Moving the Chains at Oak Hill

"I'm basically growing up here," Terrell said.

He had done his best to fashion some sort of home out of Room 9 in the 8A unit, a bright purple building on a dark corner of Oak Hill's property. About 20 boys live in the unit; the Oak Hill facility as a whole usually houses about 100 boys. The boys in 8A spend their free time in a common room furnished with three heavy chairs and a dilapidated Ping-Pong table. The bathroom runs short on hot water, and the toilet stalls have no doors. Guards monitor the showers through a window.

A steel door opens into Terrell's room, which looks identical to most of Oak Hill's bedrooms. His single bed is bolted to the floor and covered with a weathered gray blanket. Terrell decorated his cold, concrete walls with dozens of pictures and letters, which constitute much of his contact with friends since he is only allowed two 10-minute phone sessions each week.

Pictures of Terrell's mother, as round-cheeked as her son, sit on the desk. A half dozen girlfriends or former girlfriends cover the dresser. Terrell's 3-month-old daughter decorates the wall. He has met her twice, but he isn't sure how to spell her name. "Me and the mother don't go together no more," Terrell said.

Terrell earned attention from peers and corrections officers during football season because of his playful boastfulness. Before Oak Hill games, he greeted the captains of opposing teams with trash-talk. "Nice to meet you," he told two Anacostia players in October. "Sorry the next four quarters are going to be nasty for you. I'm guaranteeing y'all four touchdowns."

Terrell, hampered this season by a sore hamstring and a sprained ankle, rarely delivered on such promises. But when he did, he marked the occasion grandly. After scoring on a two-point conversion against McKinley, Terrell flexed his muscles and screamed, 'Yeah! I told you so. I told you so." He continued to yell and assume various muscle-man poses for almost a minute, until a referee penalized him for delaying the kickoff.

He loved to play to crowds, even scarce ones. A few dozen Oak Hill juveniles usually attended home games, and they sometimes chanted "juvenile delinquents" as the Tigers ran onto the field. Terrell waved his hands wildly to encourage them.

Terrell is thick at 5 feet 10 with ordinary speed, but hopes to play linebacker in the NFL. He also has considered a career as a professional boxer. "I like to hit things," Terrell said. "I think about the things I went through, and I just take everything out when I hit a person. If they have a visor on their helmet, I think about trying to crack it."

He has worked hard to positively redirect his passion. Terrell attended a leadership seminar on behalf of Oak Hill. He joined a mentorship program and made honor roll for each of the last three semesters. Locked in his room at night, he likes to write poems. Can't somebody tell me why/young people have to go through struggles/and it's like they have their heart in one hand and their soul in the other/but don't know how to juggle.

Terrell's mother and 20-year-old sister came to Oak Hill during designated visiting times every two weeks this fall, and they begged him to stop throwing away his potential. Sometimes, he heeded their advice. During overtime of a game against Anacostia in October, Henderson called timeout and ran onto the field to strategize before the most important play of his team's season: an Anacostia two-point conversion attempt. Oak Hill needed a defensive stop to make the playoffs.

"I need your focus now more than ever," Henderson said. "This is it. Anybody have anything to say?"

"Where's the water boy?" one player asked.