Conflicted at Work

Whenever people ask the "What are you doing these days?" question I usually answer with a truthful but not whole answer, something like "I work for the Alpine school district as a teaching assistant." For most people that usually does the trick, but the inquiring few ask "What school?" or "What grade?" And then I say well, actually it's a group home. And then they say what's a group home? And I answer it's where kids who are in state custody but need higher surveillance than a foster home go to live. And then they ask why are they there? And finally, I'm forced into the whole truth: it's a group home for underage male sexual offenders.

It's a dance I've perfected.

I try to avoid the end of this ritual, not because I am ashamed of my job but because I always hate what comes next: the look of offense or worry or alarm and then the final question, "What did they do?", with the underlying assumption that the answer could sum up the whole of their existence.

I always want to say "It's complicated" but I never do. Instead, I brush it off with a simple I don't know. In fact, I have some ideas but they're not pretty. If I tell them to you, you will imagine some picture of a sexual predator. That is partially true. Some of their crimes are truly horrific. If I focus on that side of their past I find myself emotionally distancing myself from them, so I try not to do that. They need love and discipline, not distance.

What I want you to know is that they aren't just sexual predators. They are people like you and me. In a way, that's even more frightening because they are just like you and me--not internally of course, but externally they are just like any demographic of teenage boys. It is absolutely chilling to realize there are likely many more undetected sexual predators in schools. I mean if you came into our classroom (or even taught here for that matter) you would have no idea. So most of the time I don't think of them as sexual offenders. I get in the mode of thinking of them as normal guys--something I can't afford to do. Carter worries about my safety at work, though I always tell him it is unecessary. At school we're all stuffed into one classroom with three to five other adults at any given moment, and even if I ever were alone with any of the kids, only two of them are big enough to pose any real threat. In any case, none of these boys are particularly aggressive; they're manipulative--their victims are usually trusting children they know that can take advantage of. Therein lies the real threat. If I forget that they are sexual offenders, it's easier to put myself in compromising situations. So I try to always remember.

Another confusing part of this puzzle is how much I love them. I love them! I want them to recover and  succeed and live normal lives with loving families and good jobs, not suffer for all the horrible things they've done. And the thing is God loves them. He has their names written on the palms of His hands. He looks to his lost sheep and mourns. I, too, find myself mourning their lost childhoods and broken minds. To be so emotionally, mentally, and physically unstable is so tragic for such a young age. I mean, 13! 17! It's too young. Some of them have really dysfunctional families that explain how wrong their lives are at their age, but some of them have really normal parents who are absolutely heartbroken by their child's choices.

So there it is: the pity and horror and love all jumbled up in my mind everyday. When I go to work I have to simultaneously remember their crimes and forget they are criminals. It's an inner conflict I'm still working on.