His name was Bo Amos Duncan. He used to be called BAD because of his initials.  That is until his sister, Tamara, let it be known that their mama, Rose Duncan, gave birth to Bo in the woods near the Rodman Dam in Orange Springs, Florida.  Then, he became known as B-dam.  He liked that name better, and whether he was BAD or B-dam, Bo lived up to either nickname.  

           By the time Bo was 13, kids at school stepped aside when he walked down the halls, and his chosen spot in the lunchroom was never challenged.  More than that, he was making good money selling bicycles he stole from one place or the other.  And, Bo was smart enough to keep his business to himself and not sell his stolen merchandise in the same location from which he had lifted them.  So, on Monday, he might procure three bikes on the east side of the county and by Friday, he sold them to buyers on the west side.  His legs and determination were his only transportation.  Except for 10 percent he kept for himself, he gave every penny to his mama.

          Now, Rose was a good woman, and as far as her son went, the sun rose and set in Bo, which didn’t go unnoticed by Tamara.  So, when she turned 17 and was a senior in high school, she moved in with her 19-year-old boyfriend, Dwayne.  In all truth, the real reason Tamara moved out was probably because Bo showed the power of his nicknames one night while Rose was at work.  Dwayne brought some pot and beer, and when Bo found out, he told Dwayne to get the stuff out of the house.

           “Drugs and alcohol are what put my old man in jail, and I won’t have it in the house.”  To Bo, stealing bikes from rich people who could buy more was okay, but drugs and booze were the devil’s own mixture.

          As heated words often produce, a fight ensued, and Bo broke Dwayne’s nose and cracked two ribs.  Tamara left with Dwayne and said she would be back the following day to get the rest of her things.

          Rose was not pleased when she came home. She was tired and out of patience. Bo cleaned up the mess from the fight and defended his actions against having alcohol and drugs in their home.  Rose listened, told her son she didn’t want him becoming like his daddy and went to her room and closed the door.

          Something must be explained right here to understand what came next.  Rose was a severe diabetic.  She wore a pump to control her insulin. Unfortunately when a severe attack came, she didn’t initially have any symptoms. If not found in time, it could become dangerous.

          About an hour after Ruby went to her bedroom, Bo wanted to apologize to his mama.  He knocked on the door.  No answer.  Upon entering the room, he found Rose convulsing.  Her body was shaking violently.  Her eyes were rolled back into her head, and she was mumbling nonsensically.  

         Bo ran to his mother and held her in his arms, rocked her, and kept saying, “Mama, please don’t leave me.  Please, Mama.

         But, Rose did leave her son, and when Tamara came the next day to pick up her things, she found her brother still holding the lifeless body of his mother.

          After a series of legal bouts, Bo was sent to live with his grandmother, his mother’s mother.  Her name was Diamond.  She made her grandson go with her to the “God of Holiness Church” just on the next block from her old cracker home.  Diamond also questioned Bo’s wallet of cash he seemed to always have.  Bo said he did odd jobs after school and that seemed to satisfy Diamond’s curiosity.  She never asked for any of Bo’s money, and she always had a hot meal for him at the end of every day.  Once a week, Bo found his clothes washed, smelling like flowers, and folded on his bed.  Diamond had given Bo a tiny room at the back of the house, which was really nothing more than a good-sized pantry.  Eventually, like for his mama, Bo kept 10 percent of his stash and gave Diamond the rest.

          Life went along smoothly for a few months.  Bo had fewer fights at school, but, in truth, he had such a tough-guy reputation, other guys just quit challenging him.  The word around school was, “Nobody messes with the BAD,” or “B-dam will shut your lights in a heartbeat.”  Bo liked his reputation.  He felt kids gave him respect, and since he always said, “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” to teachers, they respected him, too.  He made sure his grades didn’t fall below a ‘C’ on his report card, so Bo was sailing.  He had a home, he had cash, and he had respect.

          How long do good things stay good?  By his 14th birthday, Bo learned  not too often.  He came home from school one day, particularly proud of the $200 he made selling bikes.  His grandmother’s birthday was coming up, and Bo planned to give her every penny.  When he walked through the front door, a scroungy man was sitting on a chair near the wood stove in the corner. He was clean-shaven, but  with sunken-in cheeks and wild black hair  Diamond was sitting on the couch.  Though Diamond didn’t need to say who the man was Bo knew anyway  – his father, Slate Duncan.

                    “I’m gonna let Slate sleep on the couch ‘till he can get on his feet.  Patrol officer supposed to help him find work,” Diamond said. 

                    Bo looked long and hard at the man then went to his room at the back of the house.  He didn’t give Diamond the $200.  Instead, he slipped the cash under his tee-shirts in his drawer.

          A week passed and every day, Bo would come in after school to find Slate lying on the couch watching television.

          Finally, after two weeks, Bo decided to confront the man.  Diamond was at her Wednesday night prayer group. First, when he came home, Bo took $100 from the sales of two bikes and put the cash with the other money.  When he came out of his room, Slate was at the kitchen table drinking coffee.  He said, “You sleeping in that old closet?”

          “It’s good enough.  Listen, you gotta job yet?”

          “Nope.  Parole officer ain’t found nothing for me.”

          “Well, you could go out and look on your own.”

         “Yeah, but I got a month before they’ll send me back to jail,” Slate got up and poured himself some more coffee.

