Sometimes Connection Starts with a Pair of Borrowed Shoes

“And sometimes it is as simple as noticing something good in a kid—and saying it out loud.”

By: Dr. Kristin Johnson, Ed.D

I walked into the Charles H. Hickey Jr. School in Maryland wearing shorts and sandals.

That lasted about five minutes.

Charles H. Hickey is a juvenile detention facility for young men, and I quickly learned that my outfit wasn't going to work. Luckily, I had a pair of pants in my car.

Shoes were another story.

So, there I was—a woman walking into an all-male juvenile detention center wearing a borrowed pair of size 9 men's shoes.

The boys noticed immediately.

Of course they did.

Within the first five minutes, someone commented on my shoes and asked what I thought of them.

"Actually, they're really comfortable."

They loved that answer.

We laughed, and just like that, the shoes became an icebreaker. What could have been an awkward beginning suddenly wasn't.

And in some ways, that little interaction set the tone for the rest of the day.

I had wondered what it would feel like walking into that environment as a woman. Would I feel uncomfortable? Would the boys respond differently to me? Would I need to change how I normally facilitate?

But once we got outside and started programming, a lot of those questions faded away.

My colleague Alex and I spent the day doing what we normally do—being kind, setting expectations, meeting people where they are, and paying attention to the energy of the group. When the boys needed to move, we moved. When the energy started climbing a little too high, we adjusted. When they needed to reset, we found a way to help them regulate without making a big deal about it.

And we played.

Outside, there were eight boys running around, competing, laughing, arguing about rules, trying to win, and giving each other a hard time.

They were kids being kids.

At one point, we were playing a game called Defender Dodge. These guys were good. I told them how athletic I thought they were.

One of the boys responded with something that stopped me for a second.

"I haven't been told I was athletic since middle school."

It was such a small comment.

But it stayed with me.

I don't know everything that happened between middle school and the day I met him. I don't know all the labels he has been given, the mistakes he has made, or the things people have said about him.

But I do know that on that particular day, he was athletic.

And he deserved to hear it.

As a woman entering an all-male juvenile detention setting, I was very aware at first of being different. I was aware of my clothes, my borrowed shoes, the rules, and the environment. I knew I was stepping into a space very different from the places where I typically work with young people.

But as the day went on, I thought about gender less and humanity more.

These young men didn’t need me to define them by where they were. They also didn’t need me to pretend that the circumstances that brought them there weren’t real. 

They needed what I think most young people need from the adults who enter their lives: consistency, boundaries, humor, respect, and someone willing to see who they are in that moment—not only the story that brought them there.

Alex and I learned a lot that day.

We learned when to push, when to back off, when to laugh, and when to let the group reset. We were reminded that relationship-building doesn't always require a complicated intervention.

Sometimes it starts with a surprisingly comfortable pair of borrowed size 9 men's shoes.

Sometimes it happens during a game of Defender Dodge.

And sometimes it is as simple as noticing something good in a kid—and saying it out loud.