Gregory Freeman: A Father Asks: 'Where Was I?' 10/24/1993

Headline: A FATHER ASKS: `WHERE WAS I?'
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., Oct. 24, 1993
Section: NEWS, Page: 4B, Edition: FIVE STAR

MEET James Hardy.
Hardy's only son, Charles, was killed in a drive-by shooting in Chicago two years ago.
Hardy's wife died when his son was an infant, so he raised Charles alone. By all accounts, he did a good job. His son got good grades and was a high school track star. At 16, he was on his way to a positive future, his father thought.

And then it happened.
   Hardy thought about telling his son no when the teen-ager asked to go with some friends to a party on that night in 1991.
   Hardy was concerned because it was 9 p.m. and his son had no car. But he relented after Charles assured him that one of his friends would drive him and that he would be at the party for only a couple of hours.
   That was the last time he saw his son alive.
   Charles and several friends had been standing on the front porch of the house where the party was being held when someone in a white sports car leaned out the window and fired several bullets at the house before speeding off. One bullet struck Charles, killing him instantly.

James Hardy was devastated. He had lived his life for his son. How could it have happened? Why did he tell his son that he could go to the party?
   Hardy asked himself the questions over and over again. They haunted him, whenever he went to his house, whenever he looked at his son's track shoes, whenever he pulled out his photo albums.
   The two had been close and had been big fans of the Cubs and the Bulls. Now, whenever he even looked at the Cubs' Wrigley Field a sadness fell over him.
   He began having nightmares.

Finally, it became too much for Hardy.
   He left Chicago and moved to St. Louis. After finding a job here last year, Hardy set out to make a new life for himself. Leaving behind things that brought such sadness to him, he thought, was the best thing for him.
   St. Louis was a smaller city. It had many of the amenities of Chicago, he thought, without the problems.
   He began developing a social life and got active in a church. He was on his way to becoming a full person again.
   But it didn't last.

The memories are back.
   This time, though, they weren't triggered by Wrigley Field or Michael Jordan or the dog-eared photo albums full of pictures of his wife and son.
   This time, incidents in St. Louis are making him think about his son almost constantly.
   "I can't help it, " he said, as I interviewed him last week.
   "When I got here, there wasn't much of this kind of thing going on, " he said. "Now it seems like there are murders of kids - teen-agers - going on here every week. It really gets to me.
   "It's like every day, when I pick up the paper or turn on the news, there's another kid being killed in a drive-by shooting or some kind of gang thing or drug thing. I can't understand it.

I start thinking about where the parents are when this stuff goes on and then I think about my own situation. Where was I?"
Hardy can't shake the memories. But he wishes he could do that fateful evening over again.
"All I had to say was no. But I wanted to make him happy, so I said yes, " Hardy said, looking away and talking to no one in particular.

Then he looked at me and said: "If I could say one thing to parents of kids, it would be to keep your eyes on your kids. Know where they are. And realize that a lot of times it's a lot better in the long run to say no than to say yes. That's what being a parent's all about."

The white streaks through his black hair and the lines on his face make Hardy appear older than his 43 years. I found myself wondering whether the lines and the white hair had been there before his son's death.
I realized that Hardy has something in common with every parent of a child who's been murdered: that haunting, that wondering of what if.
For the rest of his life, James Hardy might wonder what would have happened if he had not allowed his son to go to that party. What if they had gone to a Bulls game that night instead? What if he and his son had chosen to go to a movie instead? What if, what if, what if?

So many of us try to be good parents, to do the right thing.
   So, when something like the death of a child happens, we ask ourselves time and again where we went wrong as we raised that child.
   Sometimes, the answer produces a long list.
   But in Hardy's case, all he did was succumb to his youngster's pleasure.
   For that, unfortunately, he has paid dearly.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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