A story from Brooke:
I was talking to J.J. the other night. He was telling me about all the things that filled up his day. How another day clicked by. His morning started by going to medical for a routine shot. And that appointment went something like this.....
The nurse asked him to sign his name for his file. [No big deal, right?] Well.....first he goes on about what a big deal it is that the nurse let him use her pen. Apparently, most camps prefer that you bring your own pen. They do not want you touch their belongings.
Next.....J.J. goes on to explain how she was sniffling and wiped her pen with a disinfectant wipe prior to handing the pen to him. J.J. was shocked by her kindness, and that she took the time to protect him from her.
Then.....J.J. shared his conversation he had with her:
[J.J.] Looks like you are little under the weather.
[Nurse] Yes. I use an inhaler, but this has been going on for a few days so I think it is time for me to go see the doctor.
[J.J.] Well, be sure to take care of yourself.
[Nurse] Looks up at him with surprise expression then says, "Thank you. Have a good day."
[J.J.] You too.
Not that big of deal? You should have heard his voice. Then he said, "It was really cool. She treated me like a person."
Did something inside of you change when you read that last sentence?
I couldn't believe what I heard when he said that. That last sentence. The way that he said it. How much he really meant that. What that pen meant to him. What that quick conversation meant to him. I quietly responded with "you are a person."
J.J. continued with, "I know, Brooke. But they do not always treat you like a person on this side of the fence. I am constantly surprised by this camp. Today, I felt like a person."
I am so glad that J.J. is at a better place! It is AWESOME that he has new opportunities. That he will get to hold a guitar in his hands again soon. AND....I am glad that he feels like he is treated like a person. He is, after all, a person!!!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Classified Fools & Nonesence
Man.....they do things really unorganized around prison. You can never predict things around here. The reasonable choice is never picked. Instead the least likely is.
I truly wonder about state and government jobs. No wonder our nation is in such turmoil. They continually shoot themselves in the foot. Over and over again. It amazes me.
We are looked at as 'dumb' prisoners. Yet we ran shops, stores, banks, businesses and much more. Instead of even consider suggestions from anyone, they will continue to stumble around like a blind man. For this reason, the prison system is a continuous cluster fuck.
I find it quite entertaining. Who needs cable TV? It's real-life DOC drama. I watch them plant shrubs one day. Next week, they pull them and plan them somewhere else. Or....just never water them and they die the next week.
I feel like I live in the circus. Non-stop clowning around.
Anyways....you wonder where I get some of my ideas from? I know that if a job can be done by 5 people, then why pay 25 to do it?
And that's the system in a nutshell. Ever heard of too many chiefs and not enough Indians? It seems to me that everybody is a sergeant now and there are no officers anymore. That trips me out. Everyone want to run something. Nobody is doing anything. Remember this in the place of employment. It's better to have five, well-paid people who work their ass off for you. People who like their job and want to keep it versus the 25 people who don't give a shit. That's why you make money, while the department of corrections is slowly but surely imploding on itself. It is a time bomb that in five years will go belly up.
That's why private camps are becoming more common. They are the bail-out plan for Florida. They won't agree to release and then supervise inmates. Many states release to a parole/probation setup and the prisoner then pays the state for their care. Not the case in Florida. So they do what I said at the beginning.....they shoot themselves. This is not a specific prison, this is the whole state. This place, this state should stick to tourism....that is what they are good at.
Enough of all that, huh?? Just a small rant for you. Right now I am another burden on this state. Another occupied bunk. Another brick in the wall. One interesting roller-coaster ride. One thing is for sure....this is the first prison I have been to that is laid back and casual. Everyone in the pan-handle is running around and getting nothing done. And they yell and give each other a heart attack. What's so hard about clocking into work and putting your hours in....then go home. Leave your work behind. Spend time with your family. Watch your kids grow up. Save your worrying about where your kids will go to college. Instead, somebody wants to be a hero. They want to punish an inmate even more. They forget that you are already away from your wife, children and a home-cooked meal.
Now, some dudes love this shit. They should be shot. If you truly have nothing on the outside of this fence to live for, then you have truly burned some bridges. And you are a moron. That same person should be spending their time writing loved ones and mending fences. However, they are the ones to harass medical and tie up the staff so when you really do need their medical attention, they are wasting their time on some dick-weed burn out who is trying to bum a low-bunk pass. Yes, this is how it works.
