one. Nothing else needs to be said, their pride spills over onto me as well. “Lets get the heck out of here. Race you back.”
JEWELS THAT ARE MAGIC
The Following week I print out pictures on my computer and bring them to class. The kids cut out the pictures and paste them into their books. “Who won the prize for the best falling shot?” Katya asks. They all remember and become agitated with excitement. “Okay, okay, settle down… keep working on your books. “I want you to pick a photo and write a story about it” I think that they will resist this ploy to get them to write, but surprisingly they leave the question hanging for later and grab pencils and begin to start writing. Eddie is the youngest and asks for help. “What do I write about, I don’t know what to say?” I lean over and turn the pages of Eddie’s journal. The pictures are cut out ragged and pasted in crooked but not out of neglect or indifference, but from a hurried excitement that brims over from the pages. I look across the table and watch the kids each working on their books and pause for a moment and take this moment in. Studious and engaged, ownership and pride, laughter and glee—for a moment I feel invisible as if my presence is a series random accidents that have placed me in a spot to watch over this moment like a guardian of souls, like some angel in the heavens who is not allowed to imprint his image, but instead, only allowed to send magical waves of inspiration that set like jewels into the thoughts of someone’s creations. I believe my daughter’s spirit works this way and is with me and I am proud of this sense. It is part of a world that has no words to explain its value. The inspiration moving around this table is hard to explain. Eddie looks up at me, “Mr Dave, what should I say?”
I am back from my reverie and turn quickly to look at Eddie’s page with a carousel horse with a jewel in his mane. “Tell a story about that jewel. How did it get there? Was it stolen, was it found, is it magic?” Someone else is asking for my attention and I go around the table looking over shoulders and making comments and complements. It is the end of class and I take Maria aside and tell her that she had the best picture of the fallen skater. A picture almost taken by accident but captures a young girl with a fuzzy hat with ears sitting on the ground with a look of total surprise but also an expression of laughter that displays a moment where falling is a wonderful and spontaneous thing. I announce the award to the class and show everyone the picture. I give Maria a bag and inside there are red and black pens that look like licorice whips and a dollar bill. Maria takes the bag and hugs it to her chest. Parents are arriving to pick-up their children. Eddie’s mom walks towards the table. She speaks very little English and I introduce myself to her in my sparse Spanish. I look at Eddie and sees that he is hunched over writing in his book with his nose inches from the page. “Mom I’m not ready yet.” His mom looks puzzled. “In school they say he no learn how to write. Mire.” She is beaming, pointing. Eddie finishes his writing and gives me the journal. I pat his head. “Gracias,” she says.
“The jewls from the horses were magic. The bad men stole dem. We stole dem back they were magic. We were magic and hid em in the horses heads. The bad men tride to get em back. So we figted em and won em. We was Spiderman for the day. Yeah.�
CARE BEAR WARRIORS
Emily and Katya have been in my class since the third grade. They are now in fifth grade. They stay after each class and help me clean up, download the images from the cameras into the computers. We have evolved a routine that has the girls helping and then I walk them home. Katya lives on Turk Street, Emily down on Ellis. We stop for pizza on Leavenworth. There are alcoholics and homeless in front of the storefronts. We walk carefully not to bump anyone. I buy a $3.00 slice of pepperoni and have it divided in half. I know it gives them a sense of being special and I am happy to give them that. The food is a small price to pay. I know that when they are my age they will still remember these walks home. A $1.50 to split and that will linger until one day they will be buying slices of pizza for their kids and remember these walks home. I do not know how it will change things. It doesn’t matter. I will not forget either. They ask me if I would take them ice skating in Union Square. They are smiling and looking at me with big open eyes. I do not hesitate and say, “Okay, sure you betcha.” I arrive in my red truck on a Sunday afternoon. Emily, Katya and Katya’s younger sister Maria are waiting. It is raining and not a good day to skate outside and so I change plans and we decide to go to the larger ice rink in Yerba Buena Park near the carrousel. We are early for public skate and the girls vie for a chance to go to the Metreon Arcade. “Yeah, but I don’t have any money for that and I don’t want to go if it’s too loud.” “We’ll go to the quiet side then,” all three say in unison. “Quiet side then!”
