“It was a woman. I don’t even remember her name. But sometimes...

“It was a woman.  I don’t even remember her name.  But sometimes she’d take me out of my third grade class, and we’d go to her office, and just play with play-doh, or dried beans.  I don’t even remember what we talked about.  But she helped me find ways to control my anger: stop cussing in class, stop doing off the wall things, stuff like that.  I think it was the first time someone ever really tried to help me.  When I was a baby, my father got murdered.  And sometimes you can’t really talk to your family about nothing.  Because there are these sensitive spots and dark places, and maybe they’re hurting too.  So people just hold onto stuff.  Especially in this neighborhood.  Especially males.  They walk around with pain on them because it charges them up.  They need it so they can have an excuse to lash out and do whatever they want.  And I guess some people win on it.  But at the end of the day, I’d rather win on being positive.  I don’t mind saying how I feel.  And I’m not a therapist, but I try to let people around me know that I don’t mind if they share.  That if they’re hurting about something, you know, they can call me.“