H.A. Turns 34

Yesterday was a friend’s birthday and we had a party for him.  Please, join us for a birthday party.

First, meet the birthday boy.

We call him H.A., which stands for Hell’s Angels.  If you don’t know, the Hell’s Angels are a nation-wide biker gang.  H.A. is an enforcer for the Angels, part of the heavy-duty task force.  The Enforcers are to the Angels what the Marines are to the U.S. military.

H.A. Turns 34.

Obviously we can’t run out and buy a cake with candles.  We improvise.  I personally drew him an awesome piece of art.  He is also an artist, and appreciated my picture.  That’s the “normal” part.

Then the blanket party. 

(Pig in a Blanket -- not a blanket party).

Prison is different from being on the outside.  You don’t hug, you bump fists.  You don’t cry; you get angry.  You don’t talk things out.  You fight. 

So when it’s a birthday, or someone is about to go home, you throw a blanket party.  You wait until the person is asleep, then throw a blanket over them, hold them down, and beat the shit out of them.  No head shots, no groin shots.  Body shots only.  I know this sounds terrible.  This is how we show love.

It’s not intended to hurt the person.  This is another level.  When it’s over, the ‘victim’ stands and smiles.  You look around and see your homeboys.  These are the guys who have your back.  In prison, it’s all about who has your back.  A man who stands alone is vulnerable.

Sometimes we make a goulash.  This time we ate Philly cheese-steaks, sweet and sour chips, and drank soda.  We have a canteen and these items are purchased with the money we are sent by family.  Scottie picked up the tab on the food items.  He said to thank his wife Laura.  Thank you Laura!!!

I made a cake.  Well, what it is: three honey-buns stacked on top of each other.  A layer of peanut butter is spread in between each bun.  Then I whip 2 cocoa packs with peanut butter and spread this icing on the top and sides of cake.  Then spread crunched Vanilla Wafers on top and sides.  It’s a big freaking mess, but tastes heavenly.  We chop it all up and eat like finger-food.

Traditionally, I think of women preparing the food.  My Mom always cooked for us growing up.  Here in prison, it’s just us guys.  Preparing our food is nearly as fun as eating it.  One guy is mixing a sauce while another cuts and dices something.  It’s a joint effort.  One I can’t help but look at sometimes and smile.  Here we are, the rejects of society, felons, killers, drug-dealers, yet we are still people.  We are men who have wives, children, brothers and sisters.  We have feelings.  I’m a writer.  I look at all of us sometimes and see a greater picture than meets the eye.  Everyone in prison is hard.  Take a closer look and you’ll see what we are is people.  We love, we feel, we hurt, we’re not that much different from you.

We sing “Happy Birthday,” then eat.  Our scary Hells Angels friend has a smile from ear to ear.  We tell him we hired a stripper that will stop by later.  His smile disappears.  The only strippers in here are men who dress like women.

Earlier I mentioned we throw parties when it’s a birthday, or someone is going home.  A dear friend of mine is very close to going home.  I met Scottie a few months ago.  He is an awesome guy, and has been supportive of Jailbird in many ways.  His sense of humor is a lot like mine and we have many laughs together.  I am happy to see him go, but he will also be missed.  Scottie is married and can’t wait to be home with his wife.  Both Scott’s wife and mother visit Jailbird.

I feel honored to have met Scott, but we will be returning him to his mother and wife very soon.  If he comes home with a few bruises, that’s because we love him so much.

Thank you both for braving Jailbird.    

And this from Ester:

My husband and I watched this movie recently and really enjoyed it.  ...Just passing on the recommendation :)