“Peter Pan, the boy who wouldn’t grow up, is the expression of the dream that one may not have to, and as such he is both beautiful and tragic. But in our own era, the idea of a child who never grows up has a decidedly sinister bent to it.” ~ Constance Grady
Who are these lost boys?
The depiction of “lost boys” first appeared in J.M. Barrie’s play, Peter Pan, the boy who wouldn’t grow up. They were “boys who fall out of their prams when the nurse is looking the other way.”
Barrie writes that if these boys are not claimed in seven days, they’re sent far away to Neverland where Peter Pan is their captain. Peter is the leader of boys without a conscience because he, himself, has never grown up.
Lost boys think of other people, as they do themselves, as pawns in a game they can never win.
“If I had one day when I didn’t have to be all confused and I didn’t have to feel that I was ashamed of everything. If I felt that I belonged someplace.” ~ Rebel Without A Cause
Certainly, one lost boy was Salvadore Ramos, a high school dropout, estranged from his mom and dad, who lived in Uvalde, Texas with his grandparents. Salvadore worked at a Wendy’s and spent most of his free time alone, playing video games.
A childhood friend observed he had been bullied a lot, simply for having a stutter. “Salvadore didn’t have it easy in school. He would get bullied hard, like bullied by a lot of people, over social media, over gaming, over everything.” Over time he retreated into himself.
Then one day Salvadore set out to play his last game.
He gathered his arsenal of weapons, donned a flak jacket and headed off to the local elementary school where he methodically gunned down 19 precious children and two teachers — before he was shot dead.
A lost boy — lost forever.
Do you ever wonder how many lost boys there are in America?
I’m reminded of my first memorable encounter when I was 14 years old.
My dad had died suddenly, my mom had taken to the bottle, and my life had gone into a tailspin. I felt cut off and set adrift.
It wasn’t long before I was hanging with the wrong crowd, drinking, joy-riding and getting into boatloads of trouble. It came to a head on Labor Day in1963 when I was arrested for auto theft and landed in jail for three days.
I arrived during during a 24-hour lock-down and met a 15-year-old boy who’d been arrested for shooting his father. He spent the better part of three hours with me sharing his tragic story. His dad had chased his mother off at gunpoint and taken to beating him in drunken rages. He was often left alone for days with nothing to eat. Then his dad kicked him out and left him to sleep in a park.
Finally, when his dad came after him one night in a rage, he shot him.
He said prison would provide a better life than the one he had.
After this dreadful conversation I curled up in my bed, buried my head in a pillow and prayed to God I wouldn’t be left to the same fate. I wondered whether I, too, was a lost boy, and if I was, would I ever be found?
I truly didn’t know.
What I experienced in jail would be seared into my soul for a lifetime.
The truth is, when you’re a troubled kid crashing into adolescence it’s nigh on impossible to find yourself.
- You need help,
- You need love,
- You need people who care.
The trouble is, for so many lost boys nobody cares. It’s easy to get hijacked by the dark side and — lost forever
When I think of my long ago cellmate all I can think to say is:
The grace of God showed up in the personages of certain remarkable people:
- my coaches,
- my Jesuit teachers,
- my high school girlfriend,
- my best friend.
It was through their love, regard and friendship that I found myself — my whole self, body, mind, heart and spirit.
I was one lost boy who got found.
I know from personal experience that there’s no pulling yourself up by the bootstraps when you have no boots.
Father Flanagan, the Founder of Boys Town, a haven for lost boys, famously said, “No race that does not take care of its young can hope to survive, or deserves to survive.”
So it is.
Just a thought…
Pat
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