Fucking losers!
I head to medical because I have a tumor in my chest and can't see a nurse because she is busy. Why??? Because some jack-ass is trying to hustle medication so he can sell it on the compound.
Enough.....I know. I said I was done. Now I am. The tumor was benign and not a threat. The treat is some dip-shit ahead of me who pisses off an otherwise nice nurse, by bringing his bullshit ass to medical to waste her time.
Whew!! That was a long rant. I am out!!
I truly wonder about state and government jobs. No wonder our nation is in such turmoil. They continually shoot themselves in the foot. Over and over again. It amazes me.
We are looked at as 'dumb' prisoners. Yet we ran shops, stores, banks, businesses and much more. Instead of even consider suggestions from anyone, they will continue to stumble around like a blind man. For this reason, the prison system is a continuous cluster fuck.
I find it quite entertaining. Who needs cable TV? It's real-life DOC drama. I watch them plant shrubs one day. Next week, they pull them and plan them somewhere else. Or....just never water them and they die the next week.
I feel like I live in the circus. Non-stop clowning around.
Anyways....you wonder where I get some of my ideas from? I know that if a job can be done by 5 people, then why pay 25 to do it?
And that's the system in a nutshell. Ever heard of too many chiefs and not enough Indians? It seems to me that everybody is a sergeant now and there are no officers anymore. That trips me out. Everyone want to run something. Nobody is doing anything. Remember this in the place of employment. It's better to have five, well-paid people who work their ass off for you. People who like their job and want to keep it versus the 25 people who don't give a shit. That's why you make money, while the department of corrections is slowly but surely imploding on itself. It is a time bomb that in five years will go belly up.
That's why private camps are becoming more common. They are the bail-out plan for Florida. They won't agree to release and then supervise inmates. Many states release to a parole/probation setup and the prisoner then pays the state for their care. Not the case in Florida. So they do what I said at the beginning.....they shoot themselves. This is not a specific prison, this is the whole state. This place, this state should stick to tourism....that is what they are good at.
Enough of all that, huh?? Just a small rant for you. Right now I am another burden on this state. Another occupied bunk. Another brick in the wall. One interesting roller-coaster ride. One thing is for sure....this is the first prison I have been to that is laid back and casual. Everyone in the pan-handle is running around and getting nothing done. And they yell and give each other a heart attack. What's so hard about clocking into work and putting your hours in....then go home. Leave your work behind. Spend time with your family. Watch your kids grow up. Save your worrying about where your kids will go to college. Instead, somebody wants to be a hero. They want to punish an inmate even more. They forget that you are already away from your wife, children and a home-cooked meal.
Now, some dudes love this shit. They should be shot. If you truly have nothing on the outside of this fence to live for, then you have truly burned some bridges. And you are a moron. That same person should be spending their time writing loved ones and mending fences. However, they are the ones to harass medical and tie up the staff so when you really do need their medical attention, they are wasting their time on some dick-weed burn out who is trying to bum a low-bunk pass. Yes, this is how it works.
Fucking losers!
I head to medical because I have a tumor in my chest and can't see a nurse because she is busy. Why??? Because some jack-ass is trying to hustle medication so he can sell it on the compound.
Enough.....I know. I said I was done. Now I am. The tumor was benign and not a threat. The treat is some dip-shit ahead of me who pisses off an otherwise nice nurse, by bringing his bullshit ass to medical to waste her time.
Whew!! That was a long rant. I am out!!
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Get High On Life
Prior to traveling to Florida, I was chatting with J.J. He slipped out of the dorm and passed the fence that separates him from us and talked about his love......his love for the Florida sun, the heat, the beach.....more specifically his love for saltwater. He stopped and told me to watch his mother when we were in Florida. He said that I would see her on the beach, the sun would set, and I would see her smile. She would be home. He explained to me that he has the same spirit as his momma. He said, "We are Saltwater Junkies."
He paused. And said it again. Saltwater Junkie. But the second time he added "Get high on life."
He drew this for himself and his momma. I decided to do something with it.
There was a day that J.J. was an addict. A junkie that chased his next high. Those days are in his past. Today he gets high on life.
Tell us about you! Leave a comment here and you will be registered to win a SALTWATER JUNKIE bumper sticker! C'mon......tell us....what brings you joy? True happiness that makes you get HIGH ON LIFE!
