A Typical Class, by Soren Gordhamer
Posted by: Admin on Thursday, September 12, 2002 - 12:06 PM
EST
Tonight we hold the class in a small chapel where there is
just enough room
for about 5 or 6 kids to do yoga. I have been doing smaller
classes recently,
as they are more manageable. A few weeks ago, while doing
a class for about
15 girls, a fight almost broke out. A chair flew across the
room and it was
utter anarchy for at least five minutes as the staff tried
to regain control.
It could have easily turned into World Championship Wrestling
3. I stood
there, dazed. I'm still not sure what set it off. Soon there
were girls up
chest-to-chest, name calling, and threats of violence. Finally,
the chaos
subsidized and luckily no punches were thrown. All this happened
in the
middle of MY "stress reduction" class.
The juvenile hall I'm at tonight does not mix kids from
different units for
fear (or the reality) of gang violence, so I get about 4
guys from one unit
in one class and 4 girls in another class. This is smaller
than I'm used to
doing, but the population of youth this night is fairly
typical. There is a
16 year old guy named Russell, who is "affiliated"
with the Crips and has
been in and out (mostly in) of juvenile hall since he was
12. He is
soft-spoken and uses as few words as possible. His biggest
pain is that his
younger brother, now age 12, has recently been locked up
at another facility.
There is Tyron, a 15 year old male, who found out two weeks
ago that his
brother was shot in the back and killed, probably gang related.
He is still
coming to terms with it. Hopes to get out soon and "get
a good job." There is
Javier, in for drug related crimes. Says that he watched
his father do drugs
as he was growing up and started himself a few years ago,
not thinking much
about it. He recently found out that several friends died
in drug and gang
related activity. Hates being in juvenile hall but says
that in some ways it
is good because he is safer in here than on the streets
and now has a better
chance of reaching age 18 alive. There is Lorraine, a 15
year old girl who
can look incredibly tough one moment and endearingly sweet
the next. There is
also an Indian girl with a beautiful presence about her.
She has a Hindi
name, which (ironically) was the name of her father's ex-girlfriend.
I ask
her what her name means and she asks me if I can find out
for her. A number
of the kids have court dates next week. Few of them know
how long they will
be here. A typical juvenile hall class.
And here we are all together. Them and me, the only white
person present. I
clearly appear out of place, like I'm in some strange Hollywood
sitcom --
Skinny white middle-class guy with glasses, kind of new-agey,
goes to teach
meditation and yoga in juvenile hall. We'll stage it in
NYC and it will be
like these two worlds colliding. He'll actually try to get
these kids to sit
quietly and meditate -- ha, ha, ha. We'll have some sessions
where the kids
really like it, but as soon as the guy gets comfortable,
they will lay into
him. All the time he is trying to make sense of them, they
are trying to make
sense of him. It will show in the slot between Law &
Order and The Simpsons.
Tonight we sit in a cold, dark room that sometimes serves
as a chapel. We do
yoga together to loosen some of the grief and pain kept
in the body. We then
sit together in silence seeing if there is not some place
of peace to be
found. We then talk; I mainly listen, often simply acknowledging
what they
are going through and wishing I could provide more answers.
There is enough
pain present to fill most lives several times over. At times
it all seems
unbearable, but there are moments when everything seems
workable -- joyous,
actually -- a joke is made, a girl smiles on gaining some
insight, a young
guy momentarily lets down his guard, a boy "gets high"
during a meditation.
Sometimes I feel like I'm helping them, other times not.
Sometimes I wish
that I could find a more "normal" vocation; other
times hanging out with them
makes me feel completely whole, as if I'm coming in touch
with close
relatives once known, then forgotten, now found. Knowing
them allows me to
feel less separate with the world. I walk around feeling
like I know more
about my city and world than I otherwise would.
As I'm leaving this night, Lorraine says, "Where is
that book you were going
to bring me?" I vaguely remember the conversation,
but cannot remember which
book she asked for. I ask her to remind me. "I can't
remember the name of the
book?" she says, frustrated.
"What was it about?" I ask.
She looks at me intently. "I can't remember that either,
but just bring it,
OK?"
This conversation perfectly reflects the challenge we face.
Most of the kids
want to be helped, but are not sure how to be helped or
forget what they
need. I want to help, but equally either do not know how
or can't remember
what it is I should do. There are moments, however, when
these two parts come
together, and it is these moments, like the surfer riding
the tube of the
wave, that can make all the difference in the world.
