For my social work placement this semester, I've been assigned to a residential treatment center for boys ages 9-18. It's rather like Boy's Town, if you will. But, because of confidentiality issues, I can't use the agency's name, so it shall henceforth be known as "The Bad Ass Boy's Home."

Please know that I use that pseudonym with the best of intentions and with a fair dose of humour. In fact, I have come to realize that these boys are not quite the bad asses I had them pictured as. And it is also safe to say that I already adore them. So, please, no angry email about my pejorative use of language.

Each week, I get to spend four hours with them, two of which are spent doing homework, one hour at dinner and one hour at recreation. I'm never quite sure what I'm in for each session, but it's never dull. They've come to know how far they can go around me, how much shit I'll take and how much shit I'll dish out. They're opening up to me more and more and they continually surprise me.

I've found that J., who based on appearances only, would be a junior thug, is an amazing writer with a vocabulary to rival an English major. M., who is dealing with anger management issues and whose body language often makes him unapproachable, talked openly about being bi-racial and how his anger stems from his biological father's abandonment, not his white step-father's attitudes on race, as his treatment team believes. M2 nearly wept when he was suspended from the program for bringing in contraband, and was the happiest young man I've ever seen when he was admitted back to the house.

Yes, I have favorites,already. The chore will be to not let them realize it. I have the same problem with my PAL kids. I would go to the mat for my PAL kids, and I have a feeling I'd do the same for the "bad ass boy's home" kids.

Just call me The Old Woman in the Shoe...