Thoughtful - Some Things Are Not All That Funny

Earlier this week I had the opportunity to present Lost Voices to a national conference of a group who call themselves JJET - Juvenile Justice Educators and Trainers. These are professionals from all over the country who train people to work with troubled boys and girls who have gotten themselves on the wrong side of the law.

In case you are not familiar with Lost Voices, it's an amazing program for at-risk youth that I've had the opportunity to be involved with. In it, I team up with roots music artists like Kitty Donohoe and Josh White Jr. to help the kids translate their thoughts, hopes and fears into folk and blues music. Then we help them stage a concert to perform their music for the world.

This past week my friend Kitty Donohoe and I wrapped up an eight week Lost Voices program at an alternative high school for kids who have not been able, for one reason or another, to thrive in normal high schools.  Five days later, I'm still a trying to catch my breath.

I think by now that a lot of you have at least heard of Lost Voices, for the simple reason that I never stop babbling about it. But it seems that most people simply know that we work with troubled kids, and have no idea what actually goes on.

 

Well, here's your chance to find out.

I have the privilege of coaching several creative writing groups, two of which are made up of middle and high school students. These are kids who are as incredibly gifted as they are depressingly young and cool.

A couple of weeks ago, I gave the kids a writing prompt. They were to imagine a very old man or woman sitting alone on a wheel chair or a park bench, then write a story, poem or vignette asking the question, "Who was I?" I wanted them to look well past even the advanced years of their creative writing coach, so they wouldn't get hung up on the fact that I dress and speak weird, or that I increasingly seem to have brown spots and hair sprouting in unfortunate places.

What gave me this idea was an encounter with a man I've known casually for some time. He wrote and self-published a rather good book expressing his gentle philosophy, and he is always interesting to talk to.

Whenever I can make the time.

 

Last week I was part of something remarkable. I stood on an improvised stage, surrounded by some of the most talented people in the world of folk and blues music today, and sang a song for a pretty good-sized audience.

 

Now singing is not all that unusual for me. I sing all the time - to myself, to cats, to mystified strangers, to concrete blocks. It's not even the first time I've done it in front of a crowd.

I was also banging away on my guitar. I like to do this when I sing because the guitar gives me both a sense of self-confidence and something I can use to deflect any rapidly incoming musical critique.

The event was the Concert for Lost Voices 2007, an event that raised awareness (and money) for a group that reaches out to help incarcerated and at-risk kids find ways to make sense of their lives. You can get all the details about Lost Voices and the concert at www.lostvoices.org.

The song at the other end of this link, There Are No Words, by Kitty Donohoe, won an Emmy Award in 2001. After five years I've managed to come up with some words, which you will find in this column, but I still think you should hear Kitty's song.

 

First published September 11, 2006

At 9:59 in the morning five years ago today, September 11, 2001, with a bright morning sun flooding through the window and a cup of coffee steaming on the table next to me, I sat and stared at the television, too stunned to breathe or blink. The south tower of the World Trade Center, along with the lives of many hundreds of people, had just disappeared into a cloud of gray smoke and dust.

My son, who was 19 years old at the time and had been watching on the television in his bedroom, came downstairs and asked me a question that still haunts me; "Dad, why would somebody do this?"