Old School

There’s an old dude that sings a song about “keeping on rocking in the free world.” His name is Neil Young and he was some sort of a freedom-fighter in his day. I keep on tilling my own garden and blazing my own trail…… that doesn’t make a hero but rather, an individual. I prefer the term “independent”. 

While the other boys were playing football in the yard or piled on the couch with Nintendo, I enjoyed digging up bullets in the police shooting range. I rode my bicycle with a fishing pole strapped across my handle-bars. 

We were told to go outside and play and when it was dinner time Dad would step outside and whistle for us. He did that two fingers in the mouth “loud-whistle” that they use at concerts and when your favorite team scores a touchdown. When you heard Dad whistle, you knew it was time to get on home. I guess parents just text the kids now or send them a message on Facebook. Since the chances are their kids are somewhere in the house, holding some electronic device. 

Yard darts and pogo-sticks have been replaced by toys less likely to poke your eye out. 

I learned most of the stuff I know by watching my Dad or the neighbor man. Parents had to set some sort of example since their kids were watching them. Now their kids are too busy learning the rules from Google and YouTube. Times have changed since I was young. 

I hear about cars that will drive themselves and robots that will clean your home. It’s these kids who are google babies that love those ideas. More time for them to “surf the web” or whatever they do. No thanks! 

I want my own hand on the wheel, top-down, cruising the road with the radio on. Oh Yeah…I can plug up on Mp3 to the car and listen to my own playlist. No more commercials. OK, so technology does have some perks. 

It scares me to hand over more and more of my “hand on the wheel” for something else handling my business. I’m just not a fan of that. 

My lady tells me the other day she walked 7 miles before noon. I asked her how she knew? She replied that her IPhone tracks her movement and lets her know how far she’s traveled. If your phone tracks you, then so can anyone else who can get into your phone’s data….You can call ME on my old school Nokia. 

Don’t track me nowhere with a GPS. You can find me at the end of a dirt road. Track me to the lake…sitting at the end of the dock with my baby watching a sunset. Follow my fishing line from the bobber to the boat….where I’ll be chilling. 

And when you text me -- expect a real live call back. If you don’t have time for me, then I won’t have time for you. 

Three years and I’ll be home Momma. Keep the light on. 

Merry Christmas From the Other Side of the Fence

I believe the holiday is perhaps the hardest time of the year for people doing time.  Our families all have someone missing at their table.  My mother is missing her oldest son.  Others are missing a brother and a child is missing a dad.

My loved ones do my time right alongside me.  They feel the weight of my sentence each day just as I do.  A very special wish to each of the people who love me enough to help pull me through this time in my life.

My brother and sisters, you are the best.  Brooke, you amaze me, thank you for your love.  Mom, I'm getting better all the time.  And to my daughter Taylor, remember the apple and quit being late to first period!!
Love, Michael

Well, it's that time of year again where...thanks to a very special group of people who care (friends) I get to send my lady a shout out and let her know how much I appreciate her and all she does for me.

Jennifer, I love you and thank you for the gift of love, respect, support and strength that you continue to give me.  Words cannot describe what you have come to mean to me...a toast!!!  To our future, Merry Christmas Love.

Mom...what love and patience you have with me.  you will always be my #1 gal!!  My gift for you is yet to come...I ask that you have just a little more patience with me.  Lots of love, hugs and kisses until then will have to do...remember I love you and am always thinking of you.  Merry Christmas mom.

P.S. Boruch Hashem Larry!!!  Have a blessed CHANUKAH!!  Always your brother.
Love, Michael

Another year over with.  That much closer to home.  Finally, my last Christmas in prison.  I want to wish you all a very special holiday season and know that you are all in my prayers.  This time next year we can all sit down, eat, drink and be merry!!  To my awesome family -- Merry Christmas!
Love, Benny

I want to first thank the Lord for the gentleman and his loved one for making this all possible -- thank you so much.  Everyone on this site is very grateful.  There are angels in prison.  My heart goes out to all of my loved ones who have endured this trial.  We've all been through so much together.  This Christmas I am so thankful for all the letters, pictures and support I've received.  Thank you, dad, for being my roc in here.  Thank you, grandma, for being my prayer.  I love you so much.  Thank you, Camille, for being the best sister every.  I'm going to take you gator hunting when I get home.  Sorry I didn't do all the outdoor things with you like I should have.  Nina and Dom, wow how you've both grown!  I can't wait to see you both.  Kimberly, what a true friend.  I love you.  Awesome pictures -- Melina is so big.  Merry Christmas, Shannon!  Thank you for being there for my grandma.  To Graclyn and your family, I pray that you and your family receive an overflow of rewards and love from heaven. Merry Christmas, Graclyn, your a"Amen".  I'm so blessed this Christmas.  I have a beautiful family with so much kindness -- thank you all!
Love, Jason

Dad & Terry,
Merry Christmas!  I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year.  You all have done the greatest thing for me since I've been in prison -- you all never, never left my side through the bad and good times.  You help me get through my problems I never thought I could get through.  I can't express all the love you've given me and always will.  I will see you all soon.  Thank you for being there.
Your son, James P.

