Hanna Boys Center's John Kennedy, center, will lead his team into the California North Coast Section high school basketball tournament this week.It was a long journey that started in the mean streets of Dayton, Ohio.
His father left when he was 8, and was thrown into prison three years later on an attempted murder conviction. His mother lost the house in Dayton, Ohio, when he was 13, her addiction to cocaine so extreme that her three sons were taken from her. Kennedy has not seen his mother in four years, his father in six.
His name is John F. Kennedyand he is averaging 26.8 points every basketball game this year for the Hanna Boys Center in Sonoma, and that's the least of the reasons why anyone should be cheering for him.
“In the six years I have been at Hanna,” said basketball coach Courtney Jackson, “I have buried six kids.
“I have received letters from kids now in prison. So to see what John has done— I don't think I would have been strong enough to come out the back end like he has.”
“Each and every day I look up to John.
.
.I have never told him that before.
.
.I just love this kid so much.
.
.Sometimes it's hard to talk about this.
.
.”
And with that Jackson stopped talking and looked at Kennedy. His eyes filled with tears and, make no mistake, it wasn't out of sadness.
This fall, Kennedy will attend Holy Names University, a Catholic college in Oakland, on an academic scholarship.
“I live by this mottothat I heard once from Tupac,” said Kennedy, an 18-year old senior: ‘That through every dark night there's a bright day after that.'
”
At one time that motto was as significant to Kennedy as, say, the list of ingredients on a box of dog food. It was 2006 and he was about to be sent to juvenile hall in Davis. He and his two brothers had been moved there from Dayton to live with an aunt, Cathy Kennedy, after his mother lost custody of the kids. Kennedy had been caught stealing a couple CDs from the Tower Records store in Davis. The judge didn't care that Kennedy was acting out what he had learned in Dayton.
“The only way my brothers and I ate in Dayton was if I went out and stole the food,” Kennedy said. “The only food in our house was stolen. I had developed a bad habit. I was a thief.”
The stealing caused screaming matches and a huge rift between Kennedy and his aunt that continues to this day. Yet, in a moment of great clarity, his aunt begged the judge to send John to Hanna Boys Center. She had heard that the residential facility in Sonoma had done great things with troubled kids. Please, she implored, put him there. The judge sent Kennedy and one other brother, Robert — yes, Robert Kennedy — to the Hanna Boys Center. The youngest brother, Dallas — yes, Dallas, the city in which JFK was assassinated — would stay with her.
“I was confused,” Kennedy said of his first day on campus, “and I was scared.”
He had stepped onto a different planet. People were breathing different air. This wasn't the inner city of Dayton. This was Sonoma, pastoral and peaceful, and people were reaching out to him, which really confused him.
“I was used to not trusting a lot of people, obviously,” Kennedy said.
Four months came and went before he found that promises were indeed kept, adults in his life remained out of jail, chaos was not his daily tormentor. He didn't have to steal the food on his dinner table. He didn't have to guess where he would have to live next.
Then he started dribbling and shooting the basketball.
“At Hanna, like every high school,there is a pecking order, seniors down to freshman,” Jackson said. “The quickest way to leap over that pecking order is athletics.”
Kennedy had played street ball in Dayton but never organized basketball. “Didn't have time for that,” he said.
Soon Jackson saw what the kids in the pecking order also saw — a gift to shoot the basketball. Sports is the ultimate meritocracy. Play well and you play. Nothing closes the gap faster between newcomer and a basketball team than knocking down the jumper. And after a time everyone understood and readily accepted an edict issued by Jackson — Kennedy has the green light to shoot whenever he wants.
“I like the ball in crunch time,” said Kennedy, who averaged 19.2 points a game in his four years at Hanna, holding every meaningful school record in basketball. His basketball future at Holy Names is uncertain until coaches there have a chance to review how he plays.
In the meantime, he will be leading his team into the California North Coast Section Div. VI high school basketball championship tournament. Hannah, with 17 wins and 7 losses this year, opens at home at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday against Summerfield Waldorf of Santa Rosa (9-8).
From the beginning, basketball a basis of trust for Kennedy. The coach was trusting him. His teammates were trusting him. Kennedy was getting a whiff of normalcy, but even more so, a taste of exaltation. John, he was hearing, you are an inspiration.
“I always say ‘thank you' when someone says that to me,” said Kennedy, “because I know what I have been through. It's weird because for someone to thank me for being a good person, well, I'm not used to it.”