The quiet side is a large room with numerous glass cases. Inside each case are piles of brightly colored plush toys. Cute and wondrous characters from 3D movies and Saturday morning TV shows. Piles of cuteness out of reach behind a glass case with a three prong chrome grappling hook looming like a hangman’s noose above them. The girls enter the room and start running to each case. Fingers and noses are pushed against the glass looking intently at the toys that are out of reach. They put their dollars in the change machine and get shiny brass tokens. They put the fake gold pieces into the slot. They maneuver the joystick and try to get the metallic three-finger hand into a place they think will grab the toy. Each time the hand reaches down into the mass of plushy humanity and comes up empty. Sometimes it holds on for a moment and as the toy comes up the hook brushes against the wall and the cute toy falls helplessly back into the pit of fluorescent colors. I tell them they are wasting their money. These things are rigged. I feel cynical and impatient, just another rigged machine to take our money, poor girls they don’t know this yet, I think glumly. The three girls look at me as if I just told them that Santa Claus does not exist. Maria is shaking her head. Her eyes are saying… ya gotta believe. No! But suddenly I see the room differently. The four of us are in a place that is magical with possibilities. There are huge forces that are set against us. The odds are not in our favor. The powers of the great and supercilious giant Corporate Machine Metreon have engaged us to arms, we have been challenged. We are Plushy Warriors to battle! I raise my arm. “Stop!” and they look at me puzzled. I am feeling the movie now. I go to the change machine and gets my brass tokens. “Okay, I will show you how this is done.” I walk around the room
surveying the glass monolithic structures with their prisoners of cuteness within. The girls are following me. It is a barren and formidable landscape from a science fiction story. I stop in front of a case. “This is the one.” They look at me. “I sense it,” I say. “We will free this lime green plush thing from its glass prison!” “You can do it,” says Emily. “It’s hard, I know it’s possible,” pleads Katya. The girls are gathered around the glass case. I put in the token and there is a timer that begins to count down my time. I have 24 seconds to make this happen. I position the grappling hook. I shake the stick lightly. The girls are offering advice. “More this way.” “No that way.” I position the hook above the head of a lime green bear. It’s plastic black and white eyes looking at me. The clock is down to a few seconds. I tap the stick one last and nudges the fingers a micro bit towards the glass and then it lowers. The fingers grab the forlorn bear’s head. Grab tightly around its plushy skull. The hook pulls up slowly. The bear’s head in its mechanical grasp. It looks like some kind of strange birth sequence with the bear dangling helplessly from the silver forceps. The hook swings towards the side of the case where there is an opening. The bear held by his head is placed above the shoot. No one is saying a word. This is a moment of truth. And the lime green bear is released and dropped and falls out the bottom of the case like a can of Soda in a vending machine.
I grab the bear and thrust it into the air. It is just a bear, and its just an arcade, but for this moment the four of us are not participating in that world. We are plushy warriors and we have just reached far into the world of unknowns and have plucked from the jaws of death the cute little bear and are holding it aloft, chanting and cheering. We have touched some inextricable promise that was hidden behind a wall of glass in this gargantuan strong hold of marketing and merchandise and by retrieving it have elevated ourselves into a rarified world of memories and dreams. The girls are jumping in circles. I am incredulous and excited. “Yes! We did it!” I pump my fist with the bear into the air. “We did it!” “We did it!” “Maria you take care of this. Hey, what kind of bear is this anyway?” “Duh, it’s a Care Bear.” I zip the Care Bear into Maria’s jacket. “Hey, Maria, you should name the Care Bear?” She does not hesitate with her answer. “His name is Cleveland.” She gives me a look like how could I not know that. She is beyond happy. In that moment Cleveland and Maria are completely safe.
THOSE LEFT STANDING MUST PICK UP THE FALLEN
We leave the Metreon and head towards the ice rink. There is a light rain and a line has formed outside the building. We are standing with smiling families and groups of laughing teenagers. There are two young ladies standing behind me. I notice that they are the exact same height and the same short choppy haircut, except one has purple highlights. They are young, maybe college students, winter break, maybe not. They are holding hands and are in love. I can tell it is a new love by their self-conscious mixture of timid glances and bold postures to not look nervous in a public place. They talk quietly and there is a sweet but tenuous thread of romance that loops around them. I want to say to them, “it’s okay we are all outside of this together.” There is all kind of love in this world and it all contains extreme beauty. I smile to myself. Everyone is getting wet, but no one seems to care. This is family day at the skate rink and although my family is separated now to far away corners, I am still glad to be here with the girls and for now I feel like they are my family. They are ecstatic. They are feeling the exuberance of the day. I warn Katya and Emily that I hurt my knee and am a terrible skater anyway—”so don’t expect any handholding.” Katya says she knows how to skate and Emily says she can also. Maria is holding Cleveland and looks nervous. We get our skates and head out onto the ice. Everyone is moving in a clockwise circle. Families skating together, small children on the ice for the first time, awkward teenagers holding the side of the rail for support. Katya and Emily take off with wobbly knees but are fearless as they skate off. Maria is petrified and will not let go of my hand. She is a solid girl and her weight is formidable for a girl her size. I have to hold her up while she is skating and I am getting tired. Emily and Katya are warmed up and I am impressed on how confident they are. Katya is practicing spinning in circles. I look for the two young girls on their skate date but they are lost in the crowd somewhere. Maria is holding desperately to my hand and Cleveland. I am holding her up by pure strength. Katya is practicing spins. Emily stays close and wants to hold my hand but I almost falls when she grabs it. We skate by the two young girls sitting on a bench, I notice a look of loss on their faces, as if the romantic idea of skating in public on a rainy Saturday had just worn off. We are skating clockwise. The world is spinning in the circle. Katya is laughing and Emily is smiling. Maria is struggling but happy. She is holding Cleveland’s hand. The two girls stop me and ask if I will take their picture. I am surprised but feels a validation that a quiet smile can go further than you think. I ask their names. One says Courtney. I look at her partner and she introduces herself as Courtney also. “Courtney and Courtney, how is that possible?” I ask laughing. They say in unison, “Destiny” and hug each other. I take that picture. They offer to take my picture and then barely balancing on the edges of my skates I pose with Emily and Katcha on the skating rink. A moment where everyone is happy, everything seems perfect, a small group of smiling people bonding together in a moment amidst the ice and swirling concentric revolutions of life’s skaters and families.
