Questions

In our session at the JDC last week, I asked the kids to draw or describe their image of hope.  They laughed, cause that is the general response to any suggestion I make, but after a minute, people began to settle into their task.  For the most part, when I look around the room, I see faces scrunched while pens are touching paper.

There are 3 faces I have never seen before, 2 back in after a few months of freedom, and another 2 who have been with me the last couple of weeks.  There are always mixed feelings when a "new" but familiar face walks into a session - they always have a smile and are ready to say what's up, happy to see me, expecting a negative reaction, or at least some sort of admonishment.  I try my best to walk that line between outward love and inward heartbreak.  It is a hard thing to watch a 16 year old kid enter in and out of the system.

After a few minutes, I ask for people to share what they drew.  Silence.  I say I'll start it off, and show my image (an awful rendition of a 30 year sobriety coin that a friend received the weekend before).  I explain that it gives me hope, that it is an image of someone who, through what they might call a miracle, turned their life around and embraced a new way of living.  More silence, following by uncomfortable joking and giggling.

First question comes from me - "Why is it so much easier for us to tell our drunk stories?  Our stories of fighting and drugging and abuse?  But when it comes to hopes, dreams, fears, we can't talk about it.  What's up with that?"  More giggling, but some silent thinking faces too.  Soon everyone is quiet.  I guess it's hard to share your hopes, because that makes them real - and what if those are never realized?  I guess it's hard to share your dreams, because what if they're laughed at or stepped on?  You risk greatly to share those things.

Finally, someone shares that, while they didn't draw, the cancer ribbon is a symbol of hope for them.  Their grandma had cancer and was able to beat it and recover, and this ribbon is a symbol of hope.  I thank her for her courage, and for sharing that piece of her heart.  It makes me proud to see a young person show so much courage.

I read our Scripture passage, and we shoot the shit for the next 10 minutes.  I just listen to them talk and tell stories, and be kids.  They ask me questions, and joke around, and bust my chops a little.  One the way out I wish those getting released good luck, and tell the others I'll see them next week.  On the way out, one hands me their paper to read.

And I do read it, as tenderly as any sacred scripture or holy book, because that is what it is to me each time one of these kids share their heart.  I open it and already I am aching.

"My Cell" is the title.  The drawing contains a room, a bed, a sink and toilet, a barred window, with the word SAFE in all caps on the inside.  Outside the walls, words like DRUGS and ALCOHOL are written.  The description on the bottom reads something to the effect of: My cell is my image of hope.  In here I am protected and safe.  I am happy to be here.  I get three meals a day, hot water, structure, and people who care about me.  Outside, my friends and family are still struggling with drugs and alcohol.  This is a better environment for me.

It's ironic.  I should be ecstatic.  I am always trying to have the kids see that, while not ideal, their situation is not without it's positive aspects.  There is space and support to do some serious thinking and reflection, some serious soulwork if they are up for it.

But this is different.  This is saying that the prison cell is preferred to anything else that could be offered.  It's not the first time I've heard this.  "I consider more home than my actual house," one said.  "This is way better than home, at least I'm not gettin beat up," another said.

What went wrong when a young kid declares that they feel safer in a prison than their home?  When they can only get access to basic needs when they are in a prison facility?  When they only get the positive attention they need within the four walls of a detention center?

And most importantly - how the hell can I engage in a positive way with this difficult reality?