The word in the limelight is respect. You know, the word on every educator's lips (at least in Schenectady).

This word is emblazoned on banners, worn on little cords around the neck of those in authority and in general bandied about with reverence and respect.

I watched this movie last night in a series, "Wide Angle," and found myself bemused and titillated. It was a little documentary called "Eighteen," shot in San Salvatore and essentially about the problems of gangs and their prevalence in the country (sound familiar?).

It was called "Eighteen" because that was the punishment netted out to gang members who didn't follow the gang rules. To be beaten by the feet of multiple gang members while the leader slowly counted to eighteen. No sneakers on these guys' feet, big rock 'em sock 'em work boots. And the victim was shirtless and did nothing to ward off the blows, nor did he even cry out. Everything was done in silence except for the intoned counting. A little girl of about three or four years old watched mutely from a doorway.

When the beating was over, two of the beaters picked the crumbled form off the floor, holding his head up and shouted one word over and over. "RESPECT." All through this documentary, this symbolic word was yelled, sobbed, whispered and even sung.

There was a gang anthem in which the word respect figured prominently. This was sung at a funeral for a 15-year-old boy who had been shot over a business issue. What was really surprising to me was the attitude about drugs. Selling drugs was the main occupation of these lads but using them put you first in line for one of those beatings. From marijuana to crack, no drug use was allowed.

Except for that important difference I could see little difference between our homegrown crews and these Spanish-speaking dudes. Especially the use of that magic mystical word - respect. This word used to be associated with the Mafia, at least in the movies. I remember listening to Marlon Brando in "The Godfather" complain about loss of respect from his capos.

And then, of course, Rodney Dangerfield used the ever-present punch line, "I don't get no respect."

So why, someone please tell me, are our high school faculty wearing this as a little sign around their neck? Respect is not given, it is earned. The eastern ancients worked for a lifetime to be worthy of veneration and respect. Just being alive did not give you the right to be automatically revered and looked up to.

When did this character trait become so trashed and trivialized? And why did we as adults buy into a cheap gang ideology as a means of reaching these very same people? Do we need to come down to their level? How about bringing them up to ours, granted that indeed we are worthy of being looked up to and setting realistic examples for kids to follow?

I know my kids swear as a knee-jerk reaction to everything and anything. Some people think that those who curse do it because they have no other words to express themselves with. Maybe, but I think that cursing is in their heartbeat, as automatic as breathing.

It's not that they know nothing else; it's that they see themselves as being nothing else. And when people they struggle to identify with or go to for answers have feet of clay, they come away puzzled and disillusioned.

In my work at Quest, if I say "Damn" or "Oh hell," the most disgusting mouths in town will jump all over me and tell me not to curse. And guess what, they are right. So I laugh and say sorry and then we talk about that word, respect, and move on to something else.

While I don't demand or even expect respect, not once has a child ever touched me in anger. Once a girl raised an arm to hit me, stopped in mid-air and apologized. That's all the respect I need. And I can give her respect for staying her blow.

Outside interest

Coming from a totally different part of the country (literally), I got my very first blog comment and an exciting moment that was. It came from the vicinity of Chicago, where Diane Nilan is an activist for homeless youth and families and has won an Emmy for her documentary on homeless youth.

Here is someone totally new to me and my life. This amazing woman sold her house and car and travels the country to offer encouragement and ideas (especially political strategies) to youth everywhere facing hardship and trouble. Not a young woman, probably close in age to myself, she and her camper take it on the road.

And for me, the special end to this tale is she is coming (at my request) to Schenectady this October to present on Quest's behalf and on behalf of homeless youth in our city. She knows a problem when she hears about it, and she, like I, knows to change things you often need to change the approach to fixing it. Two crazy ladies, bobbing and weaving in the ring and never staying down for the count.

And yes, she gets it! She gets that there is a problem, and she gets that you must have a passion in your life, and we together get that sometimes the passion becomes your mission.

And respect, well, who needs it? Let's just keep on keeping on.