Wednesday October 21st 2009

Even after being home over two weeks, it is still so difficult to write about some of the things that I witnessed on this journey. I have been sick the last few days, and I wonder if it is just 22 days on the road eating me up inside. Every day during this journey held incredible significance for me. But the last day may have been the most profound.







After re-arranging my mode of transportation, I flew out of Salt Lake City to Oakland. My son picked me up at the airport and we headed over to my brother's home in Orinda. I sat out by the pool on this glorious day, trying to relax and just let go for a few hours. But as different people arrived, the questions began and I was elevated "back on the road again." I had dinner with my dear friend Lisa, and went back to Trevor's to hit the sack. The bed that I had complained about during an early stay, suddenly was such a comfort. I slept soundly and awoke the next morning ready for the day.







I headed over to Contra Costa Juvenile Hall with anticipation and hope. I had once put myself in this establishment about 33 years ago, because of a knock down drag out fight with my mother. I admit there was a twinge of angst as I maneuvered my rental car into a parking space. I headed in with case in tow. I stopped at the front of the hall to let them know that I had arrived and that I was meeting Petrenya Boykins. They were surprisingly joyous and upbeat, with rather wicked senses of humor.







I need to preface all this by letting you know that I was supposed to speak to the girls in CCJH on September 15th after I had been at Tehama Juvenile Hall earlier that day, but due to unforeseen circumstances, ie, a lack of mental health therapists, they would not allow me to come and speak for fear that after I "dumped my baggage on them" they would need psychiatric care. Well Petrenya diligently worked at making this visit happen and really the timing could not have been more perfect. We entered a maze of hallways and locked doors, and went up to Shasta, (pretty ironic huh?) We walked into the unit and Petrenya tried to introduce me to the three female jailers sitting, chatting and ignoring us behind the desk. We then went into the classroom where I was introduced to the teacher. A wonderful man with a kind demeanor, who was completely receptive to my being there and speaking to the young women in his classroom.







It was around 10:30am when roughly 25 young women in juvenile hall regulation attire filed in the room with their hands clasped behind their backs and took their seats. I had placed the oval dry erase boards on all their desks, and started with my usual questions. I wanted to stay as focused on all these young women as I possibly could. They were at first far more reserved then any group I had spoken to. After about a half hour the white boards began to fill with their thoughts, questions to answers I had asked, and they were fulling engaged. A large percentage of these girls had been arrested for illegal underage prostitution, with the intent to have a hotel room for their families to live. Most of these young women have never known the comforts that you and I take for granted on a daily basis. "Well they could to better, they know the difference between right and wrong" you say, but the reality of their existence rarely holds a shred of right, from the moment they were brought into this world, wrong was always there staring them in the face.



Their lives have been comprised of single "drug addicted" moms, absent fathers, abusive fathers, exploited relatives, homelessness, child abuse, rape, incest and a myriad of other components that make up their "wrong world". So here they sit, in a lock down class room in Juvenile Hall, for maybe the 5th or 7th time. And ironically like the young men in Tehama County Juvenile Hall there was an element of comfort and safety for these young women. Some openly admitted that. In Tehama County, many of the young men told me that they did not want to leave there. After two and half hours I understood why.



It was now 12 noon, after spending the morning with these young women, I really didn't want to leave them, there was so much more to talk about, so many more of their stories that needed to be heard, I asked for hugs, it was if the gates of heaven had opened, one girl after another came up to me, with the biggest squeezes on the planet, then one of the female jailers came in and ordered the girls to file out by rows for lunch. All but one of the girls had gotten a hug, Petrenya turned to the young woman in line and "asked her for a hug" she broke away from the line, hugged Petrenya then headed over to me arms open wide. We then stayed behind in the classroom putting away all the boards and pictures, talking to the teacher. Petrenya and I left the room stepping out into the quad where the girls were eating lunch. I stopped and thanked all the girls and wanted to say goodbye to all of them, when the jailer yelled at me that the girls where on silent lunch, they were not allowed to talk at all and that I should not say a word to them. Instantly, deep inside, my inner bitch began to raise her ugly, "don't call me out" head, it took everything in my power not to get up in this controlling, unhappy woman's face, Petrenya and I made it to the door and we both turned and in unison said our goodbyes to the girls.



When we had gotten outside the door, we were both so enraged we were in tears. We had just spent 2 amazing hours with 25 young women who just needed to be heard, and who I wanted to give the opportunity to hear my story and know that change is possible, that taking control of the course of their histories was paramount. And then to have someone squash them into place, order them into complacency and crush them under her thumb for the obvious need for control was shattering for the two of us. But by the time we had gotten out of the building and were sitting on the bench outside the front doors, all I could think of was "who got to her when she was little, who left her so powerless that she had to be so completely controlling in her professional life. My anger turned to empathy, because once again how easy it is for me to judge without even knowing her history. Another lesson learned.