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ARC beneficiary revisits innocence of his childhood.
By Jerry D. Bloom, Chaplain
Max was a broken man, addicted to methamphetamines. He showed up at the doors of the Canoga Park Adult Rehabilitation Center (ARC) six months ago. Since then, the look, walk and talk of his old life have been fading. The smile on Max’s face, the strength in his voice, the sound of his laughter and his words of gratitude are evidence of the new man Max is becoming.
In counseling sessions, Max often spoke of his childhood—as a teenager he was introduced to crack cocaine, and a life of crime and insanity followed. He spoke of other times—memories of growing up in the San Fernando Valley and the freedom of innocence he had as a child. He wished he could retrieve the reality of those days.
One Sunday afternoon, Max was working at the ARC donation center. Two men drove up in a pickup truck with a couch to donate. While chatting with Max they mentioned that they had come from the eastern side of the valley—specifically, the city of Pacoima.
“That’s interesting,” Max said. “Pacoima is where I grew up.”
The older man inquired, “Where did you go to grammar school?”
Max replied, “Telfair Elementary.”
The older man responded, “That’s a coincidence. I taught school there for many years. Do you remember any of your teachers?”
It didn’t take Max long. “My favorite teacher was Mr. Melon, from first and second grade. He would often help me put my skates on so I could skate around the schoolyard at recess. In my mind I can see the color of the skate wheels and the cracks in the pavement I skated on.
Mr. Melon would give us a treat of ice cream when we were extra well behaved. I can almost feel in this moment the excitement I had seeing Mr. Melon scoop out ice cream for each us. I remember once when Mr. Melon took us on a field trip to the snow, and we had to return home because someone got sick on the bus.”
With that, the older gentleman broke into Max’s recounting his memories of better days and with teary eyes put his hand on Max’s shoulder.
“I am Mr. Melon,” he said.
Suddenly, for Max, all the ugliness, wrongs, addiction and crimes—including 19 years of prison—weren’t there anymore. “I was 6 years old again,” he later said, “a small little boy looking up into the eyes of his hero, a good and kind man.”
After the donated couch was unloaded, Mr. Melon climbed back into the pickup truck as the younger man reached out and shook Max’s hand, saying, “My dad needed that today. My mother recently died and he has been feeling down lately.”
