My Teacher…My Family

Imagine the most horrible time in your life.  You feel sick and tired…all the time.  You feel burdened and lonely. It is hard to imagine anyone in the world can understand the overwhelming pain you are enduring.  You feel rejected and judged.  How can you continue on?

Imagine though, there is some sunlight trying to peak its way into your heart.  Each day you begin to allow yourself to accept a simple smile.  Then gradually you hear the warm greeting that always follows.  Eventually you begin to look forward to the shades of warm sun that are trying to melt the ice your heart has been entrapped in for what feels like an eternity.

You start to feel hope again.  What a distant memory it once was to you, now has become a familiar friend again.  You begin to look forward to things. You can sleep again.  The evil weight that nailed you to the ground has slid off your shoulders like melting ice cream.  You can stand tall again.  You have found that old feeling of happiness.  What a blessing to begin to be released from all your pain.

Then suddenly, the sunlight disappears…without warning.  Fear, dread, loneliness, and bitterness begin to cast shadow over your soul.  This evil you had begun to escape has suddenly taken hold of you again.  You face the undeniable truth, you are a prisoner.  You are alone. Depression begins to kick in again.

The last few days I did not attend work.  I have been dealing with severe anxiety as a result of personal loss.  I knew there was no way I could go to work and give emotionally as a teacher, if MY soul needed healing.  So that is just what I did.  I fed my soul until my cookie jar was full enough to give some more.

My heart racing and my eyes burning, this morning I fought my way to work.  I could see the face of all of my students flashing in my brain, signaling my motivation to carry on and forward…for them.  I knew they needed me. I just did not realize how much.

I had a small inkling that the inmates enjoyed our classes and the time I spent encouraging their internal/spiritual healing.  Yet,I had no idea how truly important it was until today.

They came to me one by one.  They shared how much they look forward to our time together.  How it makes a huge difference, and gives them something to look forward too.  It was so touching. They told me stories and gave me certificates they made for me.

Then I met with inmate Knowledge.  He was the quietest he has ever been.  All day. He was sullen.  I knew something was wrong.

At the end of the day he quietly came by my side.  I could feel him soaking up my kindness.  His eyes had deep pain in them.  He kept blinking quickly and looking away from me.  As if he was on the verge of tears.   This is something I have never seen a man in prison do before.

I asked him if he was okay.  He said he was feeling very down.  He was burdened.

That is always a sensitive moment for me to maneuver.  Many of these men work very hard to avoid their emotions. So I am always careful not to push them.

So I merely ask what I can do to cheer him up.  He looks down and shrugs his shoulders. I ask him if he wants something to draw. He says he just finished drawing and his hand is tired.  I ask him if he wants a puzzle.  He says he is already working on one. Then he leaves my office.

Before I leave for the day, I go to him with a puzzle in my hand.  I explain to him it is about Christmas.  I point out the words: joy, merry, peace, and cake.  I tell him it is a happy puzzle and I hope it will make him feel better.  He looks up and smiles at me.  I see a flash of the happy inmate I recognize in his eyes.

I ask him if he was sad because I wasn’t there the past few days.  He says in his deep sad voice that he was.  He then begins to share his worry with me.  That he was afraid I wasn’t coming back.  That he thought something had scared me and I had changed my mind about keeping my job at the prison.

Then it hit me. Here is a man serving life in prison.  He has no family.  He has his routine life in prison, with very little to look forward too.  And here I am. I always look out for him, ask how he is doing, give him articles to read, art to draw, and puzzles for entertainment.  I greet him every morning and say goodbye at the end of every work day.  He waters my office plant and keeps my floors swept.  I have become his family in a way.  And he was afraid I had abandoned him.

I look him in the eyes and tell him if I was to ever leave, he would know before it happened.  I smile and remind him I will be there in the morning, and we will have our art class in the afternoon! (Which I know he loves).  He begins to smile big and wide like he always does for me.

Okay God, now I really get it. This work is your work.  I am merely a vessel to deliver love to people who truly need it.

Amen. I am so grateful for the blessings I receive in prison.

 

Bearing Witness to God

Have you ever had a moment so moving it brought you to tears? I am a blessed enough girl to say I have had many over my lifetime. Yesterday was not exceptional in that regard.

I began another new class with a roster of 15 inmates. I am finally in my groove and for the first time did not feel terrified to greet my latest cohort. I was actually calm, relaxed, and SMILING.  I was able to speak without my voice cracking or sweating through my clothes due to nerves. It only took a few months, but I am finally getting the hang of teaching in prison.