Still, in some way, Kennedy is caught between two worlds, the one in Hanna he has so eagerly embraced and where he thrives and the one in Dayton he has tried to place at a distance. He has seen what life can offer — “I think I might major in creative writing in college”— and he has seen what life can take.
Kennedy said he did not confront his mother, Tammy, when she was on a cocaine binge. “It might have caused an argument. So I did my best to avoid the situation as much as possible.”
It made Kennedy reluctant to assert himself, command attention,seek counsel. But his parents are still his parents, and Kennedy is working hard and will continue to work on how to resolve not seeing them for much of his adolescence.
His father, John, finished his seven-year prison sentence three months ago and wrote to his son. Kennedy has decided not to respond, at least for now. He speaks to his mother twice a month and is eager to see her. Yet, he is also wary. He has been burned.
“It's probably the one time I really lost hope, when she lost the house in Dayton,” Kennedy said. “I kept thinking then, ‘We were struggling already and now, what's next?'
”
So, Tammy Kennedy still gives her son an emotional twitch, one that can not be easily erased with well-intentioned apologies. Hard to forget stealing food to feed your brothers.
“She says she has stopped,” Kennedy said, “but I don't know for sure.” Around him Kennedy sees a future, hope and anchors. Those anchors are what he calls his uncles, Hanna caseworker Kevin Thorpe, staffer Richard Coberly and Jackson. They have been there for his four years. They are his family and Kennedy is not hesitant in saying he needs them as much as he needs air to breathe.
“If I didn't have Hanna,” said Kennedy, 5-foot-9, 160 pounds, “I wouldn't be a senior in high school. I wouldn't even be in high school. I would be like my peers back in Dayton.”
Running the streets? “Yeah,” he said, “running the streets.”
Instead, Kennedy is pulling a 3.14 GPA. Instead,he is dreaming and this particular dream, by itself, could wipe away the ugliness and human frailty he once knew.
“I want to be a father,” Kennedy said, “and give my kids the father that I never had growing up.”
“I want to do this for my two brothers,” Kennedy said of Robbie, 16, a Hanna sophomore, and Dallas, 10. “I knew that if I gave up, they would give up. I couldn't let that happen.”
Kennedy said talked with The Press Democrat for a reason far beyond his nuclear family.
“I wanted to show other kids,” he said, “that if I can do it, you can do it, too.” Yes, after college, Kennedy wants to come back to Hanna to speak to kids who got sideways.
Jackson will welcome Kennedy back, but with a caveat.
“We have this agreement,” the coach said. “He shows me his bachelor's degree from Holy Names and no player at Hanna will ever wear No. 20 again. We'll retire his number and put his jersey on the gym wall.
“He'll be the first kid at Hanna to be so dedicated. That's the deal we made. Hanna can't be the last chapter with this kid.”
“This is an 18-year-old kid,” Jackson said,“and there shouldn't be any 18-year-old kid who has to say his best years are behind him.”
<p><WC1>His name is John F. Kennedy and he was not born to a family of wealth and privilege.<WC></p><p><WC1>His father left when he was <WC>8<WC1>, <WC>and was <WC1>thrown into prison three years later on an attempted murder conviction. His mother lost the house in Dayton, Ohio<WC>,<WC1> when he was 13, her addiction to cocaine so extreme<WC> that<WC1> her three sons were taken from her. Kennedy has not seen his mother in four years, his father in six. </p><p>His name is John F. Kennedy<WC> <WC1>and he is averaging 26.8 points every basketball game <WC>this year <WC1>for the Hanna Boys Center<WC> in Sonoma,<WC1> and that's the least of the reasons why anyone should be cheering for him. </p><p>“In the six years I have been at Hanna,” said <WC>basketball coach <WC1>Courtney Jackson, “I have buried six kids.<WC></p><p>“<WC1>I have received letters from kids now in prison. So to see what John has done<WC> <WC1><WC>— <WC1>I don't think I would have been strong enough to come out the back end like he has.