Delamont Street was the site of an RIP celebration last week.
A remembrance of sorts for a young girl who committed suicide last year. It was, in fact, a touching and tender occasion. I drove by many times that evening on my various pick-up stops and saw crowds of teens at that corner, not knowing what was happening. I noted the not unusual groups and continued on my way. That was before I got the call.
May, a 19-year-old young mom who has achieved an uneasy truce with herself, called. "We're having a RIP party for Anna," she said. "Today is her birthday. Could you please come?" So New, my recently acquired staff, his video camera, Izzy and myself piled into a car and drove over. I don't know what I expected, but it certainly was not this.
It was quite dark, about 7:30 p.m. or so, and on the corner was a shifting, amorphous mass of young men and women. In front of Anna's house, dozens of lit candles flickered and small, star-shaped lights twinkled on the ground. About 40 helium balloons floated as quiet as sentinels and many teddys and other stuffed animals stood in silent vigil. There was a large framed photograph of Anna and various notes and mementos strewn everywhere.
Someone's car had an open door and loud music was covering the area, its pulsing vibrations clearly a major player in Anna's and all the teens' lives. There was dancing in the street and singing and small amounts of weed being toked up and I was reminded of the tribal methods, all over the world, of marking one of life's two major passages. Arriving and leaving. There was much weeping and hugging and the T-shirts were things of beauty and wonder. Many, many different shirts, hand-drawn and colored, professionally rendered, whatever the method, they were small works of individual tribute to the life and death of a young girl saying, "Gone to the Lord," and, "Forever watching over us," and of course, "We miss you."
Anna's mother and brother were there and we talked and reminisced as the party revolved around us, spinning slowly, like a slow motion, multi-colored top. It was quiet on that corner, even with the music, an ever-present rapping dirge of sorts. People came and left and reappeared. More candles were lit and other remembrances added to the small mountain of detritus. I was struck by the similarity of Egyptian funerals, where utensils and items of comfort were laid to rest with the deceased to accompany them on their final journey.
Channel 6 came and went before our arrival, and that night, they, too, paid tribute to a missing and missed young girl. One young man had written an RIP song to Anna, which he was persuaded to sing for the camera, and which later went out over the airways to thousands of viewers, and the TV station summed it up beautifully and tastefully. "Here are some of the toughest and hardcore teens of this city, gathered here to remember a fallen comrade."
And if these words remind you of a fallen soldier, they should. For Anna was a soldier of the streets. Born and bred to urban warfare and viewed as almost a saint by other children who daily are fighting the same wars and are trying to grow up any way they can.
I drive by at least once daily and still, one week later, see people bringing flowers and balloons, and when evening falls, someone is always there bending over and lighting and monitoring candles. Anna has been all over Facebook and MySpace this past week as teens pay tribute to her.
At this RIP event, the only other adult I saw besides my little group was Anna's mom, and, of course, Channel 6 news, which arrived before we did.
Schenectady spends all this money on Dr. Macy, who makes a living on teen suicides nationwide, and is paid vast sums as a consultant. Community outreach, community outreach. I'll say it again, COMMUNITY OUTREACH. We are a small organization with good outreach skills. A teen called us twice. TWO times to make sure that we came. I've since been to meetings to voice my fears and opinions and no one else knew until after the fact. If these lonely and isolated young people do not feel comfortable going to school and mental health counselors, we have failed them completely.
We cannot wait for them to come to us -- we must go to them. We are the adults and we have to be proactive. How many meetings and conferences before we realize we are not reaching our target population?
Signs of depression have been printed umpteen times in the paper and filled up many a pamphlet. Do we really think we should pat ourselves on the back for wasted effort? Who among us is walking the streets and carrying food and hugs and comfort forward? This is not just a girl problem; young men kill themselves through their dangerous lifestyles. If we are afraid of these streets and these children, we are in the wrong profession. If the kids don't come to you, it's time to hit the streets and go to the kids.
On a serious note, I have two 13-year-old girls who have been shadowed for a week now by three other 13-year-old girls. They no longer linger in the QUEST parking lot because I gave them fair warning that I would press harassment charges.
However, when they arrived at this 13-year-old's house, her mom called the police (Bravo!). This is the totally unreal part. When the police arrived, they suggested that the two girls fight it out -- one on one. We hope to take this further. I believe mom has a badge number on this one.
We need more street commitment. One young girl killed herself last year after she was beaten on the streets and left with a concussion and two broken ribs. I know bullying is the buzz phrase right now. I tell you here and now, as long as we keep minimizing what is happening for whatever reason, it will continue. Beating up another person isn't bullying, it's assault, and in most cases it follows a long line of similar offenses by the same assailant.
As Ann Landers used to say, "Wake up and smell the coffee."