After the first 2 hours, one of the older inmates informed me he would be late returning from break time.  When he finally did return, the officer in charge called me outside of the classroom and closed the door behind me.  He shared with me that the inmate had just received bad news about his elderly mother and asked if he could be excused for the day.  OF COURSE HE CAN!

The inmate quickly exited the class and walked up behind me.  I explained he could take as much time as he needed and I would be praying for him.  He lifted his head and looked at me, unable to hide the pain in his eyes. My heart broke for him.

I expected him to nod and walk off. To my surprise, he thanked me.  He told me I was an amazing teacher and that he was already getting a lot out of our class that just began.  He then put his head down and walked off to his cell.

I could feel my heart move. Here was a man in a time of terrible anguish, and he expressed nothing but love.

I entered back through the classroom doorway and took my seat.  I must have had a crazy expression on my face because the inmate closest to me sweetly asked if I was okay.  He then gently asked if I needed a break.  (What the heck is going on here?  First the inmate with the bad news is praising me, and now the rest are looking after me…and they don’t even know me yet! And I am the teacher!).  I smiled and said I was fine.  Without disclosing anything personal I then asked them to say a prayer for the inmate that just left.

I let them out 15 minutes early for lunch and went on my way.  Teacher NEEDED a break to process what was happening.  I am supposed to be showing THEM kindness, patience, and support.  It usually take weeks to build a professional relationship with my inmate students before they trust me and treat me that way.

As I got in my car, I was talking to God.  Thanking him.  Asking for wisdom to understand.  Suddenly, I had an urge to keep driving, not to go back into my office to take my lunch break like I usually do. I obediently kept my foot on the gas and turned on the radio.  It was set on the station I listen to every morning when I drive to work. The religious station.

I happily recognized the voice talking to me through the car speakers.  Dr. David Jeremiah. A conservative evangelical Christian.  He has one of the most soothing voices and always preaches about love and understanding.  I grinned, drove, and intently listened as he talked about how he came to serve God as a young man.

He ran the Christian radio station in college and was asked to speak one weekend at a rural church.  He was so impressive he was asked to return and speak again the following weekend.  As this pattern continued, Dr. Jeremiah had his epiphany. God was calling him to preach…for the rest of his life.

At the moment the tears came.  My heart pounded.  Simply recalling this experience moves me once again to grateful tears.  I get it God.  I hear you.

I am doing what HE has called me to do.

The last few days I have asked God over and over to speak to me.  To show his presence in a more profound way in my life.  I WANT to bear witness.

And there it was.  God got my attention in a way he knew I wanted and needed.

 

Tiptoe Through the Tulips

It is only Tuesday.  I have already had enough to get me through the week.  Personal talks with God, talks with inmates, talks with officers, paperwork, government shutdown, more paperwork, and on and on.

Hairy scary inmate and I shared a moment this week.  I told him I am really glad I know him now, not when he was a free man committing heinous and dangerous crimes.  He described his past self as “evil”.  This then prompted him to share with me how he once robbed a man in a wheelchair.  Ummmm…come again?!

It was one of the MANY times he had been released from prison.  He was penniless, alone, and very angry.  He was standing at the bus stop and watching a disabled man extract money from a nearby ATM.  He observed as the man rolled his wheelchair next to him to wait for the bus.  As the man in the wheelchair finished counting his money, he leaned back to place it in his book bag draped over the backside of his chair.  As he unzipped it, a bottle of pills was revealed to be neatly tucked inside.

Hairy scary inmate and the man in the wheelchair began casually chatting.   The disabled man shared that he finally had the money to get his heat turned back on and was on his way to accomplish this task.  He talked with relief in his voice, as he and his aging mother had been suffering for months in the winter without it.

As the bus began approaching, scary inmate offered to help the disabled man onto the bus and got behind the wheelchair. As scary inmate took hold of the chair handles, he suddenly began running and thrusting the chair forward very quickly as if to push the man into the bus.  The man screamed out and jerked his arms into the wheels to attempt to stop his chair from moving forward. As he did this, scary inmate abruptly stopped moving the chair and in its pause, the man was thrust onto the street.

Scary inmate grabbed the book bag filled with cash and pills, threw the chair aside, and ran.

He never looked back.  He never cared.  He is able to tell this story matter-of-factly.

