GEORGE

  Knew a kid once named George. Knew him from the time he was about six until he graduated high school. George played for the PAL Gators football team and he was one of the best running backs I ever coached. Almost impossible to take down.

 Since George was the same age as some of our kids, he used to, occasionally, come up and stay at our house in Pine Ridge over the weekends.

 Getting permission from his parents wasn't necessary. George didn't have any. George was raised under the system that has evolved in many Black communities where a kind-hearted lady will take in children who have been abandoned. Cast aside. Forgotten in favor of booze, dope, and trips to The Clubbb. They are usually called Grandmas or Aunties. May God love them.

 George, being black, lived in the Naples' shameful hellhole called McDonald Quarters. A ghetto. One of the few places Blacks were allowed to live in paradise. George survived this meager existence with amazing resilience. He was healthy as a horse. His sense of humor fine-honed and ready.

 Once when George was staying with us, I noticed that he wouldn't jump off the diving board into our pool. I asked if he would like me to show him how to dive. George said, "Oh, I can dive just fine. Just don't think I should."

 When I asked why he said, "When I starts bouncin' on that board and I bounces higher than that fence around the pool, your neighbors gonna see my black ass. Then they gonna say 'Uh-oh, lookit what's bobbin' up over there' and you gonna be in big trouble."

 George once told me something that caused me to re-think many things I took for granted. He seemed to like staying with us so much that Sandy and I had discussed trying to get custody of him. I asked him if he liked visiting us. "Oh, yeah," he said, "an' you know what I like best? I love sleepin' in a bed on Friday and Saturday nights?"

 "What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

 "In the Quarters you can't sleep in a bed on Friday or Saturday nights. They gets drunk and starts shootin', you best be sleepin' on the floor so them bullets pass right over you."

 Being a cop I knew he was right. But I'd never thought about it. Why should a kid have to worry about things like that? And not just him, every kid over there. But, it was just a fact of life to them. After that, we tried to make life  there safer.

 We finally lost George. One of his Aunties found a relative up in Mississippi and George moved there. Did well, I understand. Went on to play college football. A big running back that couldn't be stopped.