Corey's Story

I would rather be the listener in the conversation any day than the talker.  And that's how it all started with Corey.  I'll admit I had a case of a bad attitude, with a capital "B".  I had to drive up to Snowbasin to be one of 2 volunteers required during the Ragnar race for Robert's and Christian's team and all I could think about were the multitudinous things I would rather be doing.  It was pandemonium up there with traffic, runners, noise, and confusion--all things I abhor and generally seek to avoid with a vengeance.  Per the circumstance, I was having a hot flash with heart palpitations and mild panic.  Eventually, I found my station where the directors were all too frazzled to explain the directions for my post, so they told me to just sit for a few minutes.  I took my seat right next to a boy, looking to me to be about 17 (and I was right) with red curly hair, freckles, and a quick smile.  He looked nice enough, I thought.  Internally thankful that I had an excuse to do nothing for a few minutes amongst the chaos, I settled in to people watching, one of my favorite things.  Then the boy next to me started talking, like we were old friends.  "I work on a farm and I've been up since 5am.  I had to come here to volunteer as a requirement in my STATE CUSTODY agreement."  My beautiful silence was obliterated.  Great.  Now, not only did I have to volunteer among this chaos for 4 and a half hours, I had to spend it with a felon.  I silently eyed my purse on the ground and nudged it closer to me with my foot.  He was one of those talkers where he was so desperate for attention that he continued to spill his whole life story with little to no reservation and very little prodding on my part.  But now I was interested.  I have a penchant for listening to a person who has a story to tell.  And suddenly I felt myself shift, from the bad-mood, rotten attitude me, to the engaged, helpful, and genuine me who wanted to be there for this boy to talk, but also because I was enjoying myself.  As we placed light beacons along a 2 mile mountain trail for the nighttime runners, he schooled me on his life.  An alcoholic and abusive father who gave up custody of him to the state when his mom died at age 10.  In and out of juvenile detention, where instead of learning anything, he was initiated into a gang.  Then he told me about his life within the gang, seeing friends be murdered and being beaten to a pulp by the rival gang.  The gang started at age 11.  All I could think about was my Huntie, who is 11, with his round cheeks, innocence, and dependence on me.  My heart ached upon thinking of Hunter in a state run juvenile jail at his age, fending for himself, being regularly beaten up with no one there to protect him or comfort him.  Corey learned quickly the ins and outs of hiding and transferring drugs within a secured facility in order to insure his status within his gang.  He recalled the cruelness of his life, and the dad that still wanted nothing to do with him.  Now he was in a temporary foster care family where he would spend 6 more months before he turned 18, and then he would be completely on his own.  No mother, no father, no relatives to help support him, and a system that he was only a burden to.  He had very little counseling within the state system, so his coping mechanisms have been almost exclusively limited to a flight or fight response.  I thought about Christian, who is only about a year and a half younger than Corey.  Christian has tremendous love in his life and the whole world is an open book of opportunity, waiting for him to grab.  It all seemed so immensely unfair!  How was he supposed to find love and give love in the world, when he had really never experienced it?  How was he not supposed to search out drugs and alcohol or his gang again during times of heartache and stress when that is all he had ever known?  He seemed optimistic and hopeful for his future, in which he dreamed to become an underwater welder and an MMA fighter.  I couldn't help but wonder if he even had an inkling of a chance to stay out of trouble, or to achieve his goals.  If Corey could have been taken from birth and raised in a good home, how much different would his life have been?  I pondered about how very few people on Earth probably have full accountability for their actions, Corey included.  Was I scared for my safety around him?  Emphatically no.  I sensed that he would protect himself if threatened, but there was a sweetness and innocence still about him that would not allow him to harm someone like myself.  In the end, I felt he had given me a gift.  He, like me, my children, and those around me, is a child of God.  His life story so far is cloudy and troubled, but I was thankful that he chose me to tell it to.  And I will hold that story in my hands with respect, non-judgment, and hope for a better future for him.
      I wish I could say that our time together achieved some sort of resolution for Corey.  But it didn't.  I told him that I was rooting for his future success and believed in him.  I came home and prayed intensely for him.  But what will probably happen is that he will continue to be tossed incessantly by the waves of life.  I hope there are others, like his foster family, that will be willing to give him a chance, or that will give a listening ear.  While I began by priding myself in being that listening ear, I ended by being humbled by his strength, his courage, and his optimism.  Indeed everyone has a story to tell, and something to teach.  Thank you, Corey.