 

Injustice within the Justice System

One of the scariest inmates I have had as a student, is actually also one of my best pupils.  He is always engaging, participating, and challenging others.  He monopolizes most conversations, but he is also quite a good listener.  He is a walking contradiction in so many ways.

I wrote about him in my “Parenting with Pistols” entry a few weeks back.  For anyone who needs a refresher, he locked his young son in the trunk of his car at gunpoint and drove him  into the woods… to teach him a lesson.  Are you surprised one of his many charges is for child abuse?

He often shares stories, which he has no shortage of.  Most are about his life on the streets as a pimp and drug dealer, or his time behind bars.  Most of his life has been spent behind bars or under some kind of state supervision.   If you met him in person you would understand why.  This guy is DANGEROUS and scary.

He mentioned today that he once spent 24 consecutive months in solitary confinement. His point in sharing this was to relay how cruel such isolation is.  How psychologically damaging it is.  But I was more curious as to WHY he spent so long in solitary. The answer I got didn’t even make me flinch.  I am absolutely becoming institutionalized.

Some guards are on a real power trip.  They will intentionally house inmates together from opposing gangs for pure self entertainment.  Then they will taunt and provoke the situation until someone reaches a boiling point.  Such as what began this inmate on the road to 24 months in confinement.

He was housed with a much larger inmate from a rival gang.  To add insult to injury, his new cellmate was also a bully and chronic masturbator. Can you say recipe for disaster?

My student asked the officers to switch cells. He was told no.  He explained his reasons why he needed to move.  He was then told by officers: no blood, no cell reassignment. He was being set up to fail.

The bars of soap at the prison are like small bricks.  They are as hard as cement.  So, he began secretly stashing them.  In a tube sock.  When the day finally came, and he could no longer take the officer taunting and his cellmate bullying him and constantly jerking his junk in his face, he snapped.  He grabbed the tube sock filled with soap and began to beat the crap out of his cellmate. And he didn’t stop.  The officers finally responded to the screams coming from the cell.  They ordered him to stand down.  Then they gassed him.  Then they entered the cell by force and beat HIM into submission, cuffed him, and escorted him to solitary. Where he stayed for the next two years.

I made it out alive again today.  Amen.

 

Jesus Eyes

Today we covered a bit of everything in both classes.  The inmates talked about the latest news, politics, racism, family, drugs, violence, incarceration…they told jokes and played games. We shared laughter, dialogue, and understanding. Not an unusual day.

In the beginning of this journey teaching in prison, I found myself praying constantly in class.  I would silently beg the Lord for guidance and strength as I steered class discussions amongst the dangerous men that surround me everyday. It always worked.

These days I am surprised when I have a coherent moment and realize I am not praying, but actively listening, and comfortable.  The inmates can look into my eyes and it doesn’t instill fear. I don’t shake, sweat, or have stomach pains anymore. I no longer have a deep fear that I will say the wrong thing and have one of them run at me and knock my teeth out.

It may seem crazy to you that anyone would even be willing to work in an environment that made them so afraid.  I wouldn’t have stayed this long if I hadn’t found comfort through prayer.  In no way has God suggested I do anything but stay and keep trying.  To continue to face my fears and overcome the devil that wants me to bow down to him.

And here I am.  In a moment of panic today I worried if I am too comfortable.  My mother tells me to see these men through the eyes of Jesus.  I feel I am mastering it.  But is it too much? Have I taken it too far? Am I an inmate sympathizer? Is that dangerous?

I spend 30 hours a week surrounded by inmates, isolated with them.  But I make a point everyday to speak extensively with security staff to try and remain balanced.  They have such different views of the inmates than I do.  They have to for obvious reasons.  In our talks today, alarms began going off in my brain. DANGER, ALERT, ABORT.

Staying grounded…being balanced and safe are my top priorities.  Next comes offering kindness, support, and love to people who get very little if any of those things.   My faith has sustained me and my prayers guided me.  I hear HIS voice directing me everyday. Today he told me to stay put.  Our work isn’t finished yet.

 

MISSing Miss Teacher

I have so much to say, sometimes I don’t feel like I can sift through it well enough to share just one story.  Or even make clarity of any of it.  Some days I feel like I have all of these thoughts swirling around in my brain like a tornado.

Today, (thank the Lord!), was filled with more endearing moments than unhappy ones.  I actually SAW the love that many share with me in this cement prison I spend 45+ hours a week in.

