This is My Surprised Face. For Real.

My art show is tonight in Venice and I'm really, really excited. But I'm actually even more excited to talk about something I did earlier this week, and I mentioned in my last post: Monday night, I went to Camp Kilpatrick, a juvenile detention facility, to become a tutor.

Living in Los Angeles, and Venice especially, has desensitized me to a lot of things. I can turn a blind eye to the homeless guy who's climbing out of my dumpster as a I leave for work in the morning, I'm unfazed by the couple who are having a screaming match at 3PM outside my window (unless they start hitting each other, then I go break it up. Seriously.) and as for things like groups of delinquent teenagers roaming the boardwalk at all hours and throwing rocks at each other, well, this is my surprise face (see below).

It's easy to forget that the things I so easily chalk up to "living in LA" are actually people, and they have lives and stories, just like I do. And that kid roaming around the boardwalk, he's somebody's kid, and hopefully, somebody cares if he turns out okay.

So long story-long, that's why I signed up to tutor at Camp Kilpatrick. Because somebody should care what happens to these kids, and why not me?

That said, I didn't know what to expect when I got there. I had been given minimal advice from our volunteer group leader, and it was pretty much the following:

1. Don't dress provocatively ( you're in a room with eight 17-year old boys who haven't seen a female in months).
2. Don't ask the kids what the did to land in juvie.
3. Don't give them your phone number.
4. Don't promise to bring them snacks/money/cellphones/anything.

I was on board with all of those rules, especially #'s 1 and 3, but I still don't think that fully prepared me for walking into a little classroom and meeting a 17-year old boy who said his name was "Skillz". Yep. Ya heard.
Skillz is a skinny, light-skinned kid who kind of reminds me of one of my little brothers' friends. Except that he's covered in two full tattoo sleeves, he lives in Inglewood, and he's been locked up for the past 8 months for illegal possession of a firearm (he volunteered that info. I didn't break a rule).

Since it was the first day, the kids didn't know they were supposed to bring homework, and it ended up just being a 'get to know you time'. This turned out to be one of the most interesting and rewarding conversations I've had in months.

Right off the bat he told me that he was getting out of juvie in 14 days. After I congratulated him, he told me that he was trying to make a plan to finish school and join the Navy. I told him that I thought that was a great choice, and that he could get his college tuition paid for through the Navy. Making eye contact with me for the first time, he turned to me excitedly and said, "I know! and I'm going to go culinary arts school!"

That caught me totally off guard, but that's when I realized this kid and I had a lot in common: He's bright, he likes to cook, and he's clearly artistic (as showcased by his tattoos of Chuckie from Rugrats and the Louis Vuitton logo) he doesn't like to play sports, and he misses his mom.  We spent the rest of the afternoon making plans for how he was going to get back on track after being incarcerated. At the end of our time together, I told him that he had a great life ahead of him, and that if he stayed focused, I was sure he could achieve all of the goals that we had discussed. He looked up at me and said, "Thanks. I mean, I know that. But it's nice to hear someone else say it. Cause it means you don't think I'm a f*ck up."

That stuck with me. I realized, that this isn't at all about correcting spelling and grammar, or getting a kid to read on 11th grade level.

It's about being the person who tells a kid who's made a mistake, that his life isn't ruined, and he can still have a great future, and that just because you're in a bad situation doesn't mean you have to stay there.

It's about being someone who cares one way or the other.

I can't wait to go back next week.