He paused. And said it again. Saltwater Junkie. But the second time he added "Get high on life."
He drew this for himself and his momma. I decided to do something with it.
There was a day that J.J. was an addict. A junkie that chased his next high. Those days are in his past. Today he gets high on life.
Tell us about you! Leave a comment here and you will be registered to win a SALTWATER JUNKIE bumper sticker! C'mon......tell us....what brings you joy? True happiness that makes you get HIGH ON LIFE!
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Cancer
Let us not forget the Cancer's out there! (So sorry this is late.)
June 21 - July 22
Symbol: The Crab
Life Pursuit: Constant reassurance and intimacy
June 21 - July 22
Symbol: The Crab
Life Pursuit: Constant reassurance and intimacy
Lead The Way
Celebrating all the Leo's out there!
July 23 - August 22
Symbol: The Lion
Life Pursuit: To lead the way
July 23 - August 22
Symbol: The Lion
Life Pursuit: To lead the way
Monday, August 13, 2012
Crank
Flipping through my handheld, portable am-fm radio the other day.....I heard a Pentecostal preacher state "Church!! You better turn before you burn!" This made me chuckle. Then I remembered another familiar quote....something about all these dudes in prison who "all of a sudden turn to Jesus". And it made me think...."Why is that?" Well......
Even a nice dog will bite when cornered in an alley. I assume that a prisoner invites any option when they feel at the dead end of life. The problem is: once given back his freedom, will he stay rooted in Salvation?
Perhaps instead of pointing out what a prisoner does when up against a wall....maybe you should consider exploring new and alternative options. I will assume you're probably a real responsible parent as well. You want to make sure your child doesn't wind up in prison....deflowering your upstanding family name in the community. Yet in the process, you have become an unapproachable parent. I hope it's OK if your teen turns to God, when they don't feel like they can turn to you.
I don't figure you would like to pull into McDonald's and be told there is no longer a menu for you to choose from. All you can get is a happy meal. Yeah.....your not gonna be real happy about that. So you enjoy having some of your own choices don't you? Yeah....I thought so.
This is not me throwing a jab at you. I'm merely encouraging you to be open to options in any form. I'm currently reading a book called "Crank". No, it's no about engine parts. The book is about the drug. Crank. Crystal meth. Ice. Whatever you want to call it. One of the only drugs you can shoot, smoke, snort, eat or drink. The book refers to it as the MONSTER.
In this book, a teenage girl becomes hooked on the drug. The young girl knows she has a problem, but isn't able to talk to her parents about it. i was a young person on drugs, and couldn't turn to my parents.
My daughter turned 15 just the other day. When I write to her, I often talk to her about things teenagers face. Instead of trying to act like bad doesn't exist, I want to discuss it. I want there to always be open lines of communication.
Right now I am in prison. That makes open lines of communication even harder. So what do I do? Yeah....I turn to God. Unfortunately, I didn't do that before prison. No, I'm the dude who came to prison, but once against the wall, decided I needed some help. And....in doing so, I believe I have found the answers to become a better person.
Please don't take away from my experience with your theory on prisoners who find religion. I didn't find religion....I got saved. Do you understand the difference? That's why I'm free even behind this fence.
If you have a teenager yourself, consider reading the book called "Crank". Perhaps if will open your eyes. I'm trying to open your eyes....in the end if may be your teenager who does instead. My teenager has opened my eyes....perhaps more than anything else in life could. The other day she turned 15. Today I believe God gave her to me to forever change my life. She has made me better. This year, her birthday marked two years since I smoked. I'm not going to say "turn before your burn".....but I will say "turn before you hit that tree!"
HA! HA! Gotcha.
Even a nice dog will bite when cornered in an alley. I assume that a prisoner invites any option when they feel at the dead end of life. The problem is: once given back his freedom, will he stay rooted in Salvation?
Perhaps instead of pointing out what a prisoner does when up against a wall....maybe you should consider exploring new and alternative options. I will assume you're probably a real responsible parent as well. You want to make sure your child doesn't wind up in prison....deflowering your upstanding family name in the community. Yet in the process, you have become an unapproachable parent. I hope it's OK if your teen turns to God, when they don't feel like they can turn to you.