Yesterday I didn’t go to work. My darling step daughter who just moved in with us was sick.  Her first sick day, how could I leave her home alone? I wanted to be there for her. Take care of her. Bring her medicine, wipe her nose, pour nourishing soup down her achy throat.  So for the first time in my life, I called out of work because of a sick child.  Now I really feel like a grown up…

When I arrived to work today one of my many supervisors met me at the compound’s front tower.  Shit!~this was the look on her face.  “I know you called me yesterday to tell me you wouldn’t be in.  I was on the road when you called.  I forgot to tell security you weren’t coming” she confesses.  This woman is the definition of professional.  I adore her. I laugh it off and prepare to go through the invasive security routine I endure every morning.

As I walk on the compound, EVERY inmate has something to say. “Hey stranger-do I know you?”…”I was worried something happened to you!”…”Did you decide to come back to us?”.  Every one has jokes.  But I know it is actually because they missed me.  They are relieved to see me again.  And that warms my cold-blooded heart to the core.

 

Sgt. A**hole…meet Director F**kface

A million things have been going on.  My amazing step daughter just moved in, a neighbor committed suicide last night, and work remains chaotically wonderful.  I have a burning story to get out and share so here we go….another day in the life of a princess working with more characters than a Hollywood screenplay.

It’s no secret the men behind bars face little indignities every day.  I accept it as a part of the nature of the beast that is prison.  When an inmate is violent, inappropriate, or breaking the rules and it happens, it is an easier pill to swallow. But when it happens because it is blatant, arrogant abuse of power…it sickens me.

I have to choose my battles here. I need the security staff.  Without them, I cannot safely perform my job.

On the other hand, I need the inmates too. If I cannot engage them in class, I cannot do my job effectively.  I treat them with the respect I in turn seek, in order to ensure they won’t tune me out…or turn on me.

I walk the fence every day.  Security versus the inmates. And here I am.  Stuck in the middle.  I need them both.

Enter Sgt. Asshole. He walks into my classroom, escorting an inmate. He grabs the inmates belongings out of his hands and throws them on my desk in front of me. He then begins to berate this grown man as if he is a child.  About folders. Because he is an asshole on a power trip.  He begins to remove the papers neatly tucked inside one by one…accusing him of bringing unnecessary materials to class. My class. Ever consider consulting me if this was a problem before you made it into one? Nope.  Of course not.

I felt horrible over this pathetic display. I stared at the floor, the wall, out the window. I could not stomach this officer degrading a grown ass man, verbally emasculating him for no reason in front of the entire class.  Disrupting my lesson and upsetting all of us.

I was literally watching this inmate swallowing his pride.  Answering with “yes sir…no sir.”. There is rage and sadness swirling in his eyes.

I want no part of this. But I play my assigned role here, as fence walker. I try to act as a mediator.  Answering the officers questions with respect, and addressing the inmate with understanding and kindness in my voice.

The inmates and I wait patiently for Sgt. Asshole to finish his rant.

When he finally leaves, satisfied that he has completely humiliated the inmate, one inmate says he knows why it just happened.  It was to impress me.  Well I have news for you. I am NOT fucking impressed. At all.

20 minutes later the classroom door opens again, this time it is my supervisor.  She enters with a stranger in a suit. He interrupts my class and walks over to introduce himself as director of something…I’m not sure what he said.  Because at that moment, he began staring at my breasts.  OBVIOUSLY. Making no effort to hide it.  He continued to do this throughout the next few uncomfortable minutes of our conversation.  In front of my supervisor, and my entire class.  What the fuck was I to do? This was the Regional Director of Programs (as I found out later). A man in a powerful position.  An old member of the good old boys club.

All I could think was what a disgusting prick he was.  I mean, come on.  I know I am a woman in an all male prison.  But even the inmates have more respect then he did.  If they look, they never let me see them do it.  Get some class dickhead.

I maintained my professionalism and once again swallowed my own discomfort.  Going along to get along, and suck up the crap that goes with my job…that I love.

I expect this garbage, but no from my coworkers. Praise God I survived another day.

 

 

Preaching Teaching

I didn’t take this job because there is a big fancy paycheck.  And it certainly wasn’t for the benefits. I just LOVE being in the classroom.  I enjoy being a part of motivated learning. But I THRIVE on working to inspire others to aspire.  To be more…to want more.

