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.

 

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?

 

Where There’s Smoke…There’s a Cutter

Confinement.  Hell.  Possibly the only building I truly dread entering.

Today I had to drop off a book to an inmate that got in trouble, and got himself a one way ticket to the hole.  Fabulous.  I hate when they act out…now I get to visit the zoo. Thanks man.

On my walk down the cement mile, I got a warning.  Confinement had just been smoked out. I am not talking about real smoke.  It is what we call mace.  An inmate shattered his glasses and used them to cut his arm open.  Repeatedly.  (Attention seeking much?) The only way to get him to stop was to mace him, A LOT. It beats the hose though from what I hear.

So what does this mean for me?  That in the 5 minutes it is going to take for me to drop off this book, I have to get the backlash of the remaining spray.  This is not a well ventilated building.  This crap lingers like a moth to the flame.

Once you experience it…it is unmistakable.  Your eyes begin to burn.  Your throat tastes like fire.  You get an instant migraine. Sometimes you have to throw up.  It can be hard to catch your breath.

After the first time, I told one of the officers I had popped my mace cherry.  I was now a man! (Since the inmates talk all the time about becoming a true MAN)  He laughed and responded that if I was a man, then we are all in trouble.

My nostrils and eyes are burning again just thinking about it.

 

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.

 

Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

I say all the time that not just the inmates are in class.  I am getting an education everyday at that prison.  Today’s lesson has by far been the most powerful.

There is a young man in one of my classes.  He looks like he should still be in high school.  He has the most piercing sky colored eyes I have ever seen. For this reason, I will refer to him as Blue.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle and sweet.  He talks about God and love in every conversation I have overheard. He is wise beyond his years, and even many of the inmates.

This morning we were learning about conflict styles and resolution.  We used an example of aggressive, confrontational people. Blue began to tell us a story.  How when he first came to this prison, there was a larger inmate that would get in his face and try to intimidate him. A lot. Blue noticed this man sitting alone one day, and he seized the opportunity to talk to him.  He asked if he could sit down.  He said to the inmate, “God loves you and he forgives you.”  The older inmate was shocked.  This ice breaker began to tear down wall after wall.  They talked for 3 hours.

He listened to Blue talk about Christ, love, and forgiveness.  Blue was kind and respectful.  He was genuine.  The other inmate confessed that no one had ever treated him this way before.  He was terribly moved.  Blue can hardly talk about his love for God without tearing up.

The impact his kindness had was outstanding.  This other inmate began to understand the power and beauty that exists in God.  He is now a saved soul.  He is never without his cherished bible, and preaches to everyone.  He cares not if they listen.

Blue told us that we always need to look deeper.  When someone acts out in anger, they do so because they are suffering in pain.  That is an opportunity and responsibility to reach out and show love and understanding.  We all deserve love and understanding.

I can hear my head exploding. This kid blew my mind. This young man, living in prison hell, has dedicated his time to saving, supporting, and loving others.  Being a witness to God through not just his words, but his tremendous deeds.

Later that afternoon after I wrapped up another class, an officer came up to me.  She said she had to tell me something, because she worried how I would react if I was caught by surprise.  “He’s back”, she stated with a stern look on her face.  She waited for my reaction.

She was referring to Gunner.  The inmate that had masturbated in my class…while I was in it.  15 feet away from me.  That one act had traumatized me.  I cried all day in the presence of the officers who worked ceaselessly to comfort me.  I cried all the way home. I cried when I got home. I felt so betrayed and so violated, it felt like being raped.  Everyone believed I would quit after that.  I guess they underestimated how tough I am.

When I had first started working there, one of the initial warnings I was advised of, was that someday, inevitably, an inmate would masturbate in front of me.  Excuse me?  It isn’t scary enough I have to walk around in the open yard when the inmates are roaming freely, now I have to worry about this crap too?  Fuck.

I had terrifying visions of how this would take place.  I ultimately settled on the belief that one day an inmate would run at me with full speed while whacking his junk and yelling obscenities.  Every time I turned a corner my fear followed me.  Is it going to happen NOW?

To my shock, it happened nothing like this.  I praise God for that.  It happened, just like they told me it would.  But God protected me and shielded my eyes.  I didn’t even realize it was happening when it did.  But that’s the funny thing about working in a prison.  It heightens your senses.  My intuition began to nag me.  After an hour it began to scream at me.  An hour later, in the safety of my office while alone, God unshielded my eyes.  I knew without hesitation what had happened. I grabbed my things and RAN to the officer in charge.

I sat and cried, and shook as I explained what had happened.  His face began to turn red, and I could see his knuckles becoming white as he tightened his fists.  “That mother fucker did WHAT to you?!”.  He picked up the phone and dialed the dorm. He stated the inmates name, and then he said, “get that piece of shit in jewelry (our fancy word for handcuffs) and put him in my office.” He reassured me he was going to make him pay for his crime.  He would not tolerate anyone ever disrespecting me.  I am safe and he is going to fix this.  I felt such relief and security in his conviction of concern and care for me.

As I wept, the officers took turns trying to give me comfort.  They told me this is not my fault and I am not alone. They have all been in my shoes and it sucks.  They told me he would be punished as severely as possible. But I continued to weep.  Then one began to tell me the story of the first time he caught two inmates having anal sex.  I laughed.  They had figured out how to calm me down, so one by one they told me their personal stories of the first time they caught 2 males together.  We were all laughing by the end.  I was so touched by their concern.  They looked after me like big brothers.  I am forever grateful to all of them for that.

When I first heard this inmate was released from confinement today, I was shocked.  Then I was angry.  And disgusted.  I started worrying about what he might do. Will he do this again?  How can I handle that? I had decided I was going to tell him what a piece of shit he is for violating me in that manner. If it walks like a pig and talks like a pig, what is it? You feel me?

On my drive home, I began to think about Blue. I thought about his beautiful story of understanding.  I realized I only have one choice in my response to inmate Gunner’s (our fun term for masturbators) return to the yard.  I need to forgive him.  I need to be a witness to God’s word.  Where mercy is shown mercy is given.  Thank you Blue, for teaching me an important lesson today.  I will never EVER forget it.