What do you think of this draft of a letter of recommendation I was asked to send?

A couple of my son’s friends lived with us for almost a year. One in particular had a place in my heart. We’ll call him “Alejandro.” Pretty sure his Mom was an illegal, but he was born in Wisconsin. He carried around his fierce pride in being Hispanic, the machismo, tough, don’t mess with him, all of it.
His Mom moved them often, state to state.
When he landed with us in 2003 or so he was heading down a bad road, but slowly he started to change and was really on the way to being a good man.

Just before high school graduation he left my house, left the town, left the state.

Next time I heard from him, in 2005, he was in jail in Illinois.
Then he got out.
Now he’s back in.
It’s for stupid shit, like burglary, but nothing violent, although he’s not afraid of violence.
He asked that I write a letter of recommendation to his attorney, because he doesn’t believe he used to be the kid he was, so I worked this up, for what it’s worth.

My only reason was to paint a different picture of him for the courts, or whomever reads this. I’m not applying for a job.

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To Whom It May Concern,

My name is Dutchess and Alejandro asked if I’d write a letter of recommendation. I told him I would be happy to.

I first met Alejandro in 2002 or so, when he and my son, Chris, were high school classmates. The first time Chris brought Alejandro home to meet me, I flagged my son off of him. Alejandro had moved here from somewhere else. I don’t know if it was an inner city or what, but I told Chris that Alejandro was just too tough, too street smart, had seen too much, too…something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but he was trouble. I knew it.

Chris listened. He’s a good kid. But, six months later, there was Alejandro, in my house again…and he was changed. He was softer, easier, more relaxed. I don’t know if it was the influence the town had on him, because this really is a great little mid-Western town, a very gentle town (that’s the reason I moved the kids here in 1995,) but Alejandro was different this time. So I gave the go-ahead for the friendship, and Alejandro became part of my family, another son of mine, like all of Chris’ friend’s did. Mi casa es su casa.

Chris seemed to always search out the semi-motherless boys and bring them home, and at one point, for almost a year, I had four young men living with me, Chris, Alejandro and two other boys, rampaging through my house, eating my food.

Beside Chris, Alejandro was the hardest working, most responsible, most mature. He actually helped Chris and me keep the others in line and make them pull their weight, because they were on their own much of the time.

Alejandro is a natural leader, too. In fact, at one point, after an epic tussle over who got ride in the trunk of the car for a short drive, and Alejandro allowed a tie between him and Chris, I asked why he deferred to Chris when it came to certain issues, when I knew it was in his nature to take the lead.
He said, “Because you are Chris’ mom, this is Chris’ house and I will respect that.”

And respect us he did…well, except for that one time he stole the whole damn left over Thanksgiving turkey out of the fridge! I was pretty sure that there was only one kid who would steal an entire used turkey, leaving no trace of it, so I went straight to him. He was honest about the theft, though. He said he took it home to his mom and sisters. I yelled at him that he didn’t have to steal it, I would have just given it to him and to at least bring the damn platter back! And the platter did reappear a few days later, along with a thank you note from his family. Smh.

And…also, he flew his “colors” out the upstairs window. The Mexican flag. Cars would rumble by, slow and loud. I yelled at him he was going to get us all shot! He laughed, and confidently told me he’d never let anything happen to us, his family.
As a teacher, however, I kind of liked the idea of flying flags of different countries out the windows. I asked if I could track down a UK flag, and a Dutch flag and a French flag to fly out of the windows, but he scowled at that, said no. It would be bad for his “rep.”

Alejandro continued to grow, to mature. His grades were coming up, attitudes were improving. It was amazing. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. I think he was starting to see possibilities in himself that he hadn’t seen before. The colors came down. No more turkeys were stolen. He began to turn his intelligence toward positive ventures. He became more active in school, and in school activities. At one point he was a volunteer for one of his teachers with something she was doing for the elementary school kids. He taught them to play some game…you’ll have to ask him the specifics.

I told him I told him several times that being bi-lingual would be a tremendous advantage when he started looking into careers. The first time I told him that he got pretty pissed, until I explained that “bi-lingual” means you speak more than one language.

But because of that, and because of his life experiences, he was seriously considering a career with the……… (wait for it…..)……. Sherriff’s department. His teachers were gladly writing letters of recommendations for him. He had the whole, honest world at his feet. I had such high expectations of him, more than anyone else, except my son. I was so excited at the man he was becoming. He fought a good, good fight.

Then, in the middle of the night one night, I was awakened by a knock at the door. It was his sister. The whole family was in the car. They were leaving, and they had come for Alejandro. I just felt the blood drain out of my face. I almost told her he wasn’t here, didn’t know where he was, but I knew he’d never forgive me for that. It was his decision to make.
I went upstairs, woke him up. He got very excited and jumped out of bed and started packing his few belonging. I said, “No. Don’t go.”
He said, “It’s my mama! I have to go.”
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. He came down. I tried to stop him one more time, tears in my eyes. I knew I’d never see him again. He just grabbed my hand, raised it up, kissed the back of it, told me he loved me, and he was gone.

Now you have him. How can we convince him it isn’t too late? He’s young. He can still do great, GREAT things with his natural intelligence and skills. And even the experiences he’s had since he left, even though they’re bad and they happened because he made bad decisions, can be a benefit, if he plays his cards right? How can we do that?

Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Dutchess
My phone number and shit.