Over the years, I developed a strong and lifelong rapport and bond with many of the youth I have worked with. Some I grew very close to. These youth have become like my sons and daughters. They are my sons and daughters of-the-heart. One such young man was Cory, better known by his street name, Enforcer. If there was ever a perfect example of a porcupine kid, it was Cory.

Cory was a complex young man. Raised by a loving mother who was a former police officer, Cory hated cops, all cops, except his mother. With all the rage and fury Cory held inside of him, he had a very tender spot for his mom. He loved his mom; something rarely seen at the homeless youth center. Cory always made sure to call his mother every week, if he could. When he was incarcerated, he would call me from jail and ask me to let his mom know he was okay.

However, this sensitivity was a side of Cory few were privileged to see. Most people knew Cory as an angry, aggressive, violent young man. He had an extensive rap sheet with multiple convictions for assault, drug possession, weapons charges, and many other violent crimes. Everyone respected Cory, many feared him. He was 'top dog' on the streets. There were a few who didn't like him, but no one disrespected him.

Cory first started coming to the Center when I was on their Board of Directors. I didn't get to know him until I became the Executive Director. Cory quickly became the Pied Piper of the Center. He was constantly finding youth who were new to the streets or fresh in town. These young people were usually scared and unsure of where to go. Cory would befriend them and bring them to the Center. He used to brag that he personally brought in 75% of the kids, and I'm sure he did.

Cory was known for not caring about anything or anybody, but he cared about the Center. He was our unofficial ambassador on the street. He made it widely known that people had better respect the Center or they'd have to answer to him. The Center was his sanctuary; it was the only place he ever felt safe and the only place he felt at home.

When I first met Cory he was not at all impressed with me or trusting of who or what I was. To begin with, I was an authority figure and Cory despised authority. Secondly, I was a man and Cory had never gotten along with adult men. And last but not least, Cory didn't like me because I was easy going, sensitive and caring. He didn't know how to react to that, and he didn't know how to deal with me.

At first, Cory would give me a hard time about my management style. The only men he'd ever known were prison guards, parole officers and cops. He was used to that type of male. He hated them, but he was comfortable with them. He knew what to expect from them. But he was mystified with me. He would constantly question and put down my efforts to show caring and sensitivity to the needs and emotions of the youth coming into the Center. Cory had never known a man to be caring, and he didn't trust me because he didn't know how to deal with it. He teased me about 'showing my feminine side', his way of explaining my care and concern. But as soon as Cory realized I was as dedicated to the Center as he, our relationship made an abrupt change. Cory began to trust me. Shortly thereafter, I had a conversation with Cory that I will never forget.

One morning in the winter of 1996, I was busy with the daily routine of opening the Center and making preparations for the day. At the time, our budget could not afford any other employees, so I was "chief cook and bottle washer."

Shortly after I unlocked the Center, Cory came in, appearing unusually angry and frustrated. "Hey Cory, what's up?" I asked, watching him with concern as he paced angrily around the Center.

He stopped, looked at me intently, his eyes searching mine. Then he just shrugged and muttered, "Nuttin', man, nuttin'".

I continued to watch him pace. This was not like Cory. Despite his reputation for violence and out-of-control anger, Cory never brought it into the Center. This was his sanctuary and he always left the stresses of the street at the door.

But there was no doubt about it. Cory was deeply troubled and he was having a hard time letting it go, which only seemed to frustrate him all the more. As I witnessed this unusual display of emotion, I was racking my brain trying to figure out what could have upset him so much. One of the things I had learned about Cory was that he hated it when he felt powerless over circumstances in which he had no control, which was why he often engaged in physical confrontations with authority figures. When he felt powerless, Cory became violent. As I sat there watching him, I decided he must have broke up with his girlfriend, had gotten into an argument with one of his friends, or had some other 'typical teen problem'.

Finally, I walked over to him and looked deep into his anger filled eyes. "Cory," I said softly but firmly, "What's got you so upset?"

I'll never forget his response. He looked at me with intense frustration, and said, "This morning when I woke up, I couldn't move my feet. My feet, my boots were frozen to the ground."

