FRIENDS, CLASSMATES MOVE ON BUT WON'T SOON FORGET ALBERTO

When high school athletes offered to plant a tree in memory of the
11-year-old killed in a SWAT raid, officials at the boy's school
wanted to be careful.

Careful not to bring back memories of those first few days after
Alberto Sepulveda's death -- the tears, the television cameras, the
fear and confusion.

Careful to help children gently remember their friend -- the boy with
the ready smile and easygoing way about him, the boy who never slung
insults on the playground.

They invited only Alberto's family and close friends to attend the
November tree-planting ceremony. They didn't ask children who didn't
know Alberto well. They didn't ask the media.

Their reasoning: A low-key ceremony would help the children move
on.

"You want to have kids handle this," said Rex Wetzel, principal of
Alberto's school, Prescott Senior Elementary. "You don't want them to
regress back to where they've been before."

Wetzel gave the same reason in declining to let The Bee interview
students on campus. Others who knew Alberto believe they are striking
that delicate balance.

"You have to go on, no matter how hard your heart hurts," said Karen
Engelhardt, who was Alberto's language arts teacher.

At first, Engelhardt and her students cried together as they
remembered Alberto. Now, she said, Alberto's name comes up in more
subtle ways.

Children asked if they could make a Christmas stocking for Alberto. A
young artist decorated a T-shirt and dedicated his work to Alberto.

"The children were allowed to grieve and they were allowed to have
their anger," Engelhardt said. "They were allowed to move on."

Similarly, life goes on in Alberto's Highway Village
neighborhood.

Every once in a while -- sometimes when they least expect it -- the
children remember Alberto.

Sometimes it happens when they notice another boy with short-cropped
hair, chubby cheeks, a dimpled smile. Sometimes it happens when they
hear what they think is a gunshot, on TV or on the street.

"I might see something that reminds me of him and I just have to cry,"
said Melissa McConnell, 12, who lives a few doors away from the
Sepulveda family.

Melissa's sister, 15-year-old Christina McConnell, added: "Everybody
misses Alberto, but everybody's moving on."

Melissa, Christina and their neighbor Rachel Sevier, 17, said the
shooting shocked them.

"It hurt so bad," Rachel said. "We really loved that little
boy."

Friends remember Alberto as a good kid who always was kind to others.
How could this happen to him? And if it happened to Alberto, could it
happen to them, too?

Then, they questioned one of the basic truths of childhood: Police are
the good guys.

"I don't like cops anymore," Melissa said. "I don't think it was an
accident. Nobody I know thinks it was an accident."

Counselors such as Chris Fallentine said they let children vent their
anger after the shooting.

"We heard a lot of questions like, 'Can we trust the police?'" she
said.

Fallentine and 11 other counselors from Stanislaus County Behavioral
Health and Recovery Services, the Center for Human Services and other
agencies talked with students at Prescott and Chrysler School, where
Alberto attended elementary grades.

Counselors also helped children deal with other issues surrounding
Alberto's death. For some, the shooting triggered the memory of losing
an adored grandparent or a favorite pet.

Others had practical questions: Should I go to the funeral? Will
Alberto be in a coffin? What will he look like?

Children drew pictures and wrote letters to Alberto's family. Some
were addressed to Alberto.

"That was their chance to say goodbye," counselor Cherie Dockery said.