Made-for-TV movie

In 1984, in a small house located on the outskirts of a small farming town, a boy was born. Directly following his safe entrance into the world, the boy’s mother died, leaving the newborn child and his 10-year-old sister to the care of their 40-year-old father. The man was a good father. He made his kids tuck in their shirts and say their prayers before bed.

Five years later, during her first year of high school, the boy’s sister had sex with a 33-year-old man who happened to be a friend of her father’s. Upon hearing the news, the father took a gun from the coat closet and quickly drove away. As the boy and his pregnant sister heard later on that evening, their father had gone to the bar where his friend and he often met after work, walked to the back of the bar where his friend was sitting in a booth with a young girl, and shot his friend, killing him instantly. The father, startled by the blast of the gun and the blood, had a heart attack. He fell to the ground and lay motionless, not breathing, not blinking, dead.

The police officer who had first arrived at the scene was the one who told the boy and his sister. The boy and his sister sat quietly, the boy in his sister’s lap. They didn’t blink. They sat motionless, barely breathing, unable to understand, unable to comprehend that something like this could happen. The officer asked the pregnant girl if they had any other family members. She told him that their aunt lived in town. The officer found her phone number and called the children’s aunt. Two hours later, the aunt walked through the back door, went to the refrigerator, took a beer from the second shelf, closed the refrigerator door, walked into the living room where the officer and the two children had started to doze off and yelled, “What do you want me to do?”

Five years later, things were not much better. The boy was in middle school now. His sister had given birth to a second child. Her first child, a girl, had died a couple of years ago.

The boy’s sister had fed the baby quickly and put her to bed. She then ran out of the house and into the passenger seat of the car in which three hours later she would become pregnant with her second child. The boy came home an hour after his sister had left. He walked into the house, slammed the door, threw down his backpack and ran, like always, to see his baby niece.

He walked in to find her dead. Her eyes were wide open. She had had an asthma attack. The boy fell to the ground. That’s where his sister found him: in the doorway, crying.

But the boy was 10 now. He bagged groceries after school. When he left to go home for the evening, he slipped a few jars of baby food into his backpack to give to his sister. The boy didn’t have any friends.

He didn’t have time to. He was always late to school in the morning because he had to take care of his baby niece. He sat in the back of class, quiet, never paying attention, never being called on, always off in his own little world. When he showed up late to work his boss yelled at him. After work, he went home, cooked dinner, played with the baby and fell asleep. He woke up a few hours later and did the same thing over again.

Eight years later, the boy finished high school. He could not read, he could not multiply, he could hardly write his own name. He was still working at the grocery store.

His sister had gotten married and was pregnant again. His sister and her new husband sat around the house all day, never working, always fighting and always hungry. The boy had applied for food stamps, but the lady said he didn’t need it. She said he should be ashamed of himself for wanting more while others were suffering. He said he was sorry. The boy looked forward to Sundays, though. He and his family woke up early and went to service. His sister sang in the choir from time to time.

Two Sundays ago, a respected parishioner who worked at the army recruitment agency gave a speech at the end of the service.

The man stood clean-cut and proud in front of the congregation, urging all the young men to join the army. He said that America was under attack, that our families were under attack, that Jesus Christ himself was under attack. As soon as he finished his speech, the boy leapt into the air and yelled, “I want to fight! I want to protect my family and the ‘American Way!’ I want to kill those Muslim bastards!”