way to the boys home driveway where he
parked his car and dragged me by my arm to his office. He paddled me again, but
I didn't protest because I thought I deserved more punishment. If Ritchie had hit
me first or purposely provoked me, it would have been different.
Mr. Langston
placed me on his permanent shit list and never missed an opportunity to yell at
me or embarrass me. He blamed me for any phantom infraction he could imagine.
After watching how he treated the other mixed and minority kids, I wasn't surprised
to learn that it was much more than my behavior that he disliked.
The second time
that Mr. Langston decided he would paddle me was for fighting in the home with
another boy who was two years older than I was. I didn't think it was fair for
him to punish me since Danny, the older white kid, started the fight, but the
man disliked me and Danny was his favorite color.
It was Danny's
first time in foster care, and like most boys, he was pissed with his new life
in the boys home. The state took him away from his mother, who was a drug
addict, unfit to care for him. Since he had no other family member who could
take him, the state sent him to the boys home. His caseworker and a cop brought
him to the home, and he didn't calm down until the cop threatened to throw him
in jail for the night.
Mr. Langston assigned
Danny and me the nasty job of cleaning the downstairs bathroom for the
important visit, and it was another reason for the new kid to be upset. It was
the first time that I had any close contact with him, and he didn't know me. If
he had, he would have never shoved me and then punched me in the back. When I
turned to face him, I sprayed disinfectant in his face, and while he couldn't
see, I beat the snot out of him. When Mr. Johnson, one of the staff, and Sean
walked into the bathroom, I was still kicking Danny, who was curled in a ball
on the floor.
Sean Kelley, at
the age of sixteen, was old enough to live at the senior boys home, but he was
still living at the junior home with me. The home's budget was very tight, and
since Sean was good with the younger boys, it was much cheaper to pay him
minimum wage to work there as a part-time helper than it was to pay another
adult staff member.
Sean did his
best to convince Mr. Langston that I was only defending myself, but the man
told him to shut up and find some work to do. When Sean was hesitant to leave
us, Mr. Langston threatened to fire him and move him out of the home.
I was pissed
that Mr. Langston was going to punish me for defending myself, and since he was
going to paddle me anyway, I called him to his face what the other boys did
behind his back. With him dragging me to his office, I yelled loudly enough for
all the boys to hear me call him "a fat-assed, fishy faggot."
Mr. Langston held
me and paddled me, stopping every few whacks to see if I was ready to apologize.
I told him that I would apologize when he stopped smelling like dead fish, and
he kept beating me until he was sweating and gasping. I couldn't stop my tears,
but I never begged him to quit, and I sure as hell didn't apologize. He only
stopped because he was exhausted and struggling to catch his breath. I wanted
to kill him.
When he eased
his grip, I scrambled away from him and yelled, "Fuck you, fish breath!"
Mr. Langston's anger inspired him to chase me one more time around the first
floor of the boys home until I surprised him by ducking into his office. I had
noticed that his key ring was missing from his belt. Inside his office, I
locked the door and grinned when I saw the keys on his desk. He cursed me and pounded
on the door, but I ignored him. Next to his keys I saw plans he was making with
a local TV station to cover the big visit.
When I saw the
station's phone number, I remembered Sean saying that someone should report Mr.
Langston, and it gave me an idea. I wasn't sure exactly what the state policy was
for disciplining us boys, but I knew that it wasn't what Mr. Langston did.
parked his car and dragged me by my arm to his office. He paddled me again, but
I didn't protest because I thought I deserved more punishment. If Ritchie had hit
me first or purposely provoked me, it would have been different.
Mr. Langston
placed me on his permanent shit list and never missed an opportunity to yell at
me or embarrass me. He blamed me for any phantom infraction he could imagine.
After watching how he treated the other mixed and minority kids, I wasn't surprised
to learn that it was much more than my behavior that he disliked.
The second time
that Mr. Langston decided he would paddle me was for fighting in the home with
another boy who was two years older than I was. I didn't think it was fair for
him to punish me since Danny, the older white kid, started the fight, but the
man disliked me and Danny was his favorite color.
It was Danny's
first time in foster care, and like most boys, he was pissed with his new life
in the boys home. The state took him away from his mother, who was a drug
addict, unfit to care for him. Since he had no other family member who could
take him, the state sent him to the boys home. His caseworker and a cop brought
him to the home, and he didn't calm down until the cop threatened to throw him
in jail for the night.
Mr. Langston assigned
Danny and me the nasty job of cleaning the downstairs bathroom for the
important visit, and it was another reason for the new kid to be upset. It was
the first time that I had any close contact with him, and he didn't know me. If
he had, he would have never shoved me and then punched me in the back. When I
turned to face him, I sprayed disinfectant in his face, and while he couldn't
see, I beat the snot out of him. When Mr. Johnson, one of the staff, and Sean
walked into the bathroom, I was still kicking Danny, who was curled in a ball
on the floor.
Sean Kelley, at
the age of sixteen, was old enough to live at the senior boys home, but he was
still living at the junior home with me. The home's budget was very tight, and
since Sean was good with the younger boys, it was much cheaper to pay him
minimum wage to work there as a part-time helper than it was to pay another
adult staff member.
Sean did his
best to convince Mr. Langston that I was only defending myself, but the man
told him to shut up and find some work to do. When Sean was hesitant to leave
us, Mr. Langston threatened to fire him and move him out of the home.
I was pissed
that Mr. Langston was going to punish me for defending myself, and since he was
going to paddle me anyway, I called him to his face what the other boys did
behind his back. With him dragging me to his office, I yelled loudly enough for
all the boys to hear me call him "a fat-assed, fishy faggot."
Mr. Langston held
me and paddled me, stopping every few whacks to see if I was ready to apologize.
I told him that I would apologize when he stopped smelling like dead fish, and
he kept beating me until he was sweating and gasping. I couldn't stop my tears,
but I never begged him to quit, and I sure as hell didn't apologize. He only
stopped because he was exhausted and struggling to catch his breath. I wanted
to kill him.
When he eased
his grip, I scrambled away from him and yelled, "Fuck you, fish breath!"
Mr. Langston's anger inspired him to chase me one more time around the first
floor of the boys home until I surprised him by ducking into his office. I had
noticed that his key ring was missing from his belt. Inside his office, I
locked the door and grinned when I saw the keys on his desk. He cursed me and pounded
on the door, but I ignored him. Next to his keys I saw plans he was making with
a local TV station to cover the big visit.
When I saw the
station's phone number, I remembered Sean saying that someone should report Mr.
Langston, and it gave me an idea. I wasn't sure exactly what the state policy was
for disciplining us boys, but I knew that it wasn't what Mr. Langston did.
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