Dear Family & Friends,
Mom and Bill, you are my rock!  Don't know where or who I would be in this life without you guys.  Remember always always.  To those who are apart of my life from sending pictures of food and kicking my butt in Uno to those you pray for me.  Thank you for ALL of you support over these long years.  Those who have come and gone through my life, I hope I helped you as much as you helped me in going through this plan God has for me.  Those of you who struggle with addictions, depression or bad relationships, this is not the end.  Stand tall and take control of your life.  If you need a friend, I'm here.  Thank you Mike and Brooke for doing this awesome project.  God Bless.  Have a wonderful time with your loved ones celebrating the coming of Christ.
Merry Christmas, Phillip

This is the third year running now that I'm giving this shout-out.  To all of you....and hopefully the last.  Things are looking good and with any luck I will be home for the holidays next year to  celebrate as a free man.  I love you all and Merry Christmas!
Love, Chris

Dear Naida,
I want to take the time to let you know how much I appreciate you in every way.  I want you to know that I love and miss ya'll so much.  And that you and my baby girl mean the world to me.  I hope you can understand that ya'll are who I think about day and night.  And that ya'll are the best thing that every happened to m.  I wish ya'll a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Love Forever & Always, Marquis

Dear Mom,
Thank you for all your hard work.  I could not do this time without your support.  I just wanna say you're the best and that I am sorry I am not there.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Love, Your Son, Derek

To my family, my friends and my love,
I hope that you are all having the times of your life.  Enjoy this Christmas and have a Happy New Year!  I love and miss all ya'll and I'm always thinking of you.  Sarah, I love you so much and hope that you can make the best of this.  Thank you for all of your support and helping me wake up every day.  I miss and love you with all my heart.
Love, Mike

Laughter

Dad used to tell this story about my mom.  They went to get ice cream and mom tried to pass some sort of slushie through the window.  When it wouldn't fit, mom simply turned it sideways at which time the lid came off and the content spilled down the inside of the door. 

The story always made people laugh, at my moms expense.  Yet any time the story was told, my mother laughs hysterically, right along with everyone.  And that's the woman I call mom.  Seldom offended and quick to laugh, even if at herself. 

I was currently locked in the box for 45 days.  When I come to confinement I have my loved ones send me paper, envelopes and some crossword puzzles.  I don't ask for Sudoku because I don't get how to do them.

After being in the box that first week my packet showed up.  I smiled, then opened it.  Enclosed were the envelopes and stamps I needed, along with a pile of Sudoku puzzles.  Well, I used that paper and envelopes to write home to my lady and remind her it was CROSSWORDS I love to do.....

A few more days pass waiting on the pony express and the next packet arrives. I eagerly open it to find even more Sudokus.  Somewhat frustrated I none-the-less sit down and decide "screw it"....I will figure these things out.  The directions state:

1.  Each horizontal row shown in pink contains each digit exactly once.
2.  Each vertical column shown in yellow contains each digit exactly once.
3.  Each sub-grid or region shown in green contains each digit exactly once. 

Well, I think.  It's color coded so this shouldn't be that hard to figure out.  Some nice, easy, simple directions.  The only problem is that my sweet lady printed them off in black and white.  For some reason I suddenly pictured a slushie sliding down the inside of a window.  What we have here is a classic in the making.

And, it is the little things like this that keep me sane.  At the end of the day, even better than a Sudoku puzzle is real laughter.  Thank you so my lady and my mom for the best gift of all!  :)

Lines

Shits crazy.  Dude asked me the other day how long I've been making art.  I told him only a couple of years.  He asked me what I did before that. 

Before that I was leveling dirt piles with a front-end loader and smoking crack.  The only art I drew were lines across a mirror, then I snorted them.  I still draw lines, just a very different type.  Sure, there's the art, but I draw many lines.  I draw line between me and people I don't like.  There's a nice thick line between me and drugs and the lines just as thick between me and my ex-wife. 

I live in a place full of worthless people.  I'm in the bottom of a septic tank of stink.  It would probably blow my mind had I not been surrounded by much the same even before prison.  Watching people melt dope in a spoon, then pull it into a needle.  Find a vein and plunge themselves into bliss.  If that's what you call it.  A world where your children and the people who truly love you no longer exist.  I sit in a life behind bars and somehow manage to make myself better.  I feel for those who are still chasing an escape from a life they feel has betrayed them.  Mr. T use to say "I pity the fool."  I was once that fool.

Today, I live, eat and sleep around people who spend every cent their hard-working families send to them on drugs.   The prison system is full of that K-2 synthetic marijuana stuff.  It's a chemical mixed up in sprayers and then sprayed over a mixture of herbs or parsley.  Once dried, it's then rolled up and smoked like weed.  Except it's far from a natural high.  You're inhaling a chemical that smells like burning tires.  This is a newly designed drug that fucks people up and nobody know the long-term effects of yet.  Like the idiots they are, these guys line up and smoke it up.  Addicts on the street come to prison and live the same way here.  Their families have no idea their loved one spends all their money on dope.  They think their loved one is treating himself to a hot sandwich or a cold ice cream.  Instead, that 50 bucks Johnny gets is paid to the dope man.  When that money runs out, old Johnny then begins to rob others to support this habit. 

