The tension was noticeable the afternoon after that morning. It would be a couple of hours before the mandatory meeting where we would all find out the cause of the tension. Another several hours would pass before the first news reporter would make her way to the steps of the school. Unless fatalities are involved, news about children bringing guns to school quickly ceases to be news; even when the child in question is a fourth grader. Rarely does the coverage go any deeper than the event.
The glossy image of 20 beaming children against the backdrop of school bleachers is standard class photo fare. Twenty carefree children, thinking only of lunchtime fun; Pokemon cards and recesses, smile contentedly. The 21st child, glowers as the photographer snaps the picture. Hakim's* twisted scowl stands out in a sea of smiling faces. It's doubtful that he was thinking of the notoriety his act would bring. Had he though of that, it might have garnered at least an up turn in the corners of his mouth. He could have been thinking of the almost daily humiliation of being sent to the principal's office for inappropriate behavior.
Maybe he was thinking about the streets which rolled between home and school. The streets where Hakim plodded were tough ones, where children were knowledgeable beyond their years but not wiser. Streets where it was much easier to shoot than to continue a spirited debate. Disputes settled by calibers.
His unashamed disregard for authority made it difficult to like Hakim. While not a bully in the classical sense, Hakim had the ability to keep trouble in constant roil. He would take the typical child's stance of defiant denial. Unlike other children, however, he would not fold -- even after being found out.
Two years ago, Hakim understood how to mask his bad behavior. He knew that charm could get him out of almost any problem. Flash a crooked smile and the fight he began would be dealt with then dismissed. His standard mantra of "I didn't know it was wrong," while looking right through you, defying you to ignore his hound dog stare spared him on numerous occasions. Eventually, no amount of smiles or stares could save him from severe reprimand.
The week I had first met Hakim, he proudly showed me a rap he had written. It was interesting and disturbing at the one time because of the starkness of its imagery. He wrote of blood flowing from gun shot wounds to the face and bodies hitting the pavement as fiercely as rain from sudden summer storms. His words would have been unnerving from someone three times his age, but Hakim was a seven-year-old and that made it impossible to ignore.
"Should I be concerned about this," I asked, as I slid Hakim's paper across another teacher's desk. After reminding her of Hakim's age, she said I needed to bring this to the guidance counselor's attention. It was in his office where I learned of Hakim's beginnings.
Hakim's troubled life began in utero, where his burgeoning body had to fend off a drug invasion from its host. The one person, who should have been his champion, forced him to fight like a pit-bull in a ring. Once born, Hakim had to continue to fight. This time his opponent was abandonment, both state-imposed and voluntary. Hakim soldiered on. Like any war-ravaged soldier who fought one too many fights, each new battle left him scarred and more cautious.
Teachers' lounge legend has it that a multitude of homes, hesitantly accepted him before he turned four. Hakim finally landed in a place which was filled with equal amounts of love and danger. He received love openly from a maternal figure (not a mother), but learned the ways of the street from not-quite brothers. Thug life made it easier to maneuver in his neighborhood. After one of his not-quite brothers was gunned down and another went on the run, Hakim knew he was in for yet another battle. That day, Hakim packed a gun in his backpack alongside his books, most likely for self-preservation.
Even if this had been Hakim's first brush with bringing weaponry to school (which it wasn't), the possibilities of a gun forced his exodus to another school home. No matter how damaged Hakim's life may be, the safety of others had to take precedence.
The child's game Tag has few rules: run, duck and dodge until tagged and you were always safe at home base. Not everyone in Hakim's neighborhood remembered or cared about the rules -- home was supposed to be safe. Shortly after the cameras left and the reporters stopped writing with disbelief, his family's home was sprayed with bullets. Acquaintances of Hakim's not-quite-brother reminded the family that, even while on the run, he was still on their minds.
Hakim continues on his troubled journey in a new school with probably new problems tacked on to the old. Everyone at his former school breathed easier knowing that, this time, violence was avoided. Some, as you can imagine, are glad that he is no longer a threat to those in the building. As we pass the "First 100 Days" and start to tick off the time until summer vacation and celebrate Drs. King and Seuss, things have returned to normal. There are still discussions reverberating around the school of the fourth grader with the gun. Time offers opportunity to think. The opportunity to think about safety beyond school borders. A chance to wonder about a child's safety and what will become of the little boy with twisted scowl.
* Name changed