By: Anya Golkowski

It is February, and I am volunteering at the Boys and Girls Club in North Philadelphia for nearly five months. Across the room, a Connect Four game starts to get more and more heated, as accusations of cheating and lower than average intelligence start to fly. Finally, as expected, James has an outburst of anger, yelling vehemently that there was no way he would have lost if the game were played fairly. Wrapped in his accusation of injustice comes a slew of insults. Ms. Jade has to yell over James to quiet him down, threatening to kick him out if he does not calm down. This tips James over the edge. Another injustice. He starts grunting and kicking the walls. I finally go up to him and ask if he wants to talk. He shrugs and looks back at me, a little hopeful. Sitting across from him, I ask him the first thing that comes to my mind, “Where is all this anger coming from?” What I get is a mumbled, “I don’t know.” I nod awkwardly.

Let me stop and preface that I am not skilled in talking to nine year olds. I never had younger siblings, and my experience working with children has always been limited to adolescents. So when I asked James to talk, I had no idea how to diffuse the situation that I had come to learn was far bigger than being chastised by a teacher.

I met James on my first day of CEE, and quickly took a liking to the quick-witted and enthusiastic boy. As I spent more time with him, I learned more about his personality, and noticed traits that made him stand out from the other kids. He is quick to see relationships whenever we do science experiments, and he loves math. He also knows a little too well how to insult his peers with jokes of false paternity, abandonment, and domestic abuse. Over the year, he has become adept at throwing tantrums when adults ask him to let up on his friends.

I know some of James’ story. James lives in government funded project houses in North Philadelphia. His mom is rarely home, and he frequently rides his bike around in circles because he is locked out. He doesn’t have a father, and he remembers when his older brother got locked up. He always knows who is fighting, where and at what time. He has been suspended from school more than four times this year. I can think of at least five serious reasons why James might feel angry everyday.

Yet James doesn’t seem to know what is wrong with him. He is not able to go up to his teachers and tell them that he feels rejected. He does not know how to tell his friends that he misses his brother. All he knows is how to kick walls and yell louder than his peers. So he is labeled as a misfit, as a child with “anger issues,” and is frequently put in time out.

In my naivety, I thought James would connect all the dots as he sporadically told me his story throughout the year. I was hoping he would say something like, “I’m tired of waking up and fighting this world just to survive. I want someone to help me.” Or think something like that. But instead I got a frustrated, “I don’t know.”

Our society seems to have a problem with angry youth like James whom we can’t control. We fear the gangs they create, get annoyed at the graffiti they draw, and feel frustrated at their lack of engagement in school. So to try and fix these situations, we create well meaning after school and youth outreach programs, expecting children to come to them seeking help and guidance. But how many well-educated, privileged medical students or even doctors seek help when they need it? How many Wall Street brokers seek counselling for their addictions? Yet we expect children who are not even able to emotionally comprehend their situations to open up and asked to be saved.

Despite obvious evidence to the contrary, in my fairy tale version of reality, all who wanted to be saved – and deserved it - got what they asked for. Helped by white knights, friendly animals or pure magic, they somehow always found their magical path to happily ever after. In real life, kids are left wandering not even knowing they are lost.