So a guy doing time has to watch his back for guys like Johnny.  He's either trying to take your shit, or he's high and unpredictable.  He may just punch you in your shit.  That's the life I navigate each day.

Today, I draw a lot of lines.  Some are drawn on papers and let me express myself in the form of art.  Other lines have been drawn separating me from people in my past who held me back.  I make decisions and walk a line between good and bad.  When in Rome, do as the Romans do.  Still, I don't want to act like the guys I live with, so there are lines to draw here. 

When I'm released from prison, I will have given them 10 years of my life.   A lot of shit happens in 10 years.  I grew up here.  I got free from drugs here.  My daughter came back into my life here.  I reconnected with my childhood friend here, who now helps me do this project and my time.  I picked up a talent here and it's my art that will support my family when I come home. 

Life is what you choose to make of it.  This place don't own me, I run this shit. 

  

Rust Bucket

The fair just came to town.  Bringing with it the drunk and drugged carnies shouting taunts to passerbys.  "Step right up and throw this 8 inch basketball through this 6 inch hoop."  If you could actually do that you wouldn't be a the fair trying to win a pink teddy bear and a gold fish.  Your name would be David Blane and you would have your own TV series.   

Ironically the fair came to Grand Rapids, Michigan.  Can someone make an ice ball and hit that jackass carnie in the face?  That would no doubt be easier than tossing a ring in to the top of a fishbowl that's half a mile away.  All the while your trying to concentrate the carnie is talking shit to you. 

When I heard the fair was in town I was surprised.  There's still icicles hanging on the power lines.  Perhaps the fair coming to town spells HOPE the residents of Michigan. 

God sent a dove with a branch to Noah to let him know land was near.  Then he gave a rainbow to show he would never again flood the earth.  Now we have earthquakes and landslides instead.  Still, these iconic messages have spelled out hope for a brighter day.  If you throw your dog a bone, then I guess you throw Michigan a fair.  Seems like a sick joke to me.

I told a friend the other day my relationship with my lady was build Ford tough...my friend lives in Michigan where the salt on the roads has ate half the rear fender and the bottoms off all four doors.

So immediately after I made that statement to him I had to point out I was referring to a Ford truck from Florida.

As my lady read this she will no doubt be preparing to question why she's been referred to as a Ford pickup.  A good truck boils down to the rear end and the towing package.  I want a 4X4 that can get the job done.

I believe the life expectancy of the long-distance relationship is probably comparable to the time it will take me to orgasm after 10 years without sex.  Still, my lady and I keep truckin' along.  She's probably happy with the arrangement.  I get to tell her nice things, listen to all she has to say and be moral support.  All without me poking her in the butt with morning wood, trying to get a quickie and kissing on her with morning breath.  I in turn know I have a shiny new Ford parked in the storage waiting for me to drive.  Come on baby, you did know that was part of the deal...."didn't you?!?"

We live in a world where relationships fail every day.  With that in mind, I would like to salute all those women who faithfully stand by your man.  "To have and to hold until death do us part."  Some of us don't have that luxary.  Hold your partner a little closer if you do. 

Keeping it Real with Rabbi

It's funny that in life you can run into so many that claim to "keep it real" but it's usually just that...a claim.  Nothing more.  Words that vanish into thin air as soon as they leave the lips.  Then....a diamond in the rough.  Someone you never thought of surprises you by keeping it real.

Let me share with you a story that need to be told.  A story of recognition, love, trust and undying loyalty.

Live can be difficult enough being a Jew, but event more so when you are an incarcerated one...like me.   See, being a Jew (a "practicing" Jew) is hard work in prison.  Lots of institutional rules and regulations have to be followed.  So, of course, one stands out like a sore thumb (that's me!).  Anyhow, eating kosher in prison is not the easiest thing to accomplish.  Especially in Florida.  So it's extremal sensitive during the High Holidays: Purim, Passover, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Chanukah.  These are just to name a few where special needs and foods are required.  It can be frustrating and, at times, be a real juggling act considering how many people we must depend on to "keep it real". 

A month before Passover we (the 8 or so Jews) are in a mad dash to have all necessary items for the first Seder (meal) of Passover...how do we accomplish this feat?  Well, first we must receive permission/approval from the Chaplin.  Then the Warden.  And then, it's our (Jewish Community) responsibility to find someone to donate the foods along with someone who will donate their time.  Finding someone to donate their time can be the hardest part.  This person needs to be willing to use their time to deliver donated items on a specific day or risk having it being rejected.  That is a major headache and very stressful for whomever this falls on.

The shlepping (driving around) this year happens to be my girl, Jennifer (pictured below with me).

As Rabbi, I speak with the weight and voice of the whole Jewish Community when I say...."THANK YOU!"  Thank you for all that you do for me and all of my brothers.  You honor me, Jennifer, and I appreciate you more than words can ever describe on paper.  Through all this, baby girl, you still find the time to doll yourself up and come see my sorry ass every weekend.  There is something to be said about that. 