I don't figure you would like to pull into McDonald's and be told there is no longer a menu for you to choose from. All you can get is a happy meal. Yeah.....your not gonna be real happy about that. So you enjoy having some of your own choices don't you? Yeah....I thought so.
This is not me throwing a jab at you. I'm merely encouraging you to be open to options in any form. I'm currently reading a book called "Crank". No, it's no about engine parts. The book is about the drug. Crank. Crystal meth. Ice. Whatever you want to call it. One of the only drugs you can shoot, smoke, snort, eat or drink. The book refers to it as the MONSTER.
In this book, a teenage girl becomes hooked on the drug. The young girl knows she has a problem, but isn't able to talk to her parents about it. i was a young person on drugs, and couldn't turn to my parents.
My daughter turned 15 just the other day. When I write to her, I often talk to her about things teenagers face. Instead of trying to act like bad doesn't exist, I want to discuss it. I want there to always be open lines of communication.
Right now I am in prison. That makes open lines of communication even harder. So what do I do? Yeah....I turn to God. Unfortunately, I didn't do that before prison. No, I'm the dude who came to prison, but once against the wall, decided I needed some help. And....in doing so, I believe I have found the answers to become a better person.
Please don't take away from my experience with your theory on prisoners who find religion. I didn't find religion....I got saved. Do you understand the difference? That's why I'm free even behind this fence.
If you have a teenager yourself, consider reading the book called "Crank". Perhaps if will open your eyes. I'm trying to open your eyes....in the end if may be your teenager who does instead. My teenager has opened my eyes....perhaps more than anything else in life could. The other day she turned 15. Today I believe God gave her to me to forever change my life. She has made me better. This year, her birthday marked two years since I smoked. I'm not going to say "turn before your burn".....but I will say "turn before you hit that tree!"
HA! HA! Gotcha.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
J.J. Moves On
So, I'm standing in a line the other day. Waiting to transfer from one prison to another. The big question...."Where am I going?"
I'm looking around at all these groups of prisoners. Everyone is headed to some 'unknown destination' and they are wondering the same thing. Wait....wait! Here come the guards. They are handing group 'A' a bag lunch and a shank. So, that's the bus to Santa Rosa. Yeah....glad I'm not in that group.
About four hours later I'm on a bus headed out of the Florida pan-handle.
No more inbred rednecks telling me he's gonna put his foot up my ass.
Truth is, I'm learning how to do time. Yeah...I'm learning how to be a convict. No. I know you think I'm referring to the whole 'respect' thing. Becoming a real 'convict' and all.... no....being a convict isn't all that hard. What's hard is calling my little lady and asking for another $20 on my canteen. The trick is to ask without asking. Like dropping hints. Thank God my lady is smart. Keeps me from needing to beg. I drop a hint or two and she picks up on it. Then she says..."Oh, Michael....do you need some money on your canteen?" And I'll be like...."Oh! Well now that you mention it, a 20 would be nice. Thanks honey!" She could play the game back, I suppose. Make me come right out and ask. But, my lady is a sweetheart. She's cool.
So, really I was surprised that I transferred so quickly. Many guys wait a year or more than I did. Again, I think my lady helped me there too. My last prison kept sending me to the box. Nearly every month. And every day they had me in confinement, my lady calls the prison to ask if I'm out yet. Finally, classification staff began to come back and tell me..."Your lady called again. She wants to know if you are "OK".....Are you OK, Mr. Smith?" I'll be like, "Yeah! I'm fine....just hanging out back here!"
After this last time in confinement and all the calls my lady made to the prison, I imagine the Warden probably just said, "Get that mother fucker off this compound!!!"
It's exciting when transferring to a new compound. The whole 'unknown' and 'unexpected' thing. When I got off the bus at Gulf C.I. a few years back the guards said, "Welcome to hell boys." I knew that wasn't a good sign. The other day when I got off the bus at my new camp the guards said, "Welcome to the country club."
Now, they don't actually have an 18-hole golf course, but they do have shuffle board, bocci ball, and air hockey. Perhaps there is a putt-putt green around and I just haven't found it yet. The compound is so big that you would need a golf cart to tour it.
I play guitar, but have not held one in my hands in nearly five years. There is a full band program here. Civilian musicians come once a week and teach music lessons. There are band try-outs later tonight, and then talent shows scheduled throughout the year. A battle-of-the-bands is held. Now, I know better than to carry on about all these new found freedoms. You will all quickly quit feeling sorry for me. **I say that with a smile.**
I am still too far from my loved ones. A tall fence still divides me in person from my family.
