Ankle Bracelet

What do you think of when you hear the words "ankle bracelet"? What's the first picture that comes to your mind? Is it a piece of jewelry--or does what you see depend on the context in which the phrase is used? I could go either way, really. I might picture something shiny, feminine, and dainty. An accessory, something of value used to enhance the aesthetic quality of one's ankle. A status symbol, maybe?

This dull, awful black box strapped carelessly on one of my student's legs today, though, was anything but the latter. 

Maybe I should backtrack a bit. Ever know a kid so absolutely outrageous that even when you were trying to be mad at them, you couldn't help yourself but to laugh? She used to come to our program every day, use our microwave to nuke her 99 cent honeybun (still in that carcinogenic plastic wrapper, by the way), and then just sit there and make ignorant, filthy, or obtuse comments about the kids who were actually participating in activities. So you might ask why I allowed this type of behavior to persist? Because honestly, about half the things she would say was actually kind of funny. So much so that myself, my co-workers, even the targets of this crooked commentary would sort of giggle to ourselves. And on those occasions that she did cross the line, an attempt to pull her aside and talk to her would illicit a puffed up, grandiose and entirely unapologetic oration about why that person deserved to be called a "sleaze", or why it was entirely appropriate that she was making lewd and suggestive comments about another female student. And honestly, it was impressive how quickly she could conjure up this dramatic nonsense. She must've had a shovel or something. This is the same student who, standing probably just shy of 5'2", wore a pair of 4 inch gold heels to our poetry showcase, proudly belting out her autobiographical piece entitled "I'm a Queen". I'm not exaggerating, I'm almost positive one of the lines of the poem was verbatim: "I'm just a queen, get over it." And the audience loved it. We all loved it.

But then one day, she disappeared. Just like that.

It took us about a week to realize that she hadn't just been skipping school. Something must be going on, we thought. So my staff and I went to the best source--the kids. Yet strangely enough, a week after her abrupt disappearance, even the kids had no idea where she was. I don't know what I assumed. Honestly, she had been getting into trouble a lot at school. There was one day where my program assistant and I were called into the disciplinarian's office because she literally would not talk to anyone else. She sat there until we arrived with her hands folded on her phone in her lap, donning a rather pleasant expression that was periodically broken by giving someone she didn't care for a viciously dirty look as they passed by. When we walked in, she came to life again, smiling widely and joking loudly with us about the people she didn't like in that office in her mean but undeniably funny kind of way. We tried our best to put on our angry, concerned adult faces, but she just plain cracked us up. She almost never made it easy to advocate for her, which was often because that girl turned cussing a teacher out into an art form.

So finally I decided to call home, hoping she had just been moved to another school without notice. Her great grandmother seemed glad to hear from me, and graciously informed me that her granddaughter had been arrested, and was being held at a local juvenile detention center. 

Whatever I was expecting, it surely was not that.

But either way, several weeks passed, and slowly the kids started to find out what was going on. I got more information, too, and it seemed like her stint in lockdown wouldn't be a long one. Finally, while I was helping to set up for a performance we were doing today for the mayor of Camden, I saw her in the crowd of students waiting to see the show. After a cheerful reunion, I joked about being glad they let her out, because I was on the verge of finding a spoon or something and busting her out myself. After the show, I had chance to catch up with her more and get the full story on what had happened. And that's when I saw it for the first time. They had put her on an ankle bracelet. That dull, awful black box strapped carelessly around her leg...

In moments like these, I look to Scripture. The Bible says that we must 'visit those who are in prison.' Sometimes I think about the reason why God wants us to do this. Is it so that we may show mercy, as He is merciful? Is it to show compassion, as He is compassionate? Or to forgive, as He is forgiving? I think it's probably all of these things. For some in the field of youth work or education, when a student gets locked up it's tough to navigate your approach with that student once they get back. You could empathize and risk being overly sympathetic, or you could be a hardliner, but risk being too condemning. 

Our approach, however, is one with open arms. Yeah, you might've messed up, but you're still part of the family. After all, that's what family is for--especially the family of believers.