114- Folk Nation

Kramer came in to school today acting like a Holy Terror. His bad attitude started at the door, where I greeted him, “Good morning, Kramer! How are you today?”
“Shut up!” The chubby boy shouted at me.
Shut up?
Other than Josh, no student has ever told me to shut up and frankly, I had no idea what to do about it. I’m not very good at being scary or yelling, or even threatening the kids. I keep telling myself that next year (if I come back next year) I will have a solid classroom management plan.
“Excuse me?” I stopped Kramer, “What did you just say?” I wanted to give the kid a chance to apologize, or tell me I had heard him incorrectly. Kramer had never acted disrespectful in my classroom.
“I said, SHUT UP!” The boy repeated.
Well, there was no mistake, and now I had to reprimand the boy. I bent down to be at eye level and looked sternly at Kramer. “That is not how you speak to your teacher. Do you understand?”
Kramer shrugged his shoulders. “So.”
“So?” I was flabbergasted. “No, sir! You wouldn’t speak to your mother like that and you’re not going to speak to me that way, either! You owe me an apology.” I looked him in his good eye. “Right now.”
“Man, whatever.” Kramer shoved me out of the way and went into the classroom.
What is wrong with this kid?
I followed the boy into the classroom and watched as he slammed his backpack onto the floor and then plopped himself into his seat. Immediately, Kramer withdrew a permanent marker from his pocket and began to draw on his desk.
Has this boy lost his mind?
I rushed over and pulled the marker from his hand. “What has gotten into you?” Looking down, I realized that there were already dozens of doodles all over Kramer’s desk: six-pointed stars, stick figures of people holding guns, strange looking pitchforks, and little faces with tear drops on their cheeks. The drawings were scary.
“What is all of this?” I couldn’t hide my astonishment. Other students began to crowd around Kramer’s desk, peering curiously at his drawings.
“Kramer, what is all of this?”
The boy looked proud, and in a tough guy voice he responded, “They’re signs of the Folk.”
“What?” I was now utterly puzzled.
“They’re gang signs, Teacher.” Gaby piped in, “Kramer has been drawing gang signs all over his desk!”
“Ooohhh! He’s in trouble!” The kids starting snickering and several of them looked downright frightened.
Gang signs?
I grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him into the hallway. “What is all of this about?” I demanded. “What are those drawings on your desk?”
“I told you, they’re signs of the Folk.” Kramer did his best to keep up the tough guy charade.
“What is the Folk? Is that why you’re acting so badly today?” I usually avoid telling the kids that they’re bad, but this wasn’t a time for choice words.
Kramer nodded. “My brother, he told me that if I wanted to be a Folk, this is how I have to act at school.” The boy crumbled and his eyes began to water. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.
“What is the Folk?” I asked again.
“Folk Nation.” The boy answered, “My brother said I can’t tell you ‘nothin about it.”
“Kramer, this is serious. I’m going to have to report this to Principal. And I will call your mother.”
“No! Please,” Kramer begged. “Not my mamma!”
Of course, I did call his mother and told her everything that had happened. Five minutes after our telephone conversation, she was at the school and had Kramer by the ear. The boy was in serious trouble.
Principal led Kramer’s mother into my classroom, where they both studied the drawings on his desk.
In front of me, Principal, and all of my students, Kramer’s mother smacked her son on the back of his head. She gripped him by his shoulder and walked him out of my classroom. As they went, I could hear her say, “You are in so much trouble, you may never again see the light of day…” There were tears in her eyes as she spoke.
That afternoon, after all of my students had left for the day, I stayed late to do some research about Folk Nation. I learned that Folk Nation is a violent group based out of Chicago that has spread to the South East. Although Folk Nation is not a gang itself, it is a nation of people under which many individual gangs develop. The symbols that Kramer had drawn on this desk represented many dark gang related issues: the six-pointed star represents the honored death of a famous gang member killed by gunshots, each tear on the face’s cheek stands for a person murdered by that particular individual, the pitch fork represents the pride of Folk Nation, and the list goes on and on.
It makes me wonder… I remember several months ago, Kramer’s brother came to the school to walk Kramer home. I always though the brother just had eccentric taste in tattoos, but now I realize that the two ink stained teardrops on the guy’s cheek indicated that he had already murdered two people.