BY NANCY KIDD

Like many of the kids I taught in detention, before I first walked through the door, I never, ever dreamed I’d end up there. And once inside, just as many of them did, I found myself wondering, “What in the world have I gotten myself into? Is this a dream?”

It’s funny how life sometimes unfolds in unexpected ways.

After college, I taught for two years but then moved back to Champaign-Urbana to be near family and friends. The school year was under way, so my job search focused on positions outside education. As it turned out, the public library was looking for a bookmobile driver. Because I had grown up on a farm and had a class C license to haul grain, I was hired. Although it wasn’t something I’d ever pictured myself doing, I enjoyed knowing about the latest books and making recommendations to both kids and adults.

I’m grateful for my bookmobile years because I met a lot of interesting, wonderful people, and one person, in particular, who led me to my calling.

I left the bookmobile as my older son was about to start kindergarten. Ready for a change and longing for more family time, I decided to substitute teach. Every day was a new adventure. I kept busy, teaching nearly every day, but until the phone rang each morning, I never knew what grade level or subject I’d handle.

Then one day I received a call from a former bookmobile patron/friend, a teacher at the juvenile detention center. She said they were looking for a part-time teacher and wondered if I would be interested.

Why not?

Although I was vaguely aware places like that existed, I had never considered what they might be like. It was spring, when I thought subbing opportunities might slow down, so I decided to check it out. Besides, because it was part-time, I could sub other places in the morning if I wanted to.

The misgivings I had about detention began to surface the moment I arrived in the parking lot for my tour.

I was peering at a building that seemed ancient, a two-story structure originally built — or so I was told —to be a group home. I wasn’t expecting it to be warm and welcoming, but it looked downright depressing — the bars on the windows, the run-down front porch entrance, and the tall chain-link fence enclosing the outdoor recreation area.

I rang the bell and waited to be “buzzed inside” by a detention officer, a young man professional in his dress shirt and tie. After signing in to the official log, he escorted me to the classroom.

Hardly a dream

Unfortunately, the vibe was not improving. The classroom was in the basement, a drab room with exposed pipes overhead and a window air conditioner filling one of the two tiny basement windows. From the other window well came the only natural daylight. A detention officer resided at the back of the classroom to monitor the students’ behavior and relieve the teacher of any disciplinary concerns.

I saw only a handful of students — all boys at the time, although girls certainly are detained also. All attired in the standard institutional uniforms—cotton elastic-waisted pants and short-sleeved pullover shirts — they sat upright at their desks and remained church-mice quiet.

They appeared attentive and polite, keeping their eyes diverted from each other and, instead, focused on their own assignments.

I admit I was surprised by how well-behaved they were. When I thought of the articles I’d read in the newspaper, articles that sometimes detailed horrific acts the likes of these kids allegedly committed, it made no sense. These kids were more courteous and on-task than most students I’d worked with in regular classrooms.

Even so, I left knowing I would not accept the teaching job. I knew I could NEVER work in such a depressing setting.

I like to think I’m a nice enough person, but I definitely wasn’t this time. I am ashamed to say I didn’t even show enough courtesy to contact my bookmobile friend for a follow-up after my tour. I had absolutely no interest in working at that place and, in fact, had no desire to ever see it again.

Out of my hands

Despite my own poor manners, a week or so later my bookmobile friend called.

“What do you think?”she asked. “Will you take the position?”

“Uh-uh,” I was thinking the whole time.

So, imagine my surprise when I blurted out, “Sure! I’ll do it!”

Honestly, I have no idea what happened in that moment. In hindsight, I can only attribute it to divine intervention. Someone else was in possession of my mouth for a brief second — someone else was aware of the remarkable events I couldn’t foresee but would be so fortunate to experience.

As it turned out, I quickly fell in love with that job and with the students. By some sort of miracle, I seemed to instantly forget about the dilapidated environment. Within months I went from being part-time to full-time, the only teacher there for the next 10 years.

Left to my own limited perspective and decision-making ability, I would have totally missed out on some of the most poignant experiences of my life. Thankfully, however, someone else took over during that phone conversation, and I have been grateful ever since!