Do you have a diamond in the rough?  If so, pick up that pen, or phone, or mouse and you keep it real for a change.

~ The Rabbi ~ 

P.S. Today's Mitzvot: "A Psalm" in Hebrew means "To Remind".  So, remind the ones who stand by your side how much they mean to you!  

Concrete Jungle

I've been reading a  lot about the TV series Orange Is The New Black. 

Entertainment Magazine has raved about it.  Then my sister began watching it.  Brooke (the typist) has followed the show as well.  It sounds like they give an accurate account of life behind bars.

There's always violence.  People click up together.  Whether it's actual "gang activity" or rather just a group of Spanish dudes, or black dudes, or white dudes.  Sometimes guys click together that are from the same town.  They refer to each other as the home team. 

Not all of these groups are bad.  The Spanish click gets together and play soccer.  The black click gets together and robs people.  And the white click get together and get high.  Sure, you can say that I'm stereotyping, but this is not an opinion.....it is how about 90% of the guys get together and what they do.  There will always be variables.  Prison is a melting pot of a large group of people. 

I understand that Orange Is The New Black follows a woman's journey from street life to prison life.  You take a journey as you get to know her and see her live life as a prisoner. 

Prison will change you.  In many ways it's helped me.  I don't use drugs, I don't like them and I have direction in my life.  In the same token, I used to be a non-violent guy who just wanted to be high.  Prison caused me to change that about myself.  Now, I'm sober and when pushed have to remind myself not to push back.   

You have to remember fights here don't have referees to call the fight.  When you fight here one guys fighting to kill the other and the other is fighting to survive.  This whole world is concrete and steel.  Before long one guy is straddling the other while he smashes his head over and over again into the floor.  Sometimes one guy is completely unconsciousness and is still being beat on.  There are no rules.  Not just that, but prison makes ordinary men into killers.

One person sees blood and it causes a gag reflex.  To others it causes a frenzy and awakens an inner rage that is uncontrollable.  One man might hit the other in the nose and he sees his own blood and he decides to stop.  The thing he thought was real important is all of a sudden not such a big deal.  Then you hit another man in the mouth and he licks his lip, tastes the blood and smiles.  Now he's ready to get down to business. 

When faced with a confrontation in prison, you have about three seconds to decide if it's important enough to put your life on the line for it.  Do you believe in it enough that you would die for it?  Because the other person just might. 

There are times when one man wins.  But later that night the loser comes back and stabs him in his sleep.  That's one reason when you decide to fight you, you fight until either the cops come and you go the confinement, or you fight until someone is headed to medical.  That way you are separated and don't have to sweat the other dude killing you in your sleep.

I think it is important that the free world understands life in here.  You think of Afghanistan and Pakistan as war zones and hostile environments.  You have a battle zone in a location near you.  That prison down the road from you had brutal fights, stabbings, rapes and murders.  They will conceal it all on that side of their fence.  You and the general public will never know about it.  They will lie and cover it up as an accident.

Prison is it's own world behind these fences.  I think it's good there are shows that depict what really goes on back here.  We call it the concrete jungle and that just about sums it up.  

Rocking in the Free World

"Keep on rocking in the free world..."that's what Neil Young advises and it makes me smile every time I hear it.  The first time I heard that song I was a teen in high school, attending Roscommon High and I thought I was rocking back then.  Today I'm 35 and I'm rockin' for real.  Even behind rows are razor-wire and a world away from the definition of a "free world".  

During my first year of incarceration I had a hard time.  Each day beat me down and kicked my ass.  My head was still on the streets and refusing to accept the idea my life was going to change drastically.  Over the last six years I have accepted where I am and what I have to do here.  I'm paying a debt back to society so that once I walk out of here I owe no man anything.

The day I walk out of here, I will truly be rocking in the free world.  I came to prison a 27-year old dude who didn't know too much.  I'll walk out of here a 40-year old who know a few things.  The biggest being freedom is priceless.

My future plans are to stay a little closer to home.  Keep my loved ones a little closer and steer clear of the strip club.  I think I'll be spending more time chillin' on a dirt road and less time in a bar.  Barbeques and bonfires and acoustic guitars....that's me all day.  That wasn't me at 27.  A lot has changed since then.

My dad just came to visit me.  I look at him and wonder if I'll be just like him.  No, I'll be even better.  I had to lose it all to gain the world.  I let this situation make me better. 

Love like there is no tomorrow.  Life gives us no promises other than we will one day die.  The man with the most toys shall not win.  The man with the best memories will.  

Beer, Beaches & Root Canals

Just over a year ago I wrote about the trip I took to go get X-rays on my teeth in preparation for a root canal surgery.  I guess there was plenty of preparation needed as it took them just over a full year to perform the repair.  They had told me a year before that I would need a root canal.  The alternative would be extraction.  I'm just now 35 and I really don't want half my teeth missing when I come home.  Call me vain if you like, but I'm quite proud of my smile and besides I'm a big fan of steak and prime rib.  I don't want to be gumming them when I finally get to sit down to a T-bone and a cold Bud Light. 