I have met men in this prison from every imaginable walk of life.  Some of them come from very little, but families that made the best with what they had.  A few come from stable middle class families. Majority come from travesty.  Broken homes, foster homes, or no home. They suffered abuse and neglect. Emotionally, educationally, economically, and spiritually.

I would guess that less than 1% of them have a  college degree. Probably 10% or less graduated from high school. Close to 90% never even made it to high school, and half of that group didn’t even make it to middle school. I ask you, what becomes of a man in this world with no education?

Even worse, what becomes of a man with no hope?

Last week as inmates entered my classroom…I asked them one by one, “Who was the teacher that impacted you the most?”. A couple of them knew right away.  They would crack a smile as they shared their memory of their favorite teacher and why they loved them. I heard a number of touching stories.

There were a handful of men that could not answer my question.  Did they not have one? Were they embarrassed? Did they not care?

This is not something I can relate to. If someone asked me to recall my favorite teacher, it wouldn’t be a matter of having one.  It is a matter of which one to choose. That humbled me. I am reminded of how much I had as a child. How much I was given and all the educational opportunities I have had.

When one finds themselves in that position…one has a responsibility. We MUST help.  We MUST give back.  We MUST have gratitude in our attitude and make it contagious.  And we must NEVER stop.

And I MUST continue to pray. Every day. Without ceasing.  For these men.  For the strength to inspire them. For a break through.

 

Worth Your Weight in GOLD….tEEth

Growing up, I remember always being fascinated when I would see an adult with a gold tooth. It was so shiny and distracting. I didn’t understand it.

Now I am surrounded by men with mouths FULL of gold teeth.  Some have a few golden front teeth, some have the entire top row finished.  And then there are a few that have their ENTIRE mouth finished in gold.

To my delight, this became a topic of discussion with a few inmates today.  I was so curious…what does it mean? Why did you do it?  They explained to me that to some people, having gold teeth is a status symbol.  To others, it is a form of self-expression.  Many talk about their plans to fill their whole mouths with gold when they are released.

Let’s go back a little further.  We are not the only country that uses gold in dentistry.  Gold is malleable and withstands corrosion quite well. It has been a dental symbol of wealth in many countries for over the last 5,000 years (perhaps further than that).

But let’s focus on the USA.  In the 1960’s it was a fashion trend in Miami.  In the 1980’s it was adopted into the hip hop community where it still stands as a symbol for disposable income today. They can be permanent or can be removable, known as a “grills” or fronts.  They are not limited simply to gold anymore.  They can be platinum, silver, and even have gems embedded in them. Imagine, a million dollar Colgate smile.

One account I came across said it may stem from slavery.  After slaves became free, gold teeth in their mouths was a symbol of their freedom.  It was a middle finger to their former owners.  Let me explain why.

I am sure it is no surprise that African slaves were denied the most basic medical care.  Yet in the case of very valuable male slaves, a slave owner would on rare occasion spring for a doctor or dentist to keep their property from being damaged or killed from simple infections.  Copper, tin, and bronze were often used to prevent tooth decay that could cause deadly infection.  Thus, as a slave, having metal in your mouth was an indication of your value.

Once a slave was free, he upgraded.  Gold replaced the lesser metal and served as a replacement ‘fuck you’ to his former slave driver.

Anyone else see the connection here?

 

Hopping Chili Peppers Batman

One sure thing about working in prison, is you never have a dull day.  Today I saved a grasshopper that wanted to make my office its home, ate hot chili peppers to make my coworkers laugh, yelled at a room full of grown felons and made them thank me for it, got a request from a sex offender with a life sentence to be my teaching aide, counseled an inmate about to be released about his addiction, got a new bookshelf for my office, taught for 6 hours, gave puzzles out to inmates, and and and.

I love my job.  I absolutely positively adore it.  Being able to bring sunshine and positivity into a world of gloom is such a joy.  I am seeing the transformation in the people around me, and the theme they are telling me they have now is reinforced HOPE.  What a beautiful gift.

It is also scary as hell at times.  You can never forget where you are or underestimate what convicts behind bars are capable of.  I take a leap of faith every time I step into that compound, that I will walk back out unharmed.  This is prison.  People are stabbed, raped, exploited, beaten, defrauded, and conned every single day.

But it can also be amazing.  Like when someone finds change. Or learns how to change.  When they become close to God.  When they learn to find value in this world and themselves.  When they learn to trust in people like me who show them that not everything in this world is pain.

Amen.