It is D.A.R.E day, and our town policeman Officer Ball stands in front of my fourth grade class. Today is the lesson on gang activity. Maybe it’s the uniform with a gun, or the lack of warmth in his voice as he opens our tiny eyes to the evils of the world; but every time Officer Ball comes around we are terrified. The whiteboard as his backdrop, the policeman paces back and forth in front of our desks, his black shoes stomp, heel first, and slap the ground to reinforce the crucial information he divulges. My friend Stephanie, who is known to adjust her scrunchie bun every five minutes, remains perfectly still in the presence of Officer Ball. She is still shaken from his last visit, where he informed Stephanie that if he ever caught her with drugs later in life, he would personally throw her in jail.

“So, has anyone ever asked you to join a gang?” He releases one hand from the side of his gun belt to point at a short boy in the corner desk. His small head shakes fervently in denial. “How about you?” He points to Stephanie, who would only ever be in an American Girl Doll gang, if one was ever formed. Officer Ball gestures to a few more kids, emphasizing his point. I breathe a sigh of relief when he moves on. “What would you do if you were approached by a gang?”

“Whatever they wanted…” a small voice answers.

“Oh yeah? What if they just want to beat you up?”

“I…I don’t know?”

“You don’t know? He doesn’t know. Does anybody know?”

We are a class full of Dutch Zeeland kids who aren’t even allowed to say the word “gang,” at home. We don’t know. He has us open up our D.A.R.E workbooks to the Gang page, and we fill in the questions while he continues to talk. I hope he does not read my answers out loud. I vaguely hear Officer Ball’s voice in the background, giving us a breakdown of typical gang activity.

Do I know anything about gangs? My mind wanders back to a TGIF episode of Family Matters, where Laura’s friend gets shot in the foot because she won’t give a gang the shoes off her feet that they demand. I remembered wondering why Steve Urkel wasn’t shot in the foot, because he was the star of the show. A gang wouldn’t want nerd shoes, I think.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Officer Ball taps his gun holster, waiting for our response. With the Urkel episode in my head, I wonder what Laura’s friend should have done. Given up her new shoes? I need some advice, and raise my hand.

“Yes Lucy.”

“What if a gang member pointed a gun at me and wanted my shoes?”

“Do you want to get shot? You give them your shoes.”

He is ready to move on to the next question, but I’m not done.

“Okay…but what if they want my sweatshirt, too?”

Officer Ball squints a little, “I would hand it over. It could be your sweatshirt or your life.”

“But…what if they want all of my clothes?” I asked, thinking only of not wanting to give up my Lion King sweatshirt and pink leggings; my innocence insinuating nothing more. Officer Ball stops, puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the floor. He chooses his words carefully,

“That…is a different matter. I would advise against it.”

“But the gun!”

“A topic for a different day,” he says quickly, pacing away from me and pointing at a boy who has been raising his hand for so long that he feels the need to support it with his other arm.

For the next few weeks I tried not to wear anything too cool.

Luciana, 26