This Past Week

Every week in here the monotony somehow gets broken up by slightly off-kilter conversations and events.  Opie has developed a strange habit of not going outside (avoiding rec) except on weekends.  He bought into the prison logic that the more you sleep, the quicker your “bid” goes by.

This past week temperatures hit the century mark (with a heat index topping 106).  I went out and had a leisurely run and Opie, he decided to forgo his sleep regimen that day and “get a little sun”.  You guessed it – Opie got sunburned.

Now Opie is a big, muscular kid.  He’s a kid who grew up in the prison system.  He’s been in fistfights, beaten with locks, belts, and shanked (stabbed) twice while locked up.  But, when it comes to things like colds and sunburn he is, well, he is a little kid.  All day yesterday he whined and moaned “my sunburn hurts”.  He tried to go to medical even filing an emergency grievance to “get some salve.  I’m in pain damn it!”  But, his request was turned down (most emergency med requests are turned down.  “It isn’t life threatening.”)

So Opie has sunburn.  He’s been locked up, disrespected, beaten, stabbed, ignored, had good time taken away and he never batted an eye.  But his red chest – the world was coming to an end. ____________________________________________________________________

Against the backdrop of Opie’s sunburn, there was Paulie’s legitimate med emergency.  Paulie’s an ex-marine:  two tours in Iraq; was in Fallujah during the “bad run”.  Paulie’s doing four years on some ridiculous grand larceny case and a prescription pill addiction.  He’s mid-twenties and he has bleeding ulcers.

The other night – 2:00 am – Paulie collapsed in his cut, coughing up blood.  Medical was called and he was wheeled out and transported to the hospital.  Two days later he was back.  “I’m on a bland diet”, he told me (who isn’t?).  I only have a year left.  They said I can get it fixed better when I get out.”  That is prison medical care.  Lock people up, push pills rather than proper treatment, and put band aids on serious problems.  Medical costs are skyrocketing in prisons.  The solution is, let the non-dangerous inmates go.  That, it seems, is too obvious.

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The dorm political debate the past week focused on New York State passing a law recognizing gay marriage.  Prison is a funny place.  Guys are in here – many back for a second and third visit – and rules don’t matter to them.  Except when it comes to homosexuality.  Then, everyone (well, almost everyone) becomes a member of Focus on the Family.

There is a well-defined group of gays in prison and they are extremely flamboyant.  The dirty little secret is they all have boyfriends.  Associating with gay inmates is almost as bad as being a snitch – except for gang leaders.  Then, it’s business (they serve as “mules” – sneak contraband in).  There is this fear that permeates the general population that these “she men” can turn you.  It’s a clear lack of understanding about human sexuality and your own sexual orientation.  It also helps explain – in part – the ultra testosterone charge guys exhibit in here.  Every compliment has to include the catch phrase “no homo”. 

So, New York passed same sex marriage and the dorm went nuts.  “It’s disgusting.”  It’s immoral.”  “It’s against God’s law” (funny, so is murder, theft, tattoos).  “The children suffer.”

The irony isn’t lost on me.  The guys most upset are the ones who routinely talk about the four babies’ mommas they “ain’t payin’ to support”.  Having multiple offspring by multiple unwed partners is somehow better than two people in love raising a child when the two are the same sex.

A couple of guys asked my opinion.  I’ve changed.  I used to be anti-gay marriage.  I thought marriage vows were sacred; that the mystery of God’s love for us was expressed in a man and woman pledging fidelity and love “no matter what”.  Then, I felt the pain of rejection.  Those vows – always a loophole available.  Marriage is the ultimate commitment.  You lay everything on the line for your spouse because God lays everything on the line for us.  Unfortunately, the vast majority of us are too self-centered and too unwilling to go through the valleys – “the worse” – and bail when the “betters” dry up.  Commitment and love aren’t defined by your sexual orientation.

I reminded the guys of a U.S. Supreme Court case from the 1960’s.  It overturned a Virginia law that made it illegal for blacks and whites to marry.  It seems to me we’d do better focusing on love and commitment and less on how people look.

The last three years I’ve come to some startling revelations about myself.  One that I think about quite regularly is that I was a racist.  I know, we’re all a little racist.  But being a minority in prison has opened my eyes.  White Americans don’t know how tough it is to be a young, black man in America.  Here’s a simple truth:  blacks account for 12% of the population and close to 60% of the inmates.  Yet, drug use in the black community and white community is at the same level.  Fact is, if you’re a young, black male chances are a criminal charge will land you in prison.  The same can’t be said for white kids.

There are a lot of reasons for this discrepancy.  I don’t think the law intends to be racially biased.  I think it just happens.  You have a young, poor, black kid and he gets an overworked public defender or worse, a court appointed lawyer who just wants to get the file closed.  So deals are made, corners cut, and these guys come to prison in record numbers.

In my last three years I’ve been treated with deep respect by young, black men whom prior to this experience I would have shunned.  I have developed friendships with guys like DC, and Ty, and Saleem; men from world’s far removed from mine.

Will we ever be able to not see color? I’m not sure.  You can’t help but notice when someone looks differently.  But, it took prison for me to realize people are all pretty much alike.  We all really just want to be loved and appreciated.  We’re more alike than different.

Randy – the workout guru – had 31, mostly young, guys on the rec yard this morning working out.  Lunges, sprints, calisthenics; on and on they went through this routine.

I was jogging on my own, stopping for reps of dips and pull-ups and some interval sprints.

Later in the day, Randy stopped by my cut, cup of coffee in hand.  He’d just returned from the watch commander’s office.  Seems the tower witnessed his group workout.  Prisons hate crowds.  No groups of inmates numbering over four are allowed to congregate unless it’s an organized church service or program.  It is a series 100 charge (and you will get shipped to max security) for an inmate to organize any work stoppage or protest (ironic huh, in the “land of the free”).

Fortunately for Randy, the watch commander knows he’s just leading a workout.  Things that you take for granted outside are a big deal in here, like who you hang out with.

I’ve got a whole group of guys hooked on “House”.  Frankly, it’s probably the best written show on TV.

Two things from recent episodes.  A friend sarcastically told House “so the great Doctor House doesn’t deserve to be happy?”  He’d been beating himself up for decisions he’d made, relationships that ended.  His friend was right.  House deserved better.  Not everything was his fault.  I understood that.  I’ve dealt with a lot these past three years and beat the hell out of myself for everything.  I made a good many mistakes, but I’m a decent, loving guy.  As Big S and a lawyer buddy from the street have told me, I deserve better.  And I’ll get it eventually.
Lastly, I rewatched the House episode where his love, “Cuddy” broke up with him.  She couldn’t stay with him after learning he’d slipped and taken Vicodin again (House, you see is not just a brilliant, sarcastic doctor; he’s also addicted to prescription pain pills).

House begged Cuddy “don’t do this to us.  I’m doing the best I can.”  Her reply, “that’s not enough”.  Not enough.  I felt those words.  Love, even when you’re broken, is supposed to be enough.

My friend Craig told me his closest friend from the street let him know he was going through a divorce.  “Larry, he’s one of the nicest guys in the world.  She came home, told him she met and fell in love with someone else and she didn’t love him anymore.”  I told Craig my divorce weighs on me more than anything.  There was, frankly, no loss, no pain that hurt more.

“That’s not enough”.  Sad, searing words.  Damn fine writing.

GED tests are being given this coming Wednesday and Thursday to those students who earned passing scores on our recent placement testing.  Three of my guys are going for their GEDs.  One – Hayward – I’m thrilled for.  I met Hayward my first day working at the school in December 2009.