Robert was one of those high school students who took awhile to grow on me. In the beginning, like so many others, he was so tough and defiant – way too cool for school at Juvenile Detention Center (JDC), especially when I expected him to join in singing “The Birdie Song.” He didn’t say it, but I could read it in his face, “You want me to do what??? You’re crazy, lady!”

BY NANCY KIDD

Then just like the many others who had come before him, in time, he softened and opened up and began to participate. Surprisingly, he even volunteered to lead the singing.

Of course, he wasn’t perfect. He still had anger-management issues, and he wasn’t always in the mood for what I was serving in school. However, while in detention, he learned to identify all 50 states on a map and could even name them in alphabetical order. I had borrowed a copy of Wee Sing’s “The United States” from the children’s department of the public library, and we had sung it in class a number of times. Robert had memorized the song and would often belt it out with great gusto.

He was learning things he hadn’t known before, and he was proud to show it!

I often watched him proudly display his newly gained knowledge to the other students. And, as I watched, I struggled to imagine that this grinning man-sized teenager was the same guy whose behavior could escalate in a heartbeat to the point he had to be restrained.

On a dime

But it could, and it sometimes did! Proof, I suppose, that lifelong behaviors seldom change on a dime.

Because he was detained for more than a few days, I went to his regular school to collect his homework. The hope was, that if he returned there, he wouldn’t be too far behind his peers. As the school personnel gave me his books and assignments, they also handed me a large envelope containing his new school pictures.

I sneaked a glance at them and was pleased to be looking at a smiling, angelic face similar to the one he was wearing more often at JDC.

When I returned to JDC, I showed him the photographs and told him I would love to have one if he had any extras. I think my request surprised him, but he immediately offered to give me whichever one I wanted.

I’m pretty sure I could have taken his big 8-by-10 at that moment, but I settled happily on a wallet-sized photo.

As it turned out, Robert did not return at that time to his high school. When he appeared in court to be sentenced, he was ordered to the Illinois Department of Juvenile Justice (DOJJ). Before he left, he was entitled to a family visit at the detention center. The only family member to visit him before he was transported was an older brother, one who made no attempt to hide the disgust he felt toward his sibling.

It seemed he had only come out of a sense of obligation to the family.

Because kids cannot take personal belongings with them to DOJJ, the detention officers released Robert’s personal things to his brother. Shortly after the brother left the facility, an officer found Robert’s things, including the packet of school pictures, thrown on the ground in the parking lot.

Before smart phones, I was never one to carry photos of my own boys. However, I kept Robert’s photo in my wallet for many years.

Treasure

I’m certain he’s unaware of that and that he has no idea how much I treasured that picture. Every time I opened my wallet and caught a glimpse of his face, I  remembered him and how blessed I’d felt to know him and to watch him making strides in a positive direction. Not that he had become a saint or anything close to one, but witnessing how his defiant, angry and challenging facade gave way to a sweeter, more tender and childlike side was nothing short of remarkable.

Over the years, Robert’s photo became the icon I turned to as a reminder of all the students with whom I’d crossed paths in detention, a reminder of the many fragile souls in desperate need of love and hope.