<WC>”</p><p><WC1> <WC>“E<WC1>ach and every day I look up to John<WC> <WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC> <WC1>I have never told him that before<WC> <WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC> <WC1>I just love this kid so much<WC> <WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC> <WC1>Sometimes it's hard to talk about this<WC> <WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.<WC><TH><WC1>.”<WC></p><p><WC1>And with th<WC>at<WC1> Jackson stopped talking<WC> and<WC1> looked at Kennedy<WC>. H<WC1>is eyes filled with tears and<WC>,<WC1> make no mistake, it wasn't out of sadness. <WC></p><p>This fall, <WC1>Kennedy will <WC>attend Holy Names University, a Catholic college in Oakland, on an academic scholarship.</p><p><WC1><NO1><WC><NO><WC1><NO1><WC><WC1><WC><WC1><NO>“I live by this motto<WC> <WC1>that I heard once from Tupac,” said Kennedy, an 18-year old senior: ‘That through every dark night there's a bright day after that<WC>.<WC1>'<WC><TH><WC1>”<WC></p><p><WC1><WC>At one time<WC1> that motto was as significant to Kennedy as, say, the list of ingredients on a box of dog food. It was 2006 and he was about to be sent to juvenile hall in Davis<WC>. He <WC1>and his two brothers <WC>had been moved <WC1><NO1><WC><WC1><NO>there from Dayton to live with an aunt, Cathy Kennedy, after his mother lost custody of the kids. Kennedy had been caught stealing a couple CDs from the Tower Records store in Davis. The judge didn't care that Kennedy was acting out what he had learned in Dayton. </p><p>“The only way my brothers and I ate in Dayton was if I went out and stole the food,” Kennedy said. “The only food in our house was stolen. I had developed a bad habit. I was a thief.”<WC></p><p><WC1>The stealing caused screaming matches and a huge rift between Kennedy and his aunt that <WC>continues<WC1> to this day<WC>. Yet, <WC1>in a moment of great clarity, his aunt begged the judge to send John to Hanna Boys Center. She had heard th<WC>at the<WC1> residential <NO1><NO>facility <NO1><WC><NO><WC1>in Sonoma had done great things with troubled kids. Please, she implored, put him there. The judge sent Kennedy and one other brother, Robert <WC>—<WC1> yes, Robert Kennedy <WC>—<WC1> to the Hanna Boys Center. The youngest brother, Dallas <WC>—<WC1> yes, Dallas, the city in which JFK was assassinated <WC>—<WC1> would stay with her. </p><p>“I was confused,” Kennedy <WC>said of<WC1> his first day on campus, “and I was scared.”<WC></p><p><WC1>He had stepped onto a different planet. People were breathing different air. This wasn't the inner city of Dayton. This was Sonoma, pastoral<WC> and<WC1> peaceful, and people were reaching out to him, which really confused him. </p><p>“I was used to not trusting a lot of people, obviously,” Kennedy said. </p><p>Four months came and went before he found that promises were indeed kept, adults <WC>in his life<WC1> remained out of jail, chaos was not his daily tormentor. He didn't have to steal the food on his dinner table. He didn't have to guess where he would have to live next. </p><p>Then he started dribbling and shooting the basketball. </p><p>“At Hanna, like every high school,<WC> <WC1>there is a pecking order, seniors down to freshman<WC>,” Jackson said. “<WC1>The quickest way to leap over that pecking order is athletics.” <WC></p><p><WC1>Kennedy had played street ball in Dayton but never organized<WC> basketball<WC1>. “Didn't have time for that,” he said<WC>.<WC1><NO1><NO><WC></p><p><WC1>Soon Jackson saw what the kids in the pecking order also saw <WC>—<WC1> a gift to shoot the basketball. Sports is the ultimate meritocracy. Play well and you play. Nothing closes the gap faster between newcomer and a basketball team than knocking down the jumper. And after a time everyone understood and readily accepted an edict issued by Jackson <WC>—<WC1> Kennedy has the green light to shoot whenever he wants.</p><p>“I like the ball in crunch time,” said Kennedy, who averaged 19.2 points a game in his four years at Hanna, holding every meaningful school record in basketball. <WC>His basketball future at Holy Names is uncertain until coaches there have a chance to review how he plays.</p><p>I<NO1><NO>n the meantime, he will be <NO1><NO>leading his team into the California North Coast Section Div. VI<NO1><NO> high school basketball championship tournament. Hannah, with 17 wins and 7 losses this year, opens at home at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday against Summerfield Waldorf of Santa Rosa (9-8).