He Was that Kind of Kid

Its above freezing again in Anchorage.

Our snow pack slowly melts and my cross-country skis sit neglected in the garage.  Ice and puddles converge on our sidewalks.

"Look Mom, look at the mountains, they're striped!" Olive says, and I squint at the Chugach Range, no longer fully white.

My Mom calls and complains about the bitter cold North East. She says I should move back home for snow. I say she should move up to Alaska for warmth.

This weird weather inversion makes everything feel off-kilter.

It is not yet "break-up", the term we use for Spring in Alaska, but it sure feels like it. And yet I know months of winter still await, huddled together, just around the corner, pockets filled with single digit temperatures, more snow and ice.

But not this week.

The sun even shines, bringing warmth to our cheeks, an unusual feeling in January in Alaska.

This week at recess, one of the kindergarten students spun around with her arms out chanting: "It's summer! It's summer! It's summer!"

A third grade boy walked up to me, head down, "Ms. Christy, I'm bored."

"Come stand next to me and face the sun. Now just close your eyes and feel its warmth." He followed my lead. "You can't get much better than that."

He smiled, but more of a you're funny smile than a yeah that's nice smile.

Oh but I could have stood there facing the sun, eyes closed, for days.

This was on Friday, the day I learned a former student of ours died from injuries sustained in a car accident.

And he was like the sun.

The type of kid who made everyone around him smile.

A star at age 14.  A young man with a dream to box in the Olympics.

He won the State Championship in Oregon, was raising money to go to the nationals, and was on his way to a boxing match in Portland when the accident happened.

And now his light no longer shines.

Carlos Perez.

I knew him mostly from recess.

He came to Airport Heights part-way through his fifth grade year. I recognized an unfamiliar face playing football with the boys and I walked up to him when the bell rang to introduce myself as the school counselor.

"You got speed," I said. And he smiled in that humble way of his. With none of the bravado of a lot of the other kids.

It took little time for Carlos to establish himself as a leader amongst his peers. Intelligent, athletic and kind, the complete package.

I would call on him often at recess or in the hallway to help alleviate tension between disparate groups, knowing both sides, despite their differences, respected Carlos. I'd pull him aside and he'd listen and nod, saying little, just, "Ok, Ms. Christy," and that smile of his.

And yet sure enough, the kids would return to playing, at least for awhile, leaving their hurt egos and bottled angers on the sidelines, with Carlos as the unassuming leader, just doing the right thing in that natural way of his that made other kids follow.

When his younger sister Sarah starting acting out I spoke with her, but more importantly, I talked to Carlos, because I knew she would listen to him over me.

He was that kind of kid.

After the accident, when Carlos fought his final match in the ICU, the news interviewed one of his boxing partners, Luis Muniz, an older teen who saw Carlos as a little brother. 

“I've never been in a car wreck, so I wouldn't have known how I’d react to it. But I know he wouldn't have gone through the windshield. Nothing would have happened,” said Muniz.

Nothing would have happened.

Oh, how I wish.

Who hasn't longed for the powers of Super Man? To hold back the dark angels with the strength of your will? Or to reverse the rotation of the earth and bring back the person we love?

To have the power to reverse time and alter the sequence of events that leads to mangled metal on I-5. Hearts in pieces on the side of the road. Lives forever crashed.

Instead, all I can do is turn towards an unusually warm January sun and let the light touch my tear-stained cheeks.

And I can remember the spirit of a boy, lost to the world way too young.

Comments

[Kelly]

What a great tribute to Carlos Perez. I think his family would love to have a copy of this. I imagine they would love to see that their son is missed and will not be forgotten.

[s.e.]

Oh how heartbreaking. If he went through the windshield he probably wasn't wearing a seat belt, if so, even sadder as maybe his death was preventable. Those who are remembered live on, may he live on in the hearts and memories of those who loved him.

[Diana]

I live here in Portland and have been praying for this boy, hoping that every day was bringing him closer to well. I was so sorry to see he didn't survive. Then to read your lovely words about him. Thank you for sharing him with us.

[Christy]

Kelly, I plan on sending something down to his sister and will include a copy of this post.

And yes, s.e., no seat-belt, riding in a van, something I've been guilty of on many a sports trip in the past. I told one boy who use to box with him up here that no only could he follow his own dreams in honor of Carlos but buckle up every time he's in a car.

Diana thank you for holding Carlos in your prayers, it is such a loss to us all, even those who didn't know him, as he was going to do great things. He already did in his 14 years.