When I think back on the years I taught at detention, I’m always a bit surprised to realize how big a role music played. I never really planned it that way—it just sort of happened. 

In the later years, we relied on CDs, a keyboard, YouTube and the whole internet to accompany us. During my first Christmas season at detention, however, we had only cassettes, vinyl records, and good old “a cappella.”

Despite the limited technology available, we started singing a few holiday songs.

I didn’t want to make the students feel sad for being in detention at that time of year, but singing was always a good way to nudge them out of their comfort zones. Often it seemed to have a soothing effect as the kids requested songs and relaxed with the activity.

Shortly before my holiday vacation was to begin, the students decided they wanted to put on their own holiday program. Although I admired their enthusiasm, I didn’t see how we could make it work. Who could come to be part of the audience? It would be nice if parents could attend, but not all could be depended on to show up. And, if some came and others didn’t, it would create more stress for those kids.

Confidentiality, maintaining the students’ anonymity, was another concern. 

There was, however, an even bigger issue from my perspective. It seemed the only night available to have a program was the next Saturday, and this was FRIDAY AFTERNOON! I knew I didn’t have time to pull a program together.

Officers take command

In the end, it was the detention officers working that weekend who stepped up in a huge way.

They put a lot of effort into helping the kids produce the first-ever detention center holiday music program. All I did was show up the next evening with my husband and one of my sons. Other staff members came as well, some with members of their own families. The audience was not much larger than the detention population, but no one seemed to mind.

The program was in our classroom, an old, shabby basement room with exposed overhead pipes. That didn’t seem to matter either.

It was immediately apparent how hard everyone at detention had been working on the preparations for this last-minute performance. They had moved the desks out of the classroom and set up folding chairs neatly in rows. Shiny holiday decorations lessened the institutional feel and helped create a warm, inviting mood. As we entered, each of us received a photocopied program, handwritten and designed by one of the students.

After we settled in and quieted, the program began. I was surprised when a brand-new student entered the room to kick things off. He must have arrived after I left the day before. 

New kid on the block

The next week I would learn that this innocent-looking boy was a 12-year-old named Jason. He was a child in the foster system who’d decided to take a car and go for a ride. After he’d crashed it into several other cars, he was arrested and brought to detention. 

Here he was now, eager to participate in the holiday program along with the other students. Because he was unfamiliar with the songs, he couldn’t very well join in the singing. So, the staff created signs for him to carry in announcing each act. Of course, the programs in our hands already laid it all out clearly, but those placards gave him a sense of belonging. The wonderful staff had quickly realized that that was what truly mattered.

Jason appeared a bit nervous but also happy with his role. He strolled stiffly across the room, with unmistakable deer-in-the-headlights eyes and a huge grin frozen on his round face.

After he exited, the other students filed in quietly and faced the audience in a line to open with “Winter Wonderland.” Like Jason,they, too, looked both timid and scared, excited and pleased all at the same time. 

The program continued flowing smoothly enough with Jason and the rest of the group reappearing alternately. Although initial nerves may have settled a bit, no one ever seemed to feel truly at ease.

Simply wonderful

When the students came out to sing “Mele Kalikimaka”along with our Bing Crosby record, they were proudly decked out in leis and grass skirts. One of the detention officers had run out to make the purchases for the occasion, adding to the students’ excitement.

The entire show lasted less than a half hour. It was simple and imperfect, I suppose, compared to many. There was nothing fancy about it. Yet, to this day it ranks as my all-time favorite holiday program. It was better than any program I have ever attended.

No offense to all the teachers and church music directors who have put on wonderful concerts and programs. I have tremendous respect for the hard work they do—the way they manage so many participants and always seem to end up with lovely productions.

But the thing is, most kids like those we see in detention would likely never have had a part in one of those programs. Everyone deserves a chance to feel special.

And here, they had gotten a chance to shine in a performance that was spontaneous and totally authentic.

Best of all, it was all theirs!

Yes, these students had worked through their nervousness and uncertainty to get to a place where they felt ecstatic and proud. Locked up in a detention center with the holidays approaching, they were dealing with rigid restrictions and very little privacy.  Even so, those kids still found a way to sing and laugh and feel good about themselves.

Now, that’s something to think about!

All these years later, I remain deeply grateful to the detention officers on duty that weekend. Their compassion and selfless efforts to accommodate the students’ desires was extraordinary. Through their actions, they helped create a glorious, indelible memory for me but also, much more importantly, for those young souls in their care.