First trip to Bon Air

When I got back to my dorm after our first trip to Bon Air, my roommate was eager to hear all about my experience. Reflecting on my visit, I noted that it never felt like I was talking to a “prisoner,” “juvenile delinquent,” or the many other labels these kids have been given. Even when he talked about guns and about violence, it still felt just like a conversation. I was just listening to another person’s story, which was different than my own. Perhaps college has prepared us for this. Many people I’ve met here have strange stories I would have never accepted at home. But I think I’ve grown to learn that everyone experiences life differently. There’s no right or wrong. Different things happen to different people. Different people make different choices. 

When I began to tell my roommate about my conversation with my partner, she kept asking me questions about his life. When I told her, we had to share stories about a time we were scared, she asked what his was. When I told her, some detail he shared with me, she asked me to elaborate, or she asked a follow-up question. She never asked me his name. As I walked to the library and reflected on our conversation, I thought about how that demonstrated that our identities are truly just a collection of stories. They are not our names or the labels other people give us. They are simply stories. I also don’t know my partner’s name, mainly because it was a bit hard to understand him and also because his name is so different than any name I’ve ever heard. While I obviously need to figure it out, I’m glad in a way that his identity is solely based on what he decided to share with me this evening.The only defining traits I know about him for the next two weeks are his stories