POPS clubs are about authenticity, kindness, respect and understanding, and we often see evidence of the impact of our clubs in students’ writings and artwork. But we also see it every day in smaller ways too—in peoples’ eyes, and in their words.
This letter was going to be all about Karen Arellano, a graduate of Venice High School who wrote to me a few months ago to ask how she could start a POPS club on her college campus. “The need doesn’t stop after graduation,” she wrote. Karen’s father, whom she adores, has been in prison since she was a little girl; she is doing all she can to stay in close contact and work towards his release even as she works full time in a law office and attends college. Karen plans eventually to go to law school and to work towards changing society. She does all this with the kind of equanimity and grace and generosity I so admire I couldn’t help telling her that one day as we were talking about ways to reach out to our graduates and expand the POPS ambassadors team.
When I said I admired her, she smiled her beautiful smile and said, “all my life people thought I wasn’t worthanything, but I’m showing them.” She is. You can see her strength in her eyes, and I want everyone to know this young woman. I’m certain one day everyone will. I will write more about her and the Ambassadors team another month, but just as I was planning to write all about Karen, Anthony Rios reappeared.
I confess: I had once in a while checked in on Instagram to see how Anthony was doing. In 2015 when he was a member of POPS Venice, he played football and was in Dennis Danziger’s class. His football buddies and Dennis had convinced him to come to POPS. We learned he had been homeless as a little boy, that he had been in foster care for years, that he was strong, handsome, quiet, and attentive, that he struggled in school but never gave up.
So a few days ago Dennis and I decided we wanted to see how Anthony was doing; he graduated in 2015, and we hadn’t heard from him. So we dropped him a note and asked him to meet us for coffee. He agreed.
He showed up looking more handsome than ever. He’s 20 now, grown up, with a union job with an airline and a five-year plan. He lives with a roommate in a nice apartment—his own for the first time, though he did tell us he’d lived in his car for four months while he worked to get his life together. He’d been robbed, he said. Lost everything. But now he’s happy. He’s earning good money. He bought a nice car. There’s a girl he likes. We were so happy to see him doing so well, and then he looked us directly in the eyes and said, “I wonder if I could maybe get another copy of the anthology I have work in, Ghetto By the Sea. It’s one of the things that got stolen. And I have to tell you something.”
“Sure,” we said, to both requests. When we handed him a copy of the book, his eyes lit up.
“So,” he said, “I was nervous about coming to meet you.”
“Why?” we asked.
“I don’t know exactly, but I have to tell you about that poem I read. Remember when I read in front of everyone?”
Not only did we remember the day he read in front of the club, but he read at Beyond Baroque in front of 100 strangers; rapt silence enveloped the theater when he read.
“Well,” he told us, “writing and reading in front of everyone—that changed everything for me. That’s why I’m good today. That’s what helped me do everything.”
Of course when he said that, my tears began to fall, and Anthony laughed because all the kids joke about how easy it is to make Amy cry. But I dare you not to as you read Anthony Rios’s poem from Ghetto By the Sea, © 2015.
I Have Always Been Searching for a Father
I have always been alone searching for a father, but it never happened.
Every night and day I have been praying to see him.
I have been crying for so long.
I was lost in the world, doing drugs, joining a gang,
just looking for a father figure.
He fades away.
I learned things the hard way, by seeing my mom working so hard to give my
brothers, sisters, and me a bite to eat every day.
Every night I listened to my mom cry.
I felt bad because I thought it was my fault he left.
When I saw him in jail, he said, “Sorry.”
But I didn’t listen to him. I was so mad I couldn’t forgive him because he wasn’t
there when I needed him.
But I learned to keep my head up and how to forgive my father.
I thank God for changing my life. Without God in my life, I would be lost.
From Ghetto By the Sea, POPS the Club, 2015
Thank you for your goodness, generosity, tenderness and support. You are changing the world, one person at a time.
Sincerely,
Amy Friedman
POPS the Club Executive Director and Co-Founder
—
Visit Popstheclub, or find them on Twitter @popstheclub and on Facebook
Discover what POPS the Club is all about.
—
If you believe in the work we are doing here at The Good Men Project, please join like-minded individuals in The Good Men Project Premium Community.
◊♦◊
◊♦◊
Photo courtesy of the author.