As stated earlier this was a repeat of the road trip I took over a year ago.  Shackles, strip search, a trip in a van with security officers and finally to the surgery.

You have to think, if your tooth give you a problem, you call, make an appointment and get results.  I began to feel as if they were trying to corral me into pulling it.

At last the surgery was performed and I felt a wave of happiness.  I shook the doctors hand and told him thank you.  I brush and floss after each meal.  I am a health conscience person and knowing I have some funk in my mouth was unsettling at the least.  I truly feel repaired.  Not to mention, I just had a $2500 surgery on you.  Well, you're the taxpayer here.

I paid a $5 co-pay.  I feel like a million bucks.  So, I wanted to tell you thank you! You helped pay for my surgery and I'm one happy dude.  I would like to point out I have been paying taxes through employment since I was 15 years old.  Truly I don't feel bad about finally taking advantage of a benefit.  Still, I'm real blessed to have this thing done.

My countdown continues.  Six year here in prison.  Only four left.  And really, I'm just under that.  Time is rolling past.  I remember having those perfect days in the free world.  The sun shining, you're on a beach soaking up the sun, the seagulls are flying overhead and the waves gently come ashore.  You sit there and wish time could stand still.  Well.....right now I pray them Godspeed.   

May the days pass quickly and bring the day that I will once again pray for time to stand still.

Freedom Music

I won't be going to AA this week.  For a minute I thought about it, but then decided to stay home and play chess.  Chess motivates my mind.  I am strategizing to outsmart my opponent.  None of these things are on the mind of someone who is high or an addict. 

Seems like every time I go to class, I end up sitting in a circle with a bunch of dudes scared to death of drugs and alcohol.  All they talk about is this fear and never really move to any solution other than come back to class.  Once you quit class you'll relapse and begin using again.  I haven't been to class in nearly six weeks and I'm playing one hell of a game to chess.  Not to mention I now teach guitar to a group of eight prisoners who are learning to play an instrument for the first time in their life.  We sit around and laugh, learn and find peace in music.

Now that's being rehabilitated.  We don't talk about drugs and fears in music class.  We overcome all the negativity by not focusing on it, but rather putting our focus on freedom through music.  For this very reason the music program has been titled The Freedom Music Program.  The beauty of this project is not just the music for me, but the chance to truly change my life.  To walk away with a sense of accomplishment after I have taught someone how to free their mind.  What I found is a different way to change my life and rehabilitate myself. 

When I see these men pick up their guitar, I see a smile stretch across their face as well.  I'm reminded of the first time I sat in the music program and picked up a guitar and made music.  Most prisons do not offer a music program.  I spend five years in Department of Corrections before I made it to this prison where they have music.  Even then, they nearly closed the program just a few months ago.  What a blessing that God had different plans. 

The recidivism numbers are what they are because Florida prisons have removed most of their programs designed to help inmates.  You can teach a man to build a cabinet, repair an A.C. unit and treat waste-water.....but if he still has anger issues and institutional mental setbacks, he'll probably re-offend and be sent back.  Look at the percentage of recidivism. 

Now put a little music in that man's life...let him find some peace while he's out there struggling at his 9 to 5 and see how that mix works.  I mean why not try something new?  What they're doing now isn't working out. During the six some year I've been incarcerated, I can't count how many people I have seen leave and go home.  Only to come back a year later. 

I don't want to be that guy.  Right now I'm finding a reward by teaching music.  I'm finding peace through giving my knowledge of music to another man and helping him find his very own peace.  It truly is better to give than to receive.  I believe in music and given a chance I believe music will prove itself valuable to the rehabilitation of prisoners.  I know what it's done for me.

  

Glass House

My whole world took a flip.  How did all this stuff happen?  Five and a half years ago I was a selfish dude who cared only about myself.  You and your feelings rated a big 0 on my meter.  My life was a kill-zone where I was the victim.  Self-medicating had me by the balls. Then bang!!

A judge sentenced me to prison and slingshots me into another world.  I'm still trippin'.  I mean....the world is full of haters who haven't even met me but don't like me.  "Innocent" until proven guilty is a myth.  That shit don't exist.  So I'm glad there are so many people out there playing God.  I used to smoke rocks, now I'm ducking trying not to get knocked the fuck out. 

Somebody must be looking out for me.  I mean my old crew from the street is still using dope, just like they were when I left five years ago.  Some really fell on bad times and are currently pushing daisies. 

Me?  I got a second chance.  The opportunity to get clean and repair all the shit I broke.  And I messed up a super-sized bunch of shit.  Don't think for a second I don't think about it either.  Not a day goes past when I'm not reminded of the skeletons in my closet.

Sobriety is both a blessing and a curse.  The curse being that until you address and begin to repair your faults, there is a lot of guilt.  After all, your not self-medicating and that shit hurts.  Unless your just a piece of shit and don't care.  In which case you probably won't stay sober long, cause sobriety is as much for the people who love you as it is for yourself.  Yeah, think about that.  

So here I was last week, playing my guitar and singing.  I stepped up to the microphone and looked out at nearly 300 prisoners.  Then, setting on the front row was the warden, the head of classification and a handful of officers.  This was the first time I have performed sober and the first time in five years I have played and sang. 

