Even Thugs NeedLove

I call them my fallen angels.

Sometimes it is so easy to forget that the sweet kids I work with are criminals. Other times, it becomes entirely too easy to remember. The stories, the tears and the anger that runs rampant out of these children is something I will never be able shake, no matter the distance I place between myself and my workplace. I remember my first day so well, so excited, yet so naive. I went in thinking I was going to make a difference. Ha, if only it were that easy. Now, less than a year later, after seeing hundreds of kids go through the system, many of them repeatedly, I shake my head and re-evaluate my goal. I made a new goal~ to ATTEMPT to make a difference, since I now realize I cannot force anyone to accept what I offer, or what I speak to them. This was a sobering reality when one of my children returned. The one that I really thought would make it, the one that had listened and turned his life around. He has come back not only once from last year, but twice this year. To do hard time. Out of all the kids that came, this is the one that broke my heart. And in the process, broke me.

Before I left on my mission trip last Christmas, I was possibly the most excited employee to have ever started at RYDC. I was ready for whatever came, I was not afraid of anything. When I returned, I had a dream that the child I had treasured returned once again to RYDC. I ignored the premonition about the kid I had been praying for. He was home, he had finished his placement. He would never return; or so I thought. Until I saw him face to face as a new intake again, and remember the dream. I remember the long talks we had, the frustrations he had felt. The change he wanted to make in his life. The promise that he would never come back. The day he found a rare flower on the recreational yard, and gave it to me as a token of appreciation for caring. I also remembered the time he told me he liked my eyes, and demanded a spoon and a needle, so he could take them. The things these kids say sometimes, nothing surprises you. He had said it not out of violence, but rather as a compliment. (Thankfully, he has since gotten better pick-up lines.) He went home after only a few days, only to return weeks later with another charge.

After that, my emotional connections to the students I had come to love so dearly began to disappear. They faded into the dull walls that were no longer just their prison, but mine as well. Each day passed with more trepidation than before, weeks went by where every staff member said their prayers before they entered, since we never knew when the proverbial ax would fall, and which ones of us would suffer. Confidentiality keeps me from disclosing details, but the atmosphere.....The options looked bleak, and we prayed.

Now, the old supervisors are gone, the rotation of children changed, and fear has left. However, the pain, anger, and tears remain. I watched this week as some of our infamous thugs (not wannabes, but real thugs) broke down and cried in class, trying to be strong, and hiding their faces so nobody could see their pain. They swore they had not done anything. My non-caring attitude of just doing the bare minimum to survive has finally began to change. No matter the aggravation that I may have, I still love my job. I still love my kids. And I have begun to care again about my babies once again, like I did when I first began. So I pray.

Reflections.

"Ms. Tincher is MY teacher. Yeah. That's right."

Spoken by one of my students at work, it is something that endears my heart to them everyday. It was what happened just ten minutes later that reminds me that I do not work at a school, but at prison. A Juvenile Detention Center. He cursed me out, hit the door, and walked out of the classroom. The reason? He had said something out of turn, jokingly. Per policy, I had to write him up, in the process angering his hair-trigger temper. Yesterday I had three students curse me out. One, because I wouldn't allow him near my desk. Two, because I told him where to sit and he disobeyed. Three, because he snapped at me and I told him to stay in his place. Today was a good day. I was only cursed out once, and my fallen angel that I have seen return so many times, has finally made it to student of the month. I was so proud. It was a good ending to a week of hell. Something every day. Not anything like it used to be, but still it was a week I was thankful to be over, and praised God that nothing happened.

However, it was a week that reminded me a little too much that the kids I call my babies are still messed up kids. Things have been said to them. Done to them. That no matter how much I try to love them, they can never accept it fully, with grace. They have been hurt too much by people around them to ever trust again and to ever respect people who are trying to do their best. I realized once again why I do not think of where I work. The idea of being behind bars, trapped and outnumbered is never a pleasant thought. It can make you go insane. I finally understood what goes on in the kids minds as they sit and serve out their time sentenced. No wonder they snap at the smallest thing. No wonder my own friends have called me crazy for working in such an environment.

Albert Einstein once said that only a life lived for others was a life worthwhile. It is the only explanation I can give that gives any voice of reason and sanity as to why I have chosen to work at a baby prison that has so many issues going on. More than words could ever express. I know I am called to leave a legacy, and even if some of my students refuse to hear, it is still my job to at least try.

After all, even thugs need love.

~*~Leave a Legacy that will Make a Difference in the World Around You.~*~