I take Maria’s hand and we skate off into the clockwise circle again. She is slowly getting her balance and I tell her she needs to try it by herself. She say no she can’t. I try to convince her. “You can do it. Confidence Maria! ” I hold her hand and then lightly lets go with a soft release. Maria goes three feet and then crumples to the ice like a sack of potatoes tossed recklessly from a truck. She hits the ice hard and lays sprawled with her dark sweatshirt and pants in dramatic contrast to the icy cold white ground. Maria’s screams of pain are ear piercing. The world is moving in circles but as she lies on the ice the concentric rhythms and sounds of joy are shattered by the wails of her panic and screams. The ones who are left standing or skating, hesitate, but skate on. I am left standing and am not sure what to do. I reach down and gently pick her up from the ice. She is dead weight and her body hangs limp as a rag while her lungs release sound and air with hysterical convulsions. Something happens in this moment that is hard for me to understand and the moment replays in my head and I feel my body leave the ice and look down upon the scene as if I am watching this from that heavenly perch where the archangels are watching over us. Again, in a replay, I see Maria fall in slow motion. I have let go of her hand and with a gentle release watches her glide into her world of skating and confidence and then it all crumbles and her knees buckle and she is falling. Falling. Falling towards the ice. I see the falling and remember so many things about falling that the air in my lungs have disappeared. I am holding her and talking to her gently. Trying to be comforting. Emily is skating around us in small circles. Katya is in the center of the ice twirling in smaller circles. The two girls in love are holding hands and skating awkwardly together amidst the mass. The other skaters are lumbering in their circles. Everything seems chaotic at first, but we are at the center of everything, the moment has changed, has slowed down, and is now moving within distinct orbits and destinies. Maria is crying in my arms. I am comforting her. I hear a voice that says if you are the one standing then it is your duty to pick up the fallen. Plushy warrior, so many fallen. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. My daughter who had fallen off her cliff now hovering over us as an angel. My friends who have fallen and left our world reminding me of my strength. I, who have fallen, alone in a small boat, not $20 in my pocket, but who have so many arms around me. Emily is circling around us. Katya is twirling. The Cortney girls are holding hands. Maria has fallen and is scared. I comfort her. The world is still skating in circles. So many fallen. Maria is still holding Cleveland’s arm and won’t let go. She won’t let him fall. The world slowly begins to move again, but this moment has etched into my memory in a way a simple 5 second fall on the ice just cannot explain. I wonder if I have to take her to the hospital. Emily is skating around us smiling, Katya is still spinning and twirling. I am so impressed. The two girls are gone now. The other skaters continue to skate, heedless of us. Maria slowly stops crying like a skidding car rolling to a stop. Cleveland is still in her arms. I hold them both steady. Slowly her feet and legs and body and arms become strong again. We skate away and in moments she is happy as if nothing ever happened. The skate rink swirls in my head. Twenty feet from the exit I let her go again and she coasts across the ice not thinking for a moment that she is out there alone and is skating with absolutely no fear
YOURS TO KEEP
The Next Class I bring everyone a present. I have blown up one of their photos and put them into frames. I’ve hung them on the wall so that the room looks like a gallery. As the kids walk in they see their photos on the wall. There is cake and pizza. There is a feeling of a party. This is our last class, time for Christmas break. The world of children is nothing but dreams of presents. They giggle and push each other and grab pizza and pieces of cake, but as they realize these are their photos on the wall they settle down and look at each one carefully. Although, there are ten different photos they carefully look at each one until they recognize their photo. There is pride of ownership the passes across the beam of their smile. The photo is framed, but so is the memory, framed, so that all other memories can be held with the same type of pride that extends to a sense of ownership, of entitlement, of courage, of statement, or knowledge, of self worth. There is flying, there is falling, there is courage, there is around and around, all these are elements in this journey. These photographs are bigger than life. I stand back and do not say a word. This has taught me far more than it has taught them. It is the memory that changes your world, that marks the difference in your life, the difference in their life. Something to keep forever. “Mr Dave, Can we keep them?” “They are yours to keep.”
So If you could go anywhere in the world, anyplace you ever dreamed of visiting--
Where would you go?
Eddie A Giants Ballgame
Sarah Australia
Maria Las Vegas Samantha Paris
Jesus G. Great America
Aaliya New York City
Trinity Paris
Emily San Diego
Jesus S. A Giants Ballgame
Katya Las Vegas