Jackson Free Press

Like a lot of people, I spent this past Easter Sunday at a friend's house full of kids.

The smallest of them, a 10-month-old boy, seemed really into crawling under the coffee table and toward electrical sockets before the nearest adult could scoop him away to safety.

The biggest kid was a buddy of mine who leveraged his 6-foot-8-inches to a considerable advantage in a water-gun battle through the house, his nemeses consisting of 8- and 9-year-olds and one 2-year-old girl, who didn't have a water gun, but wielded her glittery plastic scepter menacingly enough.

Occasionally, a momentary wail indicated that one of the smaller children had a painful encounter with a hard plastic toy, the floor, a piece of furniture or a piece of another child.

"I'm sure they're fine," I shrugged, presumably signaling a nonchalance that prompted playful skepticism from friends about my fitness for parenthood.

There are many reasons I probably shouldn't be a dad, but that isn't one. I just happen to know how tough kids are, especially when they have proper nurturing and support.

When my sister, Gabrielle (or GG, as we call her), came along 21 years ago, I was a teenage boy. Having a baby sister was like being handed a remote-controlled car whose remote control usually didn't work properly.

Such a strong-willed little girl, GG climbed up and fell off many things, bumped her tender head, hit me in tender places and put things in her mouth before I could take them away.

Many of those interactions ended with my baby sister in tears, physically or emotionally injured. (It was the same story with Josh, our younger brother, who came along a few years later; GG dutifully executed her responsibilities as big sister to bring Josh to tears as often as possible.)

A cursory booboo kiss and a little tickle-monstering, and they were fine. In other words, all kids need is love and attention, and they'll grow into amazing people; just look at the roster of our Amazing Teens, which includes National Honor Society members, community volunteers, inventors, athletes and class presidents from all over the Jackson metro.

In reading their profiles, it becomes clear that these young people have been loved and nurtured since birth. As soon as I start to think that "love is the answer" is too trite a theme for this space, I'm reminded that being loved is not everyone's norm.

On that point, several national and local news stories caught my attention last weekend. One was about a 16-year-old who hopped an airport fence and stowed away in the landing gear of a Boeing 767 from San Jose, Calif., to Maui after arguing with his family. Amazingly, the teen survived the five-hour flight without oxygen and in subzero temperatures.

Physicians told news outlets that youth worked in the boy's favor. "No adult would have survived that," one doctor told Time magazine. No other information is known about the family fight that the boy said caused to him to run away, but upon landing in Hawaii, the boy was placed in the care of child-welfare officials.

Closer to home, in Jackson, there was a story whose facts are a little harder to take in. According to police, two teenage boys were charged with carjacking, kidnapping and rape of a woman on Saturday, the day before Easter. Like the stowaway teenager from California, we don't—and possibly won't—know much about the circumstances of those kids' lives before April 19.

I suspect that the local news outlets that released the kids' names and mugshots, which the Jackson Police Department provided, won't follow up with any substantive stories about who these people are.

As little as we're likely to find out about their past, we do know a lot about the tragic future they could face. This week, I write about a new report from the Atlanta-based Southern Education Foundation about education in youth prisons. Youth advocates agree that Mississippi's youth-justice system has vastly improved over the years, but we still have a long way to go.

Two things about the SEF report stuck with me. The first is that in Mississippi, where African Americans are not even 40 percent of the population, black kids make up 81 percent of the population of long-term, or "residential," youth correctional facilities (e.g. the troubled Walnut Grove). The other, which is the main thrust of the SEF report, is the awful quality of education incarcerated children receive, if they receive an education at all, despite the fact that so many kids are sent to these places with judges' orders that they complete their education.

"There is every reason to predict that today most of these students, like those who came before them in the juvenile justice systems, will never receive a high school diploma or a college degree, will be arrested and confined again as a juvenile or adult, and will rarely, if ever, become self-supporting, law-abiding citizens during most of their lives," SEF authors write.

However, they continue, "substantial evidence shows that, if these children improve their education and start to become successful students in the juvenile justice systems, they will have a far greater chance of finding a turning point in their lives and becoming independent, contributing adults." Compounding the problem, new information from groups monitoring conditions at Walnut Grove shows that violence, drugs and inadequate staffing levels continues to plague Walnut Grove, a privately run youth prison in Leake County. The company, MTC of Utah, denies the monitor's report.

The odds may not be in theses kids' favor, but there is an amazing network of fearless advocates who are working to save their lives. Two exciting opportunities are planned for this week.

On Wednesday, April 23, the Hinds Community College-backed Minority Male Leadership's advisory council, of which I am a member, will meet over lunch. Also, this week, the Coalition of Schools Educating Boys of Color will hold its annual Gathering of Leaders at Jackson State University in Jackson, Miss., on April 23-25, 2014.

It's heartbreaking to think of the simple things that might have prevented some of these children from ever encountering law enforcement in the first place.

What if, like GG, Josh and the kids at Easter, they had a big brother, parent or other relative who made time—or who could afford to make time—for catch and tickle-monster games or water-gun fights after Easter dinner?

Or, more simply, what if they had been born into a society that treats them like children, little human beings possessing amazing potential, before it treats them like they are a problem (especially is they're black, brown or poor)?

How amazing would that be?