I needed to do this.  For me.  There will come a day that I am free.  Another day after that I will face some hurdle that in the moment will seem to big to cross.  On that day, I will remember me, an acoustic guitar and the day I stood tall.  The day I stood alone. 

I will smile, realizing whatever silly thing I'm up against isn't' shit compared to what I've been through in my life.  The thing that didn't kill me did indeed make me stronger.

David defeated Goliath with just one stone.  However, David had the power of God behind his sling.  I can't help but believe there is a greater purpose to my life.  I'm blessed.  You're reading a blog that is made possible because of you, the reader, and the people who believe in me. 

After my performance last week I felt exhilarated.  My level of confidence in myself has grown.  The other day I was asked to teach in the next music class.  My confidence was noticed and opened a door for me.

Over my lifetime I have seen many doors close.  Quite amazing to now see them opening.  Perhaps God is behind my sling as well.  As long as hes' not behind the rocks being thrown at me, I'll be plenty happy.

Blog Tips from your Jailbird Friend

I think a blog is a lot like a bird feeder. 

It takes time to establish your feeder. 

If you run out of seed the birds find a new place to dine.  

Once they find a new feeder it takes time to bring them back to yours.

The more activity at your feeder lets the other birds know that you have a great menu.  

Could I interest you in some bird seed?    

35

The other week I spent a three-day weekend visiting the woman who made me. 

J.J. and his momma!

 
Thirty-five years ago this month I was born in a small farm house in southern Indiana.  During my visit with mom she told me the story of the day I was born.

I was born a natural-birth at my parents home.  To this day, my mother remembers every detail and I have her tell me my story every year.  It's a tradition for us.

A lot of water has passed under the bridge in the past 35 years.  Many times I have nearly drowned.  Yet through it all my mother has loved me unconditionally.  I have nothing but respect and love for the woman who gave me life.

We talked about everything from motorcycles and tattoos to children and growing old.  I hate that my mother has to come to this place to see me, but I needed this place to become the man I am today.  Mom know this.  She finally (at my insistence) has quit trying to take the blame for my mistakes in life.  I don't see mistakes, but rather a journey that has shaped the man I am today.  There was a time in my life when I lived to be accepted by my friends.  I did what everyone was doing.  Today, I am firmly rooted and cannot be moved.  I walk my own path and march to my own drum.  Quite often what I find is others following my lead.  This is a blessing and a curse I think.....

Flattering to see some days and yet a constant reminder to watch each step I take.  Through the blog, I have put my life and my journey through prison out there where everyone can watch.  In some way it's become my accountability and my reason to walk the line.  Something we all need at times.

Along the way I see plenty of people who could use a little of this same medicine.  Here I am the prisoner, the convicted felon.  The one everyone want to watch.  Yet when I look at some of my own people, I wish they could find the same peace I have.

I encourage you to watch me.  Especially if you don't like me.  One day I'm going to change your mind about me.  Just remember that I see you too.  Life isn't a one-way street.  I'm still a son and a dad.  On top of that I'm a big brother.  If you're my family then I'm watching you too.....if you're married to my sister, I'm watching you extra close.

I'm not the only one who's accountable here folks.  :)  You are too!

A friend of mine has a tattoo that reads:  "If I know you, I fuck with you.  If I don't know you, then fuck you."

I'm not quite as harsh as my friend is.

Mom, thank you for loving me.  Only a couple more visits and I'll be home.  :)  Four more Thanksgivings and I'll be there with everyone to celebrate.   

From our side of the fence to yours.....

Razor Wire

I had plans today to spend time working out.  Then, to my dismay they closed the reck-yard early.  Word is they were performing a mock escape to check their response system.  They take an inmate and have him head off through the woods.  As some point they release the blood hounds on him and track him down.

Dogs are kept on every compound that are trained to track humans.  From time-to-time they put together these mock escapes to see what their reaction time is.  Just like fire-drills and such.  Just another aspect of prison life. 

So reck was closed early to allow the staff to be involved in this training exercise.  This made me chuckle.  Why go over the fence when Florida Department of Corrections is letting them right out the front gate? 

Just a few weeks ago Florida made major news headlines when they mistakenly released two prisoners who forged documents stating they were free to go.  (Click the link to read the story from CNN.)  Among the bogus signatures used was Judge Belvin Perry's signature, the head circuit court judge from Orange County Florida.  The same judge who found Casey Anthony not guilty of the murder of her young child.  Ironically the same judge who sentenced me to my current prison sentence. 

The general public probably doesn't have much idea the intricate fence system that surrounds this establishment.  If you could sell all the steel for scrap metal that hangs on posts around here you would be set for life.  Most people have seen the barbs that are on typical barbed wire.  Most farms have it and if you have ever been tangled in it then you know it's good for a small prick and tearing your clothes up.  Prisons use razor wire.  Little razors stuck every six inches along the main coil. 

There are rolls and rolls of this wire stretched to overlap the next that surround the entire prison.  If you ever managed to get over the fence, you would bleed out within twenty or thirty feet of the fence. 

