ANYONE CAN FIND TROUBLE; OPPORTUNITY IS THERE TOO

It was a scene that has, sadly enough, been tolerated for too long by
too many people.

The other day, while I was sitting on my porch in Springfield
chatting with a friend, two young black men strolled by, dragging
saggy pants and sullenness. The fact that they were strapping and
healthy, that it was the late morning, and that they obviously
weren't dressed to go on somebody's job didn't faze me. I see it all the time.

My friend, however, wasn't having it. She decided it was time to stop
them for a chat.

They obliged.

The first thing she did was say hello, asked them how they were
doing, and asked them to pull up their pants. Again, they obliged.

Then she asked the young men, who were in their 20s, if they were
enrolled in college. They said no. Then she asked them if they were
working anywhere.

Again, no.

Ultimately, the men told my friend that they had done time in prison
on drug charges. She brushed that off by saying that trouble is for
anybody, but past trouble doesn't mean they can't go on.

She then kept on talking to them, telling them that they needed to
get themselves a pair of black trousers and a white shirt and tie, so
that they could fit in with the world of work.

She also shared concerns with them, about how people like herself and
me were tired of seeing their lives being reduced to dreary
statistics; of the world seeing them as either predators or victims.
Of the world seeing them frozen in the glare of pathology and
hopelessness, and not in the light of worth and potential.

They settled onto my porch steps and soaked it all in. They didn't
get angry. Didn't look away.

After the talk, my friend gave them her business number, and told
them to call her if they needed advice or help. I gave them my
business card and the phone number for Operation New Hope - a
renowned organization that helps ex-prisoners learn job skills and
turn their lives around.

Such encounters need to happen more often.

I don't know whether the young men slipped around the corner and
laughed at us, or called Operation New Hope, or walked by Florida
Community College at Jacksonville's downtown campus to take a second
look. What I hope happened, though, is that they left knowing that
there are strangers out there, like my friend and me, who care for
them more than we fear them.

Even though conventional wisdom, or rather, conventional stereotypes,
tend to command otherwise.

Duval County leads the state in murder rate. Black males make up a
disproportionate amount of the victims and the killers, and their
communities have been devastated by the crack cocaine trade that
fuels much of the violence. Many who can't find decent jobs wind up
selling drugs.

And drug-dealing isn't an occupation that requires one to keep normal
office hours.

To reach young black males like the ones my friend and I encountered,
there has to be more than a restoration of opportunity.

There must also be a restoration of a sense of order to their lives;
a sense of order that tells 20-somethings like them that they
shouldn't settle for the notion that it's cool for them to be walking
around in the middle of the day without heading to school, or on
their way to look for work. Or how sagging pants might get them cool
points in prison or on the streets, but not in a job interview.

Even if they don't get a job, they at least still know what it takes
to look for one.

There has been much sloganeering here about stopping the violence and
starting the love when it comes to stemming the city's murder rate.
But what's forgotten is that one way to start the love is by starting
the conversations with those who need it.

To start the love, more people must stop fearing all young black
males as predators and become courageous enough to care enough to
talk to them; to treat them as people who want normal lives, but who
need help to understand what normal is.

Even if they have to learn it from strangers on porch steps.