The realization of what he and other youth must endure every day hit me like a cold slap in the face. The challenges they face, the immediacy of how vulnerable they must feel as they struggle to survive is beyond most people's comprehension. I will never forget that day, never forget that conversation. He deeply struck a nerve inside me. Many times it served as the needed inspiration to keep me going.

Several months later I had another encounter with Cory that reaffirmed what a sensitive, caring heart he has, despite his porcupine exterior. Late one summer evening, I was at home working on a grant proposal. At about 11:30 pm, the telephone rang. Caller I.D. read 'Pay Phone'.

When I picked up the receiver the caller was completely unrecognizable. All I could make out was that it was a young man, and he was crying uncontrollably.

I immediately from up from my chair, I'd had phone calls like this before. Although I had never given my home phone number out, and did not have it listed under my name, my kids always seemed to be able to find it when they needed to get in touch with me. After several minutes I still had not been able to understand anything more than my name and several expletives.

"Okay, take your time," I said quietly, trying to calm him. "Take some deep breaths, there is no rush, just take your time.”

I listened as this torn up young man tried to gather himself. Meanwhile, I was racking my brain trying to figure out who it was. Face after face raced through my mind as I tried to imagine who I was talking to and what had gotten them so upset.

I was snapped out of my mental line-up by a whisper. "He's, He’s dead," the caller whispered, "Wyles is dead." This brought more sobs and cursing. My mind raced with the words. Wyles was dead? I couldn't wrap my mind around the news. Somehow Wyles always seemed to be unstoppable. Like a cat with nine lives, no matter what dangers he got into, he always landed on his feet. It couldn't be. Not Wyles.

Once again, I was brought out of my thoughts. "Brad?" the caller was trying to catch his breath. I still hadn't figured out who it was. "Brad?"

"I'm here, I'm here... take your time and tell me what happened." I closed my eyes and visualized calming energy being sent to my unknown caller.

"Sssorry man, for calling so late," there was starting to be become familiarity to this voice. I didn't have the heart to ask him who he was. The last thing he needed was to reach out in a moment of crisis only to not be recognized. Trust comes painfully slow to these kids. It has to be nurtured and protected carefully.

"It's okay. I'm glad you called." I said reassuringly. "Tell me what happened. What happened to Wyles?"

"Well...um, he was hiking with some friends and they say he slipped and fell."

Suddenly I knew who it was. It was Enforcer. I had never seen or heard Cory in any kind of emotional state other than anger. I was a little in shock that he would trust me with such vulnerable feelings and more than a little concerned that I would be able to handle them in a way Cory would feel respected and safe.

"Cory, I'm... I'm sorry," I said. My heart really went out to him. These were feelings he clearly was not accustomed to having. Cory did not show vulnerable emotions readily. I was glad I wasn't with him in person because my automatic response would have been to give him a hug, and that would have been wrong for Cory. He needed me to be strong and calm and not make a big deal about this show of emotion. "Where did they take him?" I asked.

"I don't know, damn it." Cory was getting back into his more familiar emotion of rage. "I've called all over town and no one will tell me shit."

"Cory, let me check this out and get back with you. Where can I reach you?"

He read off the number of where he was staying and I assured him I'd call him as soon as I knew something.

After some difficulty, and several dead ends, I was able to track down the facts in the case. It ended up that no one had been killed. It was a poorly chosen ruse Wyles had created so he could hide from some men who were out to hurt him. I was able to reassuring Cory with the news.

That night solidified our lifelong bond. Although Cory has had several confrontations with the law throughout the year and his anger and authority issues have haunted him his whole life (the last I heard, he was once again in jail, once again for violent crime), I see a different man. I love Cory. He will always be a son to me. For this I feel blessed. Cory has told me I'm the only man he will ever trust. There are no awards, salaries or acclaim that will ever mean as much to me as that does. Although I have not seen Cory for several months, the bond that we have will always be there. Sometimes I feel bad that I am not able to do more for him, but I know that he knows I love him and that my door is always open to him.

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