For Lost Boys - A Ranch

FOR LOST BOYS, A RANCH by Anthony Rain Starez
We were like any other boys, yet so different. We were boys with invisible wounds, our wounds were on the inside, and the bleeding that resulted seeped into our developing personalities as we tried to find our way. Our eyes would sometimes reveal the painful feeling of being lost through outburst of tears or rage. We were boys that had somehow ended up on a magnificent ranch just outside of Live Oak, Florida, called The Florida Sheriff's Boys Ranch. But this ranch wasn't a resort or vacation spot, this was a ranch for boys with broken homes, or no homes at all.
	Kind of like an orphanage, only most of our parents were still in our lives. In some cases that wasn't all that good. Some of the boys came from abusive, or neglectful, parents. I was there because my parents had divorced in such an ugly way I didn't want to live with either one.
I was staying temporarily with grandparents who were moving to a new house, and they didn't want the responsibility of raising another child. Although I was a very well-behaved child, it wasn't something they felt they could do. It was kind of hurtful at the time, afterall, I called them Mom and Pop, and I did everything in my power to stay in their graces. However, I don't blame them. They were at a stage in their lives that things should start getting quiet, so my grandmother made arrangements for me to go to the Boys Ranch. It was a beautiful ranch, very large, and I still remember the long hilly road from the entrance gate to where the buildings started. Large pastures and deep forest surrounded the ranch like a cushion from the World us boys had known. But leaving the Worlds we knew was harder than just changing locations; nevertheless, the ranch was a place where we could breathe. It also offered structure and discipline in ways most of us had never known. There were jobs to be performed, and there wasn't a choice about it, we all had jobs to do after school. In the morning I was in charge of gathering all the laundry for 20 boys living in Pentland Cottage, the cottage where I was assigned to live. It was kind of like a college dorm, complete with a set of cottage parents who helped keep us in line and offer guidance. In the afternoon I was in charge of putting all the folded laundry away for those boys on their shelf of the laundry room. This was a challenging job for a 12-year-old boy, and it was the first time I'd ever felt the weight of responsibility. My roommate (Freddie) and I also picked up another job working in the cafeteria. We had to be there at 5:30 AM every morning to prepare tables and dishes. We worked after every meal scraping, washing and drying dishes for hundreds of boys and staff that lived and worked at the ranch. It was a hot, sweaty job, and the pressure to move quickly was always on me. Sometimes I was yelled at by my roommate or the kitchen manager, but after a while I got pretty quick. I remember us running back to our cottage to get ready for the long bus ride into town for school, sometimes barely making it. Bus rides to and from school were always eventful with fights and abuse of the weaker boys. I had my share of having my head banged against the bus windows, books slammed over my head and even gum smashed into my hair.
You see, high school students rode the same buses as elementary and middle school age boys since we were pretty far from town. Sometimes the older boys would take a whole seat, forcing a younger kid to stand in the aisle. I don't remember a bus driver who could ever control the situation. I was in sixth grade at the time, and for some of us younger boys it was like a nightmare of abuse. Remember, there were no parents to tell of the problems, no one wanted to be labeled a rat for fear of retaliation from the older guys. Many of us were already fragile coming from homes that made us feel weak, powerless, low self esteem, etc. The first two weeks of being at the ranch I was terrified and missing home so badly I'd cry and stay to myself. To make matters worst, the kids, and some aduls, in town and in public school looked down upon "Ranch Boys," as we were called. Fights were frequent among the high school ranch boys and boys from town. This was still the Vietnam era, and I remember clearly the music of The Doors, The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and The Jackson-Five blasting down the halls of my cottage from some of the older boy's rooms. American flags prevailed on the walls as the most popular decoration, while some of the boys were coming of age to be drafted, and it was definitely the talk in some cottages. These days it seems strange to me that you could take kids from a place where the state protected them from bad homes to send them to war someplace across the World where they might be killed. But most of the Ranch Boys were tough. They'd seen a lot in life for their years, and despite the wonderful efforts by many good people that worked at the ranch to build the boys from the inside, some boys formed a detached personality. Nothing can really take the place of family. The ranch was an incredible harbor for us troubled boys, and filled with activities to take part in. There were horse stables, where I went riding often and worked for a stint. There was canoeing and swimming on the brown colored waters of the Suwannee River. Some of us boys camped in the woods on the weekends, and I remember wandering through those woods on many a night looking for forts or camp sites. There was a canteen where boys could buy candy and soft drinks. There was a gym with a weight room and a pool complete with diving boards. And there were occasional outings sponsored by organizations or groups of people, usually free of charge. There were hayrides at Halloween, and church was required every Sunday. There were concerts and sometimes celebrities would come to the ranch and speak to us boys. Regardless of the amenities that were designed to make a boy feel special, and worthwhile, it could not replace what all of us boys needed - a family! And believe me, no matter how busy we were with jobs and school and activities, we always felt lost inside. Riding a Greyhound bus back to the ranch after the Christmas holidays, I sat with another Ranch Boy. We cried. We were lost again.