I will be able to do my time much easier here, but my goal will always be to go home.
Much love to all my brothers at Wakulla C.I. To the people who have become a part of my life, while doing my time. As you read this, you know who you are. Much love. I will see you on the other side. Stay young, my friend. Hold fast to what you believe in. If life has anything to do with a race, I'm one step closer to the finish line. Right now, I'm on cruise control. The top is down, and I'm off to find the putt-putt green.
PEACE OUT!
I'm looking around at all these groups of prisoners. Everyone is headed to some 'unknown destination' and they are wondering the same thing. Wait....wait! Here come the guards. They are handing group 'A' a bag lunch and a shank. So, that's the bus to Santa Rosa. Yeah....glad I'm not in that group.
About four hours later I'm on a bus headed out of the Florida pan-handle.
No more inbred rednecks telling me he's gonna put his foot up my ass.
Truth is, I'm learning how to do time. Yeah...I'm learning how to be a convict. No. I know you think I'm referring to the whole 'respect' thing. Becoming a real 'convict' and all.... no....being a convict isn't all that hard. What's hard is calling my little lady and asking for another $20 on my canteen. The trick is to ask without asking. Like dropping hints. Thank God my lady is smart. Keeps me from needing to beg. I drop a hint or two and she picks up on it. Then she says..."Oh, Michael....do you need some money on your canteen?" And I'll be like...."Oh! Well now that you mention it, a 20 would be nice. Thanks honey!" She could play the game back, I suppose. Make me come right out and ask. But, my lady is a sweetheart. She's cool.
So, really I was surprised that I transferred so quickly. Many guys wait a year or more than I did. Again, I think my lady helped me there too. My last prison kept sending me to the box. Nearly every month. And every day they had me in confinement, my lady calls the prison to ask if I'm out yet. Finally, classification staff began to come back and tell me..."Your lady called again. She wants to know if you are "OK".....Are you OK, Mr. Smith?" I'll be like, "Yeah! I'm fine....just hanging out back here!"
After this last time in confinement and all the calls my lady made to the prison, I imagine the Warden probably just said, "Get that mother fucker off this compound!!!"
It's exciting when transferring to a new compound. The whole 'unknown' and 'unexpected' thing. When I got off the bus at Gulf C.I. a few years back the guards said, "Welcome to hell boys." I knew that wasn't a good sign. The other day when I got off the bus at my new camp the guards said, "Welcome to the country club."
Now, they don't actually have an 18-hole golf course, but they do have shuffle board, bocci ball, and air hockey. Perhaps there is a putt-putt green around and I just haven't found it yet. The compound is so big that you would need a golf cart to tour it.
I play guitar, but have not held one in my hands in nearly five years. There is a full band program here. Civilian musicians come once a week and teach music lessons. There are band try-outs later tonight, and then talent shows scheduled throughout the year. A battle-of-the-bands is held. Now, I know better than to carry on about all these new found freedoms. You will all quickly quit feeling sorry for me. **I say that with a smile.**
I am still too far from my loved ones. A tall fence still divides me in person from my family.
I will be able to do my time much easier here, but my goal will always be to go home.
Much love to all my brothers at Wakulla C.I. To the people who have become a part of my life, while doing my time. As you read this, you know who you are. Much love. I will see you on the other side. Stay young, my friend. Hold fast to what you believe in. If life has anything to do with a race, I'm one step closer to the finish line. Right now, I'm on cruise control. The top is down, and I'm off to find the putt-putt green.
PEACE OUT!
Monday, August 6, 2012
Super Sweet Art for Super Streetbike
Super Streetbike Magazine (aka SSB) was the very first publication to publish a piece of J.J.'s art! They kindly mailed him the issue that showcases his talent, and invited him to send more. Naturally, another piece was created.......
Friday, August 3, 2012
A Prison Visit
A note from Brooke (the proud friend that types this awesome blog)
As many of you know, I recently traveled to Florida with The MOM and Abby (one of J.J.'s fabulous sisters). I haven't seen my friend Michael in 20 years! I was excited to see the dude that I last saw many years ago as a young boy, my friend at church.
