He was sixteen and a half when I met him.
He had been sent to Canada from Syria to live with his mother. His father had been abusive. There were beatings, public humiliation, and times he was locked out of the house naked.
Within a few months, things broke down with his mother. One day, he refused to leave school, insisting that he was not going back to her place. The police were called, and he was taken to a youth shelter.
The staff described him as odd. There was something off about him, and they couldn’t make sense of him. He didn’t communicate well with them. He was completely disconnected from the other kids. They were concerned about what he might be capable of, so they referred him to me.
When I met him, I understood what they meant. He was difficult to understand, socially off, intense, and very clear about one thing. He had no interest in anything I had to say until I understood him first.
For the next four sessions, we did it his way. I didn’t guide the conversation. He talked. I listened.
During that time, I learned about his life in Syria, the abuse, and the breakdown with both parents. I learned how much he was struggling in the shelter. He was living in a co-ed environment and couldn’t cope with the overt sexuality around him and the sexual thoughts he was having. In his belief system, that meant he was sinful and destined for hell.
He recalled times in his childhood when there were large celebrations for people who had died as martyrs.
He told me he had a pellet gun and a switchblade in his locker at school. I put it together immediately. This kid was going to get himself killed.
I convinced him to let me drive him to the school and get the pellet gun and the switchblade. I still have them.
I thought he was going to get himself killed by putting himself into a situation where the police would respond with force. Suicide by cop. It fit with everything he told me.
From there, I focused on getting him into a more stable situation. I helped him move into a housing program for homeless youth.
He did well there. Very well.
He followed the structure. He got along with staff. He started to stand out, but in a different way.
He ended up receiving an award from the program. There was a picture of him in the paper, standing with staff, being recognized.
Toward the end of our work, he told me he had come to see that making up for things didn’t mean destroying himself. It meant being good to people. Being kind. Being someone others respected.
That was the shift.
From martyr to model.
