As we pulled in, I looked around and from the outside the building looked like any ordinary building that one might encounter in a city. The building was made of bricks and was very large; however, as my eyes moved to the front of the building, a giant gated fence protruded from it. Instead of simply being an average roundabout to the front door, this thick metal wall marked the entrance to the Juvenile Detention center.

I walked in, unsure of what to expect, and immediately had to walk through a metal detector. Then, we, a group of volunteers, were asked to place all of our personal belongings in a bin. We were then led up a staircase painted with murals that created a jungle-like sensation. Stomping up the stairs, I felt as if I were just in a lower or middle school walking through the stairs; however, we were not and this was not a place that one should be thankful or excited to be. As we opened the door on the second floor, I looked around. The walls were blank, white brick walls. There were rooms along the sides with clear glass, emphasizing the lack of privacy.

One of the men who worked in the detention center led us into the library where he pointed to a long table with several chairs attached to the table. He told us to grab some games and then go and sit down as we waited for the children. I grabbed “Connect 4,” one of my all time favorite games.

Then, the children walked in, led in a single-file line with their hands behind their backs. Immediately, my heart sank. These young boys were anywhere from fourteen to seventeen years old. They were literally my age, yet we were on very different paths, college versus Juvie. Most of the boys sat down and began playing with us; however, some of the older boys did not have any interest in participating and sat in the back. Did these teenagers resent us? I mean, if I had been in Juvie and some students at a top university came to hang out and talk to me, I think that I would be pretty upset and pissed.

Speaking with them again reminded me of the very different lives we were living. I asked the boy that I was playing “Connect 4” with if he had known anyone before he arrived here, and unfortunately he replied “yeah, my cousin is in here.” As we began talking, the boy told me that he had been in here before and was getting out on Halloween. I asked if he was excited to go home to which he responded “kinda,” and then proceeded to ask me if I knew of any parties he could go to. This comment really hit me. Here was a boy, sixteen years old, getting out of a juvenile detention center in one week and the first thing he wants to do is party? I just could not comprehend his desire. I totally understand how one may want to have fun and enjoy themselves after being locked behind bars, but a party? Had this boy not learned anything? Was I being judgmental? I did not know, but I was positive that it did not matter if he had learned anything or not, being in Juvie was no big deal for him. This boy had been raised to think that going to Juvie was not a huge deal, in fact he almost seemed to expect it. His cousins were in here, and his friends had been in here. The boy knew the system, and asked if I would be coming back for a while because he was sure he would see me again. Again, I was destroyed.

Then, the girls came in. A woman who worked in the center asked if anyone in our group spoke Spanish, so I raised my hand and said that I could help. She walked over a young girl, who I later found out was only thirteen years old, to me. The girl sat down and stared at her feet for a few seconds before I said hello to her in Spanish. She looked up, almost excited, and quickly began talking to me.

The girl explained how she spoke no English, so being in here was very difficult. Not only could she not understand anything or anyone, but not a single person could understand her either. She explained that she hated school, for she could not understand anything being taught. As a result, the girl confessed how she constantly bangs on the tables during the lessons hoping that they will at least let her go back to her room where she does not have to feel “as dumb.” This girl, to me, was the saddest case. She told me about how her father had passed away and her mother spoke no English. As a result, she thought she would be in for a while since no one could understand them, never mind fight for them. The girl was so excited to have me there, for this was the first time in an entire week that she could actually talk to someone. I was devastated to hear about this. I mean, imagine being in the most isolated place imaginable and then during the times when you are allowed to interact with others literally not being able to: further alienation.

My day here, while rewarding, was extraordinarily upsetting to me. All of the inmates except for the girl from Mexico who only spoke Spanish, were black. There was not a single white child there. Almost all of these children had tattoos— some of them were truly eleven or twelve years old. None of the inmates seemed to think that being in such a center was abnormal, proving to me how different their lives were. I realized that our system is extraordinarily unfair, especially after speaking with the girl from Mexico. I also concluded that where you grow up and the family that you live with really, seriously do have greater impacts on one than you will ever know. My few hours at the Juvenile Detention center filled me with sadness and pain.