“The lights are on but nobody's home.” That is what I thought when I first met Ionut. Fresh on the streets, he earned the nickname “Grasul” or “Fatty” because of his chubby cheeks and pudgy belly. He, not knowing me either, looked up with empty, innocent eyes. This performance was proving to win the sympathy of some passersby who had a little extra change to give a street kid.

Ionut, already a big kid at 16, did not fear the other street children. Instead, he followed the other boys around like a puppy dog, gaining their favor and wedging a place for himself into the hierarchically established gang.

My suspicion of Ionut having mental problems was confirmed when he started inhaling glue. He became louder than his usually loud self. He also became violent and would beat up the weaker children. One cold night, when he was high on glue and alcohol, he tried to rape a little girl, unsuccessfully fighting the whole gang to get hold of her…

After Ionut started to come to the Drop-In Center , my view of him completely changed. Ionut was so hilarious, that we exchanged his nickname “Fatty” for “Comedian.” He would attend the program almost every day and, though his craziness and always over-the-limit humor gave us many problems, he used the authority of his size and age to keep the others in line. Ionut excelled in reading and struggled through math, but his playfulness made it fun for all.

But the fun didn't last. Ionut needed more than a place where he could learn to read and write or receive a hot meal. He needed a family. Children's homes would not accept him because he was too big, too old, or too wild. Where would Ionut receive attention, value and a place to grow up?

Romania has a very elaborate system of organized crime. The mafia permeates government offices – from the presidency to the city council – and also businesses – from national corporations to street vendors. Ionut' charismatic personality attracted some of these street vendors. They took him into their house, dressed him in new clothes, and made him part of their “family.” Ionut was more than happy to get involved in the “family business.” He soon was trying his hand at pick pocketing.

Ionut knew that working with the mafia was a stupid decision and that he risked going to prison. But tactics of stupidity worked for Ionut just as they did when I first met him on the streets. Today Ionut spends much of his time “working” the buses and the marketplace. I often run into Ionut, and I'm grateful that our friendship has not diminished in any way. But even though Ionut and his clever jokes never fail to bring a smile to my face, I always walk away depressed. He is a constant reminder of our failure to be a real family to him. Ionut's life is a protest against all those who would not give him a chance…and a testimony to those who did.