Bad Friends And High Hopes

The young man in the park looked sharp--clean-cut, handsome, and well dressed. A sure candidate for college and a successful career, our friend thought, and asked about his plans after high school. "I'm going straight to Detroit to have fun. That's where all the excitement is." She was surprised by his shallowness and pursued some details.

"What do you mean by excitement?"

"Oh, to have drugs sold right in front of your house."

She pled with him: "Surely you don't want to take drugs!"

"No, I don't want to take them! I want to sell them and make lots of money."

Her challenge to this statement drew a heated response. "Oh, yes I do. I want to make some money, and I want to shoot someone, too. I have a 357-magnum at home because I want to shoot some of them old mean *****." He slurred his own race.

When she suggested that he might be put in jail, the young man huffed, "They won't do nothin' to me!"

"Well, most people notice dead bodies in the street."

He exclaimed emotionally, "Listen, I've got a friend, and he is mean. He never works. He just gambles all the day. Never works. Just gambles. He's shot several people in Milwaukee -- and he's still walking 'round free."

"Don't you have a sense of right and wrong?"

He was unequivocal. "No!"

And she had to believe him. She simply laughed and said that she could not argue with such reasoning.

Famed preacher Phillips Brooks once said that the best advisers, helpers and friends are those who give us the ardent spirit and desire to act right.

Webster's 1828 dictionary provides another interesting commentary of friends and friendship: A friend is one who seeks to promote the happiness and prosperity of another. True friendship is a noble and virtuous attachment, springing from a pure source, a respect for worth or amiable qualities. There can be no friendship without confidence, and no confidence without integrity.

This incident in the park took place more than 10 years ago, and I wonder where the young man is today. In jail, perhaps, or even dead. Encouraged by a slothful, murderous thug, he was calling out to the gods of excitement, fun, and money. And they would surely answer. With their help, he would ride the crest of a wave to his dreams. But such gods are fickle and would eventually fling him floundering upon the rocks of destruction.

He seemed to have the right chemistry for true success. And there would have been hope for it...had he been as discriminating in his choice of friends as he was in his clothes. Bad friends and high hopes just don't mix.

Copyright 1999 James McAlister

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