Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship

by Gregory Boyle

I take Mauricio with me to speak to a psychology class at the University of California, Irvine. He’s in his late thirties and quite visibly a gang member. After we finish our talk, a young woman in the class asks him why he ran away from home at nine years old, a fact he’d mentioned in his remarks. Mauricio shrugs a little and says, “I was tired of listening to my parents.” Later, on the drive home, I ask him if he remembers what he’d said. He says yes. I ask him to repeat it. “I said I ran away from home ’cause my mom would beat my ass.” I tell him that he said no such thing, that in fact he’d said he was tired of listening to his parents. “Serio?” he says to me in disbelief. I ask him if he’s ever met his father. No, he has not. His mother tortured him daily. One year, when he was in the second grade, she sent him to live in the backyard with a lengthy chain affixed around his neck. The yard became his toilet, his bedroom, his cell. Neighbors would sneak him food but never call the authorities on the mother. She finally let Mauricio back in the house once summer had ended. Running away from home two years later seemed pretty sensible.