ABSTRACT
My name is Jeery Bledsoe. As I search through the library for books that will expand my understanding of violent crime among juveniles, a particular cover catches my eye. I stare at it in wonder, not totally surprised, yet bewildered at the truth that leapt from the photograph. Seated on the ground in front of a wall littered with gang grati are two young Latino boys. ey look to be no more than 13 or 14 years old, yet their eyes are ageless, almost lifeless. e one on the le has long, straight black hair and has one knee propped up in front of him. His right arm rests on the knee and his hand is held in some contorted gure that I can only presume to be a gang sign. His face shows no emotion, his lips sealed, yet relaxed. Resting against his le shoulder is his friend, who seems to be a bit younger. e younger of the two has short dark hair, and faint black hairs paint a so moustache on his upper lip. His face is almost expressionless, except for his eyebrows being drawn up slightly in the middle, as if in a manner of questioning. In his right hand, held across his chest and upward, is a compact semiautomatic handgun. e picture speaks to the reality of violence and youth in today’s society.
