Saturday, June 29, 2013

Growing up in Los Angeles (Part Fifteen): D.A.R.E. to Save Each Other - Drugs and Youth in L.A.

Part 15: D.A.R.E. to Save Each Other: Drugs and Youth in L.A.

By Armando Ortiz

About three of us almost broke down that day. It might have been four, but I can’t exactly remember. Mariela was the one that actually shed a few tears, but they dried before streaking all the way down her cheek. We had finally graduated from the D.A.R.E. program. None of us in the class had signed up to take the bi-monthly class. The officers came and talked about their experiences in the field and the dangers of drugs. I knew drugs were bad, heck, these eyes had seen people smoke crack, and observed crackheads go at it on the sidewalk of our neighborhood, but could not conceptualize drugs in a family or my life. The cop wore a deep blue uniform, and her long hair was kept in a bun. She was Hispanic, with light brown skin and green eyes, which made you think of Veronica Castro every time she visited our class. Her last name was Garcia. Officer Garcia would stand in front of the classroom and talk about life as a public officer and give us many reasons why not to turn to illegal substances.

After the program was over we were going to get awarded a black T-shirt that had the acronym D.A.R.E. emblazoned across the front of the shirt, with bright red letters. If you wanted a shirt and if you wanted to complete the program you had to give a speech/pledge about never touching drugs. Well, the day came and all of us had to go up to the front of the class and each had to promise to never do drugs and explain the dangers of drugs. Two classmates whom I rarely spoke with standout from that day. The first said that he would never do drugs, because drugs could kill people, but before he could complete the word “kill,” he jerked a bit and his face, especially around the eyes wrinkled up. He had dirty blond hair, and his parents were from El Salvador. He liked eating cheese pupusas and his favorite sport was kickball. He was one of the best in our class. The next up was Evelyn. She went up there and stood tall.

“I will never do drugs because drugs hurt your body, and my mother’s cry,” right after she said “my,” she looked at the audience, which was about 25 six graders, who were all too familiar, but now she looked lost, like a deer that was about to get slammed by a car.

She had a desperate look, and those hazel eyes looked side to side after she completed her first statement going on to say, and with a slow tone, “Drugs were dangerous because it hurts family and make grandparents cry.”

Evelyn was from Guatemala, from the highlands of Quetzaltenango, and a bit shorter than the rest of the students, but was smart, witty and always full of smiles. She would tell jokes to make us laugh, but on that day those marble eyes glazed up and got unusually watery, and suddenly turned completely black. After completing her speech she managed to get back to the seat, not one tear fell. Only sniffing once or twice, but we convinced ourselves that it was probably some type of cold that she had suddenly acquired.

It was my turn. I had not given this activity much thought. We had been told weeks prior about this mini-ceremony and that we’d get some T-shirts but we would have to make a pledge. So, the time for me to go up came, “I promise to never do drugs.” I began to choke up, but continued with my talk.

Other students, who made up the crowd, just saw the image of their classmate in the flesh. He promised never to do drugs and to not do bad things, like get drunk because it made the family unhappy. Though it didn’t seem like he choked up, and no one noticed his eyes glaze up. At that instant the cop tilted her head and wondered. Though her body posture had changed a bit she was too preoccupied in fulfilling her duties to really pay attention to what was going on or maybe she was observing.

At that moment as he gave that speech the class before him was silent and appeared motionless. Ms. Hopkins, to the right, was silent and heard our pledge. She wore a white Adidas sweater, and light blue Adidas running shoes. She sat on her desk and took notes. The class was still there, silently listening to all the other classmates go up.  No one really knew what the other was experiencing or going through. We were all inside that shoebox of a room, in the maze of our minds, and the momentary experience of being social, and yet though we were all there, none of us really knew each other or our very selves. Too many things were happening to really comprehend the gravity of life and all its consequences. We were all forced into that situation, as speakers, audience, and public servants, and yet none of us could really protect the other from themselves or their temporal realities. At that instant the handcuffs of the police officer were made obsolete, her gun was powerless, the ears of the audience were blind, and their eyes dumb to the sounds that the children saw in their homes, and the strange and incomprehensible situations that would continue to occur.


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