By Omar Lisojo
My job is to teach English. At least, that is what my job description says.
I teach English at the Morris County Juvenile Detention Center in New Jersey. Over time, I’ve realized that teaching English in a juvenile detention center involves much more than reading stories, writing essays and preparing students for exams. Some of the most meaningful moments in my classroom have little to do with academics. Some of the most meaningful moments happen when a young man or woman finds the words to describe what they are feeling, considers how their decisions affected someone they love or begins to imagine a future different from their past.
The young people I teach arrive with experiences I may never fully understand. I do not pretend to know every struggle they have faced. But when they enter my classroom, they are my students. I owe them the same expectations, attention and respect I would give any student.
We all make choices
Throughout my teaching career, I have repeated four words: We All Make Choices. What began as a daily classroom reminder became my teaching philosophy. Inside juvenile detention, those words carry particular weight.
I do not excuse the decisions that brought students into the juvenile justice system. Accountability matters, and consequences are real. But holding someone responsible does not require us to stop seeing them as human beings.
I ask students what influenced a decision, who was affected and how their family might have experienced its consequences. Then we talk about what they could do differently next time. Some students open up quickly; others need time. My role is not to deliver another lecture about their past. It is to help them think more carefully about their next choice.
A diploma earned through determination
One of the most meaningful experiences of my career began when a young man needed to complete two online classes to earn his high school diploma.
For four weeks, we sat across from each other, working through assignments and checking his progress. Along the way, I got to know more than his academic abilities. I learned about his experiences and began to see the person beyond the circumstances that brought him into detention.
After four weeks, he finished both classes. Before his graduation ceremony, he thanked me in my classroom and told me that if it were not for me, he would not be getting his diploma.
Those words stayed with me. Teachers spend so much time encouraging students that we do not always know what gets through. I was grateful he felt supported, but I wanted him to understand something: I had helped him, yet he was the one who had done the work. He chose to keep going.
Before he left the facility, I placed a We All Make Choices bracelet with his personal property so he would have it when he was released. I told him to wear it every day. When life got difficult or he faced a decision he might regret, I wanted him to look at it and imagine what advice I would give him if we were sitting across from each other again.
I hoped he would remember our conversations: Think about the consequences. Think about the people who care about you. Think about the future you want for yourself. A bracelet cannot make those decisions for him, but perhaps it could remind him to pause before making one.
At his graduation ceremony, I was asked to give a speech because of the role I had played in helping him reach that milestone. I felt honored and emotional. Just weeks earlier, we had been focused on assignments and deadlines. Now we were celebrating a diploma he had earned through his own effort.
I thought about what he had told me in the classroom. He believed I was the reason he was graduating. I hoped he would eventually see that his accomplishment was also evidence of what he could do when he committed himself to a goal.
That experience reminded me that success as a teacher isn’t always measured by grades or completed assignments. Sometimes, it’s knowing that a student is leaving your classroom with a little more confidence in themselves than when they first walked in.
Lessons that go beyond the classroom
My background in psychology shapes my approach to teaching. Experiences, relationships and emotions influence behavior. Understanding those influences does not erase responsibility; it gives students a way to examine their reactions and practice different ones.
When we read literature, I ask why characters make certain choices and what might have happened if they had acted differently. In writing, I encourage students to reflect on their experiences and consider how their words affect others. The lesson may begin with a story or essay, but the conversation often reaches beyond it.
I want students to know how to write clearly. I also want them to know how to apologize, accept criticism, ask for help and communicate frustration without aggression.
We talk about emotions, too. Many young men receive the message that showing sadness or asking for help is weakness. I challenge that idea. Acknowledging pain, speaking honestly or walking away from conflict can require more strength than reacting in anger.
One conversation will not change years of learned behavior. But if a student begins to pause before reacting or finds a better way to explain what he feels, that matters.
Recognizing the limits of our influence
Working in juvenile detention has deepened my respect for correctional officers, counselors, administrators, educators and others who support these young people. Our roles are different, but safety, accountability, education and growth all matter.
This work has also taught me to recognize my limits. I cannot undo a student’s past, remove every obstacle he will face or guarantee what he will do after release. Caring about a student does not give me control over their future.
What I can do is show up consistently, hold them to high expectations, listen and recognize progress. I can remind them that responsibility for yesterday’s decisions and hope for tomorrow can exist together.
I still think about that graduate and the bracelet I left for him. I do not know whether he wears it or remembers my advice when life becomes difficult. I hope he remembers something even more important: He worked toward a goal and achieved it, and he still has choices ahead of him.
My job description says I teach English. I take that seriously. But I hope my students leave with life lessons they will carry with them. I hope they leave knowing that one bad chapter does not have to become the entire book.
Working in juvenile detention has reminded me that there is so much more to these young people than the circumstances that brought them here. I cannot make their decisions for them, but I can do my best to prepare them for the decisions they will face when they leave.
That is why I teach. And that is why I continue to believe in second chances.
About the author
Omar Lisojo is a fourth-year educator teaching high school English full-time in an inner-city school in Passaic County, New Jersey, and part-time at the Morris County Juvenile Detention Center. With a background in psychology, he believes education extends beyond academics to building relationships, encouraging accountability, and inspiring second chances. Inspired by his students, Lisojo developed his teaching philosophy, “We All Make Choices,” which has become the foundation of his classroom. Whether teaching in a traditional school or juvenile detention facility, he strives to remind young people that their past does not define them and that today’s choices can shape a different tomorrow.