We arrived more than two hours prior to 8:15 a.m., which is the first most important time of the morning. First, upon arrival, you are sure to get your name on "the list". The list of names serves a very important role. The list of names secures your spot. The list of names gets you into the visiting park before the others who trickle in behind you. The list of names protects your visiting time. When you want to maximize the most of the allowed visiting hours, you do not allow somebody else wiggle their way into the line. [And, the regulars are SURE to let those that try to cut in line know their place!]
So, we were sure to get our names on the list. Then, you wait. Around 7:45 a.m. others began to emerge from their cars. Visitor's [ourselves included] began to move towards a small pavilion where that small but mighty piece of paper with the list of names sits under a rock. People are full of smiles, laughter and stories. Everybody was friendly. Everybody was happy. Why wouldn't they be? They too are eagerly awaiting to see somebody who they care about.
As I sat, with my clear Ziploc bag that contained my license and limited amount of allowed money for food, I quickly gathered who were regulars. First, the regulars were sure to welcome each other. They asked about each others life since the last time they gathered in the small pavilion. Next, the regulars were the ones that could spot new visitors and pointed out "the list". And, most of the regulars had invested in clear cosmetic bags to tote their approved visiting goods.
At 8:15 a.m. the guards yell "FIRST FIVE!" The first five names listed head up to the guard station as the others begin to strictly line up in the appropriate order as "the list"dictates. When approaching the guard station, you must provide your driver's license, and finger prints. When approved, they clear you to enter the guard station for a few more steps. We laid out our Ziplock bags, took off our jewelry and shoes and walked through the metal detector. One more stage is cleared.
Next, you enter a small room where another officer pats you down, checks your shoes, makes you shake out your hair and such. Once you have the final approval, you are allowed to enter the visiting park.
When I hear the word "park", I think of color, trees, flowers and a nice path to enjoy a casual afternoon walk. I know, I know. We are at a prison visiting park. I have no idea what I thought I would see, but I remember just standing there for a moment. Dull, grey, cement block walls closed in the small room that hosted 20 worn-down banquet tables. Cracked plastic chairs, each leg wrapped heavily in duct tape to prevent non-traditional weapons.
An officer station greeted your entrance. Several officers perched there in efforts to be able to carefully watch the activity occurring throughout the day's visit. Next to the officer's station, was a solid door that read INMATE RESTROOM. Across the room you could find the restroom's for guests.
We weaved through the worn-down tables and found a place to sit. You could find a few games, crayons and coloring books on a small shelf in the corner. A very small window where you could order your microwavable food, operated by a fellow inmate. Two stands with microwaves for the over-priced microwavable food. And a photography station, also operated by a fellow inmate. A large pavilion outside was fenced in with high barb-wire, electric fencing, but created a visiting area in the fresh air. And a path was worn out in the grass from guests walking with their loved one in circles, creating a place for a nice afternoon stroll together.
No paintings. No color. No trees. No welcome sign.
More than one hour later a line of several inmates entered the visiting park. J.J. rolling in with them. Several other groups of men dressed in blue continued to enter. Before the men are allowed to greet their guests, they must check in with the officer. As soon as they turn around and walk toward their guest, a smile covers their face. Likewise, your face is lit up with a smile.
The four of us quickly got to our visit. Telling stories. Sharing memories. Talking about the future. We drilled J.J. with endless questions spurred by our curiosity of his life behind bars. J.J. left that place behind and told jokes that made us laugh so hard we had tears. His excitement to hang with us poured out of him.
The room quickly became full. Full of men dressed in blue. Full of guests dressed in every day clothes (but clothes that are approved! No white pants, no dresses shorter than your kneecaps, no sleeveless shirts.) And because the room was filled with these people, it was also filled with joy, busting the small room with chatter and laughter.
In the end, it didn't matter that there was no color to the walls and that we sat in busted up, cracked plastic chairs at worn-down tables. It didn't matter that we ate microwaved food. It didn't matter that there was no welcome sign. That room was colored by smiles, happiness and love.
I didn't notice the same things about the park again. All I could see was a room filled with happy people. I will always remember this. I will always remember what I walked away from. And I hope that you can remember this too: a joyful, loving heart can color the world around you.
As many of you know, I recently traveled to Florida with The MOM and Abby (one of J.J.'s fabulous sisters). I haven't seen my friend Michael in 20 years! I was excited to see the dude that I last saw many years ago as a young boy, my friend at church.
