Can I Touch Your Hair?

I love it when my tough, rough gang bangers are gentle and kind.  I know they can be that and so much more. My heart opens when they allow me to see it.

I was teaching a class in a lockup facility when a beautifully smart, sweet, young woman walked over and asked, “Miss, can I touch your hair?”

“Sure,” I said. “I have psoriasis, so my scalp is very flaky,” I warn her.
She smiled. “It’s okay, Miss. I have dandruff too.”
She doesn’t.

She leaned close. I felt her gentle hands on my head. “Your hair smells so good,” she said.

For about five minutes, she softly played with my hair. The misconception that these kids are only bad, that they are incapable of good, that there is no room for forgiveness, is so wildly inaccurate that I hardly know where to begin.

So, I will start here: Hurt people hurt people. Children who grow up with food insecurity, violence, neglect, instability, no mentorship, no guidance, and very little love often end up exactly where society expects them to end up. Locked up and in trouble.
Not because they are trouble, but because all they have known is trouble.

Here’s a radical idea: show up. Listen. Dare to believe. Love,  instead of judging and punishing.
Can you imagine what might happen? I’ll tell you, magic.

The very next day, I drove to UCLA to help my daughter move out of her dorm after completing her first year of college. I arrived to find a sea of parents carrying boxes, unloading cars, and hauling giant yellow bins across campus. There was laughter, exhaustion, traffic, pride, and love everywhere. Parents helping their children take the next step. I hugged my daughter, took selfies in her empty dorm room, and watched the beautiful life she is building.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that young woman who had touched my hair the day before.

I thought about the love my daughter has received throughout her life, not only from me but from teachers, friends, neighbors, coaches, mentors, and an entire village that helped raise her.

I know that beautiful fourteen-year-old girl, sitting in that lockup facility, has not experienced a fraction of that, if any at all.

The girl in lock-up tells me about her “man.”
“Miss, he’s my ride or die. He’s my everything.” “I talk to him every day.”
She is fourteen.

“When did you meet him?” I ask. “Two years ago,” she tells me.
She was twelve when they met and started a full-blown relationship.
She tells me she loves him. She tells me she can talk to him for hours.
She tells me she is learning to trust him.
“He’s all I got.” I listen. I smile. I don’t judge.
I try to balance my frustration and rage with active listening.

“Miss, can I touch your hair?” A little girl, who is a woman she should not be.
A girl -woman sitting next to me, telling me about the love of her life while quietly stroking my hair. I wonder, has anyone ever stroked her hair like this?

This girl is incredibly gentle and kind. 
How can it be that systems have been created and built around punishment instead of healing? No matter how long I do this work, I will never understand it. How on earth can this be the solution? How can we not do better than this?  How have we not found the balance between teaching, healing, loving, and rehabilitating?

To end my weekend, I had the privilege and honor of attending the final performance of the extraordinary dance company Diavolo. To say I was deeply moved, inspired, and awakened would be an understatement. My tired and worn-out spirit was lifted.
After a long, busy, hard week, this was the massage my heart needed.

I was reminded of what I know to be true: the extraordinary power of art, grace, beauty, and human talent to heal, to bring joy, and to connect us to one another.

The performance pushed every boundary. The dancers moved with breathtaking courage, trust, and generosity. There was unity. There was community. There was vulnerability, strength, and humor. It was a masterclass in what it means to trust one another.

An extraordinary piece of spoken word was woven throughout the performance as if it were another dancer on the stage:

“We’ve discovered that we have the agency to shape not only our reality, but also our dreams… the power to escape, and to return. We’ve discovered that if we must find and preserve equilibrium in the constant motion of life’s current, stability is not the absence of movement, and balance can be found in togetherness.  We’ve discovered that whether you choose to leap or get randomly catapulted out of your sphere, you can trust that someone will always be there to catch you.”

I could not help but think about the girls I had been with just a few days before in lock-up.
They would lose their minds if they saw this show. A show where bodies fly through the air. A show built on trust. A show that reminds you that impossible things are possible.
I have no doubt that when, not if, I bring them, they will have no choice but to have agency to dream. To escape.

Art is not a luxury. Art is an escape. More importantly, art is a doorway. A doorway out of isolation. A doorway into imagination. A doorway toward healing. The youth I serve desperately need that doorway. They need an escape not only from locked facilities, but from the trauma they carry and the trauma they continue to endure.

Oh, how I want to catapult them out of the spheres they have been placed in. Out of the box, society has built around them and out of the stories that they tell themselves.

It is our job to catch them, no matter where they fall; we must be ready to catch them so they can fly.  I try my best to do that -  are you willing to join me?