The following is a memoir and tribute to my high school mentor, Wayne MacDonald.
“Can I trust you with my life?” I asked her.
The girl looked back at me with gentle eyes and smiled. Her hand holding the end of my rope line, she replied.
“Yes, you can trust me with your life.”
I didn’t know her. This was only the second day of school. But here I was, on the precipice of a sharp cliff. I wondered how the hell I ended up here.
The cliff was 70-80 feet high, but I remember feeling like it seemed bigger. The scent of wet morning grass mingled with the old leather of my gloves.
I couldn’t bring myself to look down. I just focused on the rope in front of me, the instructions they gave me. The rope, my own life, ran through my hands. I trusted the girl with it now too. Commit.
““Don’t die…bring the rope down to your thigh to brake…. lift the rope to release…don’t fuckin die.” I repeated to myself.
But soon I started feeling more confident. I eventually released my brake to take large jumps from the rock. Just like the guys in the movies. A few agile bounces, and boom, I completed the descent. Exhilarated.
“..savage” I whispered to myself.
Chapter 2: New Bootie
“Muahrcus, we’re transfarring you to a special pwrogram. I think you’ll like it theah”.
My Art Director, Mr Rosenblatt, looked at me concerned. In his thick New York accent, he recommended I attend an alternative school program - Urban Pioneers (UP).
You see, high school was a tough time for me. There were too many pretty girls, distractions, and psychoactive drugs for me to give a shit about getting good grades. I felt rebellious and convinced myself that "learning in school" was dumb and I wanted no part of it. (I was a dumbass, I know)
“Oh shit, you’re going to Urban?” a kid chuckled. “Watch out, that’s like, for ghetto kids who are about to drop out”
…Well, fuck him cuz he was wrong. But I understand how that could be misconstrued.
The program operated independently out of a group of bungalows in the parking lot of a separate high school. From the outside, a passerby might only notice the large graffiti-style letters spelling out Urban Pioneers spray painted on the side of the wall. Oh, and Juvenile Hall stood ominously across the street -- a not-so-subtle reminder of detours on the path of education. Good stuff!
“Man, fuck school” I told myself.
Walking into the bungalow, there was a blend of aromas; moldy classroom, bubblegum, and a hint of someone’s weed.
I quickly scanned the room and immediately recognized some of the kids there. And I wasn’t exactly happy about it. I knew them from different neighborhoods – kids from the housing projects in Hunters Point and specifically, kids from the “HITSquad'' on Highland Street. If I'm honest, I was kinda scared of them. At the time, I thought one of their older friends had tried to rob me when I was little. Doesn't matter now anyway. Either way, I thought they were all assholes.
The classroom was laid out with a few couches and chairs arranged casually. A graffiti-style banner stretched across one wall - a visual reminder of the program's ethos:
'Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for life.'
My teacher, Jay Lee, confident and nonchalant, leaned back on the edge of a table, twirling his long dreads with his fingers and spoke in a husky voice.
“So…yeah…tomorrow, don't come to campus. Meet us in the canyon for the wall repel.”
When I arrived I noticed some kids had already set up. And guess who was there. Yep. One of those dipshits from HITSquad. Turns out one of them had already gone through the program and earned the privilege to return for a second semester. As a “Returnee”, he was charged with mentoring the newcomers – the “new booties”.
“Christ. HE’s gonna train us?!” I whispered to myself.
But something was different about him. He wasn’t being an asshole. He was legit. This dude had straight up morphed.
I thought I knew this kid to be a jerk, but there he was, a hyper-vigilant leader, diligently guiding the new students through the complexities of tying a figure-eight knot. And let me tell you, if you were screwing around, you heard it from him. He really wanted us to listen and learn.
“Dang, he really knows his stuff” I said to the kid next to me.
“Yeah. He’s a sav.” a girl responded.
I stood there, fascinated, in awe, like I just discovered fire.
“Huh… a sav.” I thought.
Now, for those of you who don’t know, a “sav”, short for “savage”, is loosely defined as a mythical idealization of an intelligent, driven, mature, brave, athletic, challenge-ready survivalist with endless skills, and all-around capabilities (I could go on and on). And here is this bratty-ass kid, exemplifying exactly those traits. This was a big deal.
…Now, granted, this dude might have still come off as a dipshit teenager in the streets, but UP provided a context that brought out the absolute best in these kids, revealing a side of them that most people, including myself, hadn't even known existed. These weren't just bratty street kids; they could exercise the highest levels of maturity and brought a unique blend of passion, energy, and loyalty. Someone just needed to bring it out.
I liked the kid now. I respected him; He WAS a sav. And we’re still friends to this day.