No dogs needed to track that.  You just follow the blood trail.

There was a time when I fist came to prison that the fence was all I saw.  I never saw it as a possible escape.  Instead you see no hope.  There is no hope of going over that thing.  Once you've done some time, that fence becomes nothing more than the horizon.  It's like walking past the mailbox at the end of your drive.  It's there, but it's nothing other than a fixture in this landscape.

My grandad use to tell me good fences make good neighbors.  He didn't have any fences.  Then again he also owned the 20-acres that surrounded his home.  I haven't decided my final thoughts on fences yet.  It's still an open topic for me.  I'll probably do like grandpa and buy the 20 acres that surround me.

In some way or another we all have fences in our lives.  Some keep people in, some keep people out.  Of course, not all fences are made of metal either.

My Experience at Alcholics Anonymous

Today is Monday.  The day I go to A.A.

This was my third week in the meeting and I feel it has already helped me.  Sometimes it's good to hear form people who have it worse than you do.  Other times, it's just talking about a topic that clears things up for me.  At times, I find the very answer I was struggling to come to terms with. 

We need to talk.  When we do, we like someone to listen.  Last week went good for me. 

I applied some of what I learned in group to my life.  When presented with a problem, I addressed that problem rather than let it grow into a mountain that slowly pushed me out of character. 

It amazes me how many people are here in prison that don't use their voice.  They sit down, shut up and just digest the constant pile of shit they are fed.  We are supposedly criminals.  Gangsters who broke the law for one reason or another.  Yet all of a sudden here we become someone who forgets there is a set of nuts that hangs between our legs.  Perhaps those nuts have puckered up and crawled into the ass.  Like a dog with his tail between his legs. 

Prison is a dog-eat-dog environment and you better believe that when you sit down on your bunk and squat to pee, these men notice.  In my attempt at becoming a man who can stay sober, then lead my family....I need to make sure I have a set of balls between my legs. 

Often times I tell my lady we are in the hardest part of our relationship.  If this life of separation doesn't break us and pull us apart, then neither will the free world.  Most people go through the honeymoon stage and after a few years push comes to shove and two people who started a life together fall apart.  If you can stand together through a fence and the miles that separate, then you can stand through life.  This is what I tell my lady. 

Likewise, if in this world of gangsters and big dogs you can hold your own.  If you can stand tall and not be moved.  If you can hold fast to everything you live in here.  Then you will be a success on the street in the real world. 

This is what I have taken from my short time in A.A. 

No, I'm not using drugs.  I am clean.  But I'm realizing there are many other fates a man can encounter other than drugs.  My life will be a struggle.  As an addict I caused my brain to demand drugs.  I altered my state of mind and now I will walk through life having to keep a close eye on things that could become a trigger and cause me to relapse.  That small problem, that goes  unaddressed, becomes a mountain could soon enough cause me to slip and fall.  So, I'm learning to stand up and hold fast to what I love. 

Not only do I want to stay clean, I want to love and lead my family.  In order to do that, I have to put life in perspective.  I'm sure A.A. meetings take on different meaning for every man that attends. 
Drugs steal your pride, your dignity and the balls that hang between your legs.  You live a life of shame.  Being a slave to a vice sucks.  I'm proud to be a leader.  A man who my lady can look to for advice and my mother can be proud to have as a son. 

My life will have struggles, but I know how to handle them as well.  It's this very thing that causes me to live life as if there could be no tomorrow.  Perhaps you should do the same.

The Rabbi's Unpleasant Day at the Visiting Park

A guest post from The Rabbi:

Recently I had the uncomfortable and unpleasant experience of going to the visiting park with my family during one of the department's "brain child" ideas on how to get involved with kids who have an incarcerated parent.

First, a mandatory viewing of the Sesame Street video that all inmates had to watch was played.  Now at first glance one might say "WOW!".  A huge non-profit organization like Sesame Street is involved....it's got to be positive, right?   Well, read on and you be the judge of the first-hand experience I had.

It started as soon as visitor's pulled into the compound.  The suited stiff's were there to meet and greet our loved ones.  People our loved ones would generally never see or talk to (especially if it involved the well being of said incarcerated parent).  Our loved ones were in the visiting park before 8 a.m., which never happens!  Once everyone was filed in, they forced you to listen to someone you didn't know, talk about their "free" family, and how they really cared for family of inmates while camera flashes were non stop!  Catching all the suited higher ups in all their glory!  (Can you say PHOTO OPP!)

Because that is what this amounted to....they forced our families, some of whom traveled miles to see their loved one.  They robbed us of our time together.  Then, once they finished that they played the video for the children to watch.....further trying to lure away the kids from the only real time they spend with their incarcerated parent.

At one point, the warden himself came to our table and asked if my stepdaughter wanted to go up front and watch the movie.  When she said no (she's 5 years old), he looked genuinely puzzled and confused until I explained to him that she is scared of Sesame Street characters.

See....even though I'm incarcerated I make it my business to know thing about my kids.  Their likes and dislikes.  So how is someone in a suit up in Tallahassee going to tell me more about my kids than me?  I was disappointed with the whole ordeal and pissed that my family was subjected to this against their will.