We arrived more than two hours prior to 8:15 a.m., which is the first most important time of the morning. First, upon arrival, you are sure to get your name on "the list". The list of names serves a very important role. The list of names secures your spot. The list of names gets you into the visiting park before the others who trickle in behind you. The list of names protects your visiting time. When you want to maximize the most of the allowed visiting hours, you do not allow somebody else wiggle their way into the line. [And, the regulars are SURE to let those that try to cut in line know their place!]
So, we were sure to get our names on the list. Then, you wait. Around 7:45 a.m. others began to emerge from their cars. Visitor's [ourselves included] began to move towards a small pavilion where that small but mighty piece of paper with the list of names sits under a rock. People are full of smiles, laughter and stories. Everybody was friendly. Everybody was happy. Why wouldn't they be? They too are eagerly awaiting to see somebody who they care about.
As I sat, with my clear Ziploc bag that contained my license and limited amount of allowed money for food, I quickly gathered who were regulars. First, the regulars were sure to welcome each other. They asked about each others life since the last time they gathered in the small pavilion. Next, the regulars were the ones that could spot new visitors and pointed out "the list". And, most of the regulars had invested in clear cosmetic bags to tote their approved visiting goods.
At 8:15 a.m. the guards yell "FIRST FIVE!" The first five names listed head up to the guard station as the others begin to strictly line up in the appropriate order as "the list"dictates. When approaching the guard station, you must provide your driver's license, and finger prints. When approved, they clear you to enter the guard station for a few more steps. We laid out our Ziplock bags, took off our jewelry and shoes and walked through the metal detector. One more stage is cleared.
Next, you enter a small room where another officer pats you down, checks your shoes, makes you shake out your hair and such. Once you have the final approval, you are allowed to enter the visiting park.
When I hear the word "park", I think of color, trees, flowers and a nice path to enjoy a casual afternoon walk. I know, I know. We are at a prison visiting park. I have no idea what I thought I would see, but I remember just standing there for a moment. Dull, grey, cement block walls closed in the small room that hosted 20 worn-down banquet tables. Cracked plastic chairs, each leg wrapped heavily in duct tape to prevent non-traditional weapons.
An officer station greeted your entrance. Several officers perched there in efforts to be able to carefully watch the activity occurring throughout the day's visit. Next to the officer's station, was a solid door that read INMATE RESTROOM. Across the room you could find the restroom's for guests.
We weaved through the worn-down tables and found a place to sit. You could find a few games, crayons and coloring books on a small shelf in the corner. A very small window where you could order your microwavable food, operated by a fellow inmate. Two stands with microwaves for the over-priced microwavable food. And a photography station, also operated by a fellow inmate. A large pavilion outside was fenced in with high barb-wire, electric fencing, but created a visiting area in the fresh air. And a path was worn out in the grass from guests walking with their loved one in circles, creating a place for a nice afternoon stroll together.
No paintings. No color. No trees. No welcome sign.
More than one hour later a line of several inmates entered the visiting park. J.J. rolling in with them. Several other groups of men dressed in blue continued to enter. Before the men are allowed to greet their guests, they must check in with the officer. As soon as they turn around and walk toward their guest, a smile covers their face. Likewise, your face is lit up with a smile.
The four of us quickly got to our visit. Telling stories. Sharing memories. Talking about the future. We drilled J.J. with endless questions spurred by our curiosity of his life behind bars. J.J. left that place behind and told jokes that made us laugh so hard we had tears. His excitement to hang with us poured out of him.
The room quickly became full. Full of men dressed in blue. Full of guests dressed in every day clothes (but clothes that are approved! No white pants, no dresses shorter than your kneecaps, no sleeveless shirts.) And because the room was filled with these people, it was also filled with joy, busting the small room with chatter and laughter.
In the end, it didn't matter that there was no color to the walls and that we sat in busted up, cracked plastic chairs at worn-down tables. It didn't matter that we ate microwaved food. It didn't matter that there was no welcome sign. That room was colored by smiles, happiness and love.
I didn't notice the same things about the park again. All I could see was a room filled with happy people. I will always remember this. I will always remember what I walked away from. And I hope that you can remember this too: a joyful, loving heart can color the world around you.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
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