</p><p><WC1><WC>From the beginning, basketball a basis of trust for Kennedy. <WC1>The coach was trusting him. His teammates were trusting him. Kennedy was getting a whiff of normalcy, but even more so, a taste of exaltation. John, he was hearing, you are an inspiration. </p><p>“I always say <WC>‘<WC1>thank you<WC>'<WC1> when someone says that to me,” <WC>said Kennedy, <WC1>“because I know what I have been through. It's weird because for someone to thank me for being a good person, well, I'm not used to it.”<WC></p><p><WC1>Still, in some way, Kennedy is caught between two worlds, the one in Hanna he has so eagerly embraced and <WC>where he <WC1>thrive<WC>s<WC1> and the one in Dayton he has tried to place at a distance. He has seen what life can offer <WC>—<WC1> “I think I might major in creative writing in college<WC>”<WC1> <WC>—<WC1> and he <WC>has<WC1> seen what life can take. <WC></p><p><WC1>Kennedy <WC>said he did not confront his <NO1><WC1><NO>mother, Tammy, <WC>when she was <WC1>on a cocaine binge. “It might have caused an argument. So I did my best to avoid the situation as much as possible.”<WC></p><p><WC1>It made Kennedy reluctant to assert himself, command attention,<WC> <WC1>seek counsel. But his parents are still his parents, <NO1><NO>and Kennedy is working hard and will continue to work on how to resolve not seeing them for much of his adolescence<WC><NO1><WC1><NO>.</p><p>His father, John, finished his seven-year prison sentence three months ago and wrote <WC>to <WC1>his son. Kennedy has decided not to respond, at least for now. He speaks to his mother twice a mo<WC>n<WC1>th and is eager to see her. Yet, he is also wary. He has been burned. </p><p>“It's probably the one time I really lost hope, when she lost the house in Dayton,” Kennedy said. “I kept thinking then, ‘We were struggling already and now, what's next?'<WC><TH><WC1>”<WC></p><p><WC1>So<WC>,<WC1> Tammy Kennedy still gives her son <WC>an <NO1><WC1><NO><WC>emotional twitch, <NO1><WC1><WC><WC1><NO><WC><WC1>one that can not be easily erased with <WC>well-intentioned <WC1>apologi<WC>e<WC1>s. Hard to forget stealing food to feed your brothers. </p><p>“She says she has stopped,” Kennedy said, “but I don't know for sure.” Around him Kennedy sees a future, hope and anchors. Those anchors are what he calls his uncles, Hanna caseworker Kevin Thorpe, staffer Richard Coberly and Jackson. They have been there <WC>for his<WC1> four years. They are his family and Kennedy is not hesitant in saying he needs them as much as he needs air to breathe. </p><p>“If I didn't have Hanna,” said Kennedy, 5-foot-9, 160 pounds, “I wouldn't be a senior in high school. I wouldn't even be in high school. I would be like my peers back in Dayton.”<WC></p><p><WC1>Running the streets? “Yeah,” he said, “running the streets.”<WC></p><p><WC1>Instead<WC>,<WC1> Kennedy is pulling a 3.14 GPA. Instead<WC>,<WC1> <WC>he <WC1><WC>i<WC1>s dreaming and this particular dream, by itself, <WC>could<WC1> wipe <WC>away<WC1> the ugliness and human frailty he once knew. </p><p>“I want to be a father,” Kennedy said, “and give my kids the father that I never had growing up.”<WC></p><p><WC1><NO1><NO>“I want to do this for my two brothers,” Kennedy <WC>said <WC1>of Robbie, 16, a Hanna sophomore, and Dallas, 10. “I knew that if I gave up, they would give up. I couldn't let that happen.” <WC></p><p><WC1>Kennedy <WC>said talked with <NO1><WC1><NO><WC>T<WC1>he Press Democrat for a reason far beyond his nuclear family. </p><p>“I wanted to show other kids,” he said, “that if I can do it, you can do it, too.” Yes, after college, Kennedy wants to come back to Hanna to speak to kids who got sideways<WC>.</p><p><WC1><NO1><NO><WC><WC1>Jackson <WC>will welcome<WC1> Kennedy back<WC>,<WC1><WC><WC1> but with <WC>a c<WC1>aveat. </p><p>“We have this agreement,” the coach said. “He shows me his bachelor's degree from Holy Names and no player at Hanna will ever wear No. 20 again. We'll retire his number and put his jersey on the gym wall. <WC></p><p>“<WC1>He'll be the first kid at Hanna to be so dedicated. That's the deal we made. Hanna can't be the last chapter with this kid.<WC>”<WC1></p><p><WC>“<WC1>This is an 18-year<WC>-<WC1>old kid<WC>,” Jackson said,<WC1> <WC>“<WC1>and there shouldn't be any 18-year<WC>-<WC1>old kid who has to say his best years are behind him.”</p>