Kindness for Weakness by Shawn Goodman

an hour later he “woke up” in a police cruiser. His friend went to the hospital with a broken nose and a dislocated jaw.
    “Now I’m locked up and we ain’t friends no more,” he says.
    “How come we’re short-circuited?” asks Freddie.
    “I don’t know, man,” Mr. E says sympathetically. “Could be lots of reasons.”
    “Come on, Mr. E. Tell us,” Freddie says.
    “Well, some of our mommas drank or did drugs when they were pregnant with us. Some of us got beat too much.” He points a finger at himself to let us know that that happened to him. “You might have to talk to Dr. Souza to figure it out for sure, but I’m glad you’re asking, Freddie. And I’m glad you’re thinking.”
    Strangely, no one has anything more to say. There are no jokes or put-downs. Just a long, thoughtful silence. I look around at the other boys and try to imagine what it’s like for them at home. Do they have fucked-up mothers and disappeared fathers?
    Finally Mr. E says, “Good job, all of you, for acting like strong young men instead of thugs and punks. I believe in you guys, even if you’re a pain in my ass and give me gray hairs in my otherwise perfect Afro. Now let’s change up and have an extra half hour of rec before dinner.”
    It feels good to hear these words, even if I haven’t done anything and we’re not even close to being men. Even if we are screwups, losers, and criminals, it’s still nice to hear someone like Mr. E tell us different.

23
    On my second day, which is a Wednesday, Bobby the Weasel gets a visit from his father, who owns a bakery. Freddie says the man hasn’t missed a week and always brings trays of pastries, enough for everyone. Today he’s got brownies and cinnamon rolls. They smell terrific, and I can hardly wait to get one.
    I watch Bobby and his father in the staff office, playing Uno and laughing. They eat giant sticky rolls, stuffing their faces and licking their fingers. Secretly I think that the rest of us are jealous. I know I am. Bobby’s father doesn’t look rich or tough or cool. He doesn’t have a big-shot job or good clothes. But he seems like a really nice guy who loves his son.
    It makes me wonder what that feels like, and if my father ever loved me. I think he did, because of the presents he used to bring home. And I remember once he took me fishing and it was great, even though we didn’t catch anything. But then, why did he leave? Even if he didn’t want to be with my mother anymore, couldn’t he have stuckaround for Louis and me? I was only five years old, and maybe I
needed
a father. Did he ever think of that? And maybe my mother needed him, too, judging from how she acted after he left (staying in her bedroom with the lights out, quietly crying).
    Even if he couldn’t stick around, he could have called or written to tell us where he was living. Something. Anything. One thing’s certain: if he ever does come back, I’ll be ready. I won’t waste any time being mad or asking for explanations. I’ll just say, “I sure missed you. Let’s get to know each other.”
    At the end of Bobby’s visit, he and his father come into the activity room, where the rest of us are sitting around, doing homework and reading books.
    “Be good, okay?” says his father.
    “I will,” says Bobby. “I promise.”
    He manages to keep the promise through the next day. He even gets some schoolwork done, which surprises the teachers and the guards, who are used to nagging him constantly and asking the nurse if she can give Bobby more Ritalin. Pike gives a rare compliment, asking Bobby if he’s been possessed by a smart, focused demon who might be on the road to earning privileges. Even Bobby laughs, but by the end of tech class, he looks exhausted from the effort. He closes his textbook and puts his head down, humming “Old MacDonald.”
    Mr. Goldschmidt, a short dumpy guy who wears one of those Amish beards, stops in the middle of a lecture about shop safety. (He teaches