If the department really wants to do something to make it easier on kids who have a parent in prison, how about also making a friendlier child environment both in and on the outside.  The issue is that the parent is in prison, right?  So...when a child comes to visit, an innocent child, you have to ask yourself do you really want to taint your child's mind with information that when the time is right he/she will ask about anyways?  Isn't that the point of the Sesame Street program?  That when your child is asking questions, there is a program in place to help if you see fit?   

Maybe it's me, but when I see this issue, I see it through all perspectives.  Not just through an office window.   I mean as it stands, the department expects you (the reader) and me (the parent) to believe that they want to help the children of those who are incarcerated.  If the department of corrections really wants to help the children of those who are incarcerated, they might consider providing hands-on job training and job placement upon release instead of 50 bucks and a boot in the ass as you go out the door.  (And simply using the Sesame Street program for a big photo opp!)

I'm insulted and I feel as thought they have insulted your intelligence by exposing you to this. 

J.J. Meets Big Bird

The other day J.J.'s dad came to visit.  Here they are.....taking their photo with Big Bird, Cookie Monster, Grover and the gang.

Why is J.J. on Sesame Street?  Because Sesame Street recently created a new character named Alex who talks about the stigma of having a parent in jail.  Along with this new character, they have a tool kit for families to use to help their children coping with a parent incarcerated.  

A few weeks ago, J.J.'s friend The Rabbi experience first-hand how D.O.C. used the Sesame Street program to engage with families.  Stay tuned for his story next week!

Today, enjoy this gangster hangin' with his dad and Big Bird....in his new Reeboks! 

How Should An Inmate Be Treated?

"Some individuals might say that these inmates deserve this treatment because they are criminals, and society continually shames criminals, and teaches us to outcast them. But many individuals within the United States justice system, are behind bars because they have committed non-violent crimes. Does the senseless attack on them seem justified? Individuals in prison are already receiving their punishment for having committed any previous crime, arbitrary attacks (considering the illegality) should not be tolerated, the actions should be treated for the assault that they are."

The above is an excerpt from "Exposing The Truth: Prison Guards Repeatedly Abuse Inmates".

Read the entire story at http://www.exposingthetruth.co/prison-guards-repeatedly-abuse-inmates/#axzz2gxlLJW8M.

Do you wonder how often this happens?  If these are the reported stories, how many others go unreported?  

What do YOU think?  

Are these sorts of attacks justified?  Is shaming criminals justified? 

Or might we strive to encourage rehabilitation and help make the world a better place for all of us? 

 

Shiny Red Car

Mean people suck.  A phrase I have seen on bumpers of cars many time over the years.

Bumper stickers on your ride may be out of style, but mean people still suck.  There are certain deductions in life you can make.  Although the man in the shiny red sports car may not be compensating for a small penis, many times I suppose they are.  And when one person stands in a group talking much louder than needed, what he's saying is probably unimportant.  Since when what you say (if it's important) will demand one's attention.  We all know empty cans rattle the most....and do they ever.

So what about these mean people?  Perhaps someone is mad that his penis is small and he can't afford the shiny red car.  That would make a guy mad I suppose.  A stupid man can seem smart until he opens his mouth and proves otherwise.  Maybe the guy with the small member should keep pants on?  That way only he will know the caliber of his gun.

Guys are lucky in that way.  Nobody can see the engine if you keep the hood closed.  Imagine if we were more like women and had to wear our pecker on our chest.  Oral sex wouldn't be a problem anymore, but your produce is in the center aisle.  Then again, women found a way to transform the itty bitty titty....thank God for push ups!  They have always been the smarter sex.  It was probably a woman who opened the hood, saw the small radiator hose and quickly invented the penis pump.  Not only do they try to change our bad habits, get us to put the seat down, but now they want to pump on our pecker to make it larger.

So back to mean people.  They are here in prison and they are out there too.  I saw the news of people fighting each other to be at the front of the line to buy their new Apple smart phone.  I thought to myself, "Dear God.  What has the world come to?"  They're fighting in here to be the first in line to get two pieces of bologna and a scoop of cheese grits and their parents are out there fighting over a telephone.

I hope I don't sound like the pissed off person.  Really, I'm not.  What I am is observant.  What I see is really dumb people.  They tell me here that next year they will change the format for the G.E.D. test.  By next year the test will be harder to pass.  It's working though.  Because now dudes are rushing to sign up to take the test while it's still easier.  I don't know why when all your life consists of is the size of the rims on your car and what carat your chain is.  As far as I can tell the man with the most toys when he dies, is still dead.  Maybe it truly does boil down to the shiny red sports car and a penis pump.  Who knows.

I've been in here for five years.  Only five left.  I remind myself of this often.  Some days I see myself as nearly there.  Other days five seems a looooong way of still.  Those days most often come due to mean people, cutting in the line to get their bologna.  What I would like to do is steal your rims for my boat anchor.  Right after I key the paint on your red car, then shove that penis pump up your ass.

But I'm not mad.  I'm just sayin'.....