        “What’s that mean?”  Bo was getting irritated. To him, it was obvious this man was living off his grandmother.

        “Means what it says.  You get out on parole, they give you a month to find a place to live and get . . .” he sneered, “what the man calls ‘gainful employment.’”

       “Well, you’re not living here for good,” Bo said.

       “Ain’t figured out what I’m going to do,” Slate said.  He finished his coffee and stood.  “My show’s coming on.  I left a pork chop in the frig for you.  Sorry, but I ate all the green beans and taters.”

       In his bedroom, Bo could feel that knot he gets in his stomach when his anger begins to boil.  He could feel it rising into his throat like lava that is going to spew from a volcano.  He heard his grandmother come in the front door and greet Slate.  After a few minutes, he heard Diamond say, “Slate, you know I ain’t got no money.”  He heard the low mumble of Slate’s voice, and then he heard his grandmother’s footsteps coming back to his room.

      She stuck her head in the door.  “God asked about you tonight.”

      “He did?” Bo smiled.

     “Yeah. I told Him you were doing fine.  He said to come see Him sometime.  I told Him you’d be there on Sunday.”

     “I appreciate that, Granny.”  He walked over and kissed her on top of the head.

     “Boy, you keep growing, and you gonna play some basketball and become famous.”

     Bo laughed. “And, when I do, it all goes to you.”

     “Oh, go one with yourself, now.”  She patted Bo’s arm and left.

     Thursday was a rough day at school, but when Bo got home, things got a whole lot rougher, rougher than the boy could ever imagine.

      For Bo, the events happened quicker than the two boys who jumped him that day on his way home.  He took care of them, but he was mad at himself that he wasn’t paying closer attention and got blindsided.  When he walked through the front door, he saw Slate drooped over the couch with a bottle of whiskey.  Diamond was trying to talk to him.  She touched the drunk man’s shoulder, and he jerked away from her touch.  She told Bo to go to his room and let her handle the situation.

         In his room, Bo wondered where Slate got the money for booze.  He jerked his drawer open and found his money was missing.  At the same time, he heard Slate’s slurred words.  “Woman, quit nagging me.  Like your blamed daughter, you always nagging.”

        When Bo came into the room, Diamond and Slate were standing. This time both were yelling. Bo heard nothing but Slate’s cussing and insults.

        Screaming over both of the adults, Bo yelled, “You took my money, you sorry . . .”

       The boy wasn’t able to get out any more words because Slate backhanded Diamond, and she fell backward, hitting her head on one of the rocks in the wood stove’s hearth.  Blood began to flow from her hair.

       Bo screamed and ran to his grandmother.  Slate was on his way out the front door when blue lights filled the dark yard. None of this Bo saw.  He was holding his dead grandmother, rocking her back and forth.

      Actually, the police came because of a tip they had received about all the stolen bikes in the county.  What they found was much worse.

      Slate went back to jail, this time with a new charge, 2nd-degree murder.

      Diamond was buried like her daughter in the county graveyard for indigent people.  Bo couldn’t go.

     After his arrest for grand theft and referral to the juvenile justice system, Bo went through many meetings and stood before judges several times.  Finally, a referral for probation and community service was granted, and Bo was placed in a foster home.

      The Ellis family were good people.  They had two sons. Clay, 11, and Frankie, 8.  The father, Andrew, was the youth and music minister at a small Baptist church, and the mother, Olivia, was the church pianist.

      At first, Bo was withdrawn and kept to himself.  His thoughts were filled with the only two people who ever loved him, his mother and grandmother, and he had held them both when they died.  But, after a month, Frankie came to Bo who was sitting on the front porch.  He had a guitar in his hands.

     “Can you play this?” the boy asked.

      “Naw, Short Fry, I can’t,” Bo said.

     “Why not?”  Frankie asked.

     “Nobody ever taught me,” Bo said.

      “Oh,” Frankie said and walked back into the house.

      That evening over dinner, Andrew said, “So, Bo, I hear you’d like to learn to play guitar.”

       Bo was shocked.  “I never said that.”

      “Frankie said you did.”

       Andrew and Bo both looked at Frankie.  “Well, he sort of did,” the small boy said.

       Bo looked to Andrew.  “I said nobody ever taught me.”

      Andrew nodded.  “Would you like to learn?”

     “Aw, thanks, but I don’t want to be a bother.  Besides, soon as I turn 18, I’m outta here.”

       Again, Andrew nodded.  “I understand that.  “But until then, you might as well learn something new.”

       And, that’s how it came about that Andrew taught Bo how to play the guitar.  On his 16th birthday, Olivia and Andrew bought their foster son his own guitar.

      Bo found he liked the Baptist church and made a lot of friends.  He thought they all were pretty cool, especially this one girl, Jessica.  From Bo’s opinion, the only things more beautiful than her blonde hair were her large chocolate eyes.  

       Shortly after his birthday, Bo asked Andrew if at youth group it would be all right to sing a song that he wrote.  Andrew thought that was a great idea.  A week later on a Sunday night, Bo stood before smiling young people who had become his friends.  He was so nervous.  He looked at Jessica’s smile, and at Andrew who nodded and winked at him.  Frankie was sitting at the front on the floor with his legs crossed.

       Bo took a deep breath and then he said, “Not too many things I want people to know about my past, but I do want them to know this,” and he began to sing, “God gave me a rose. He gave me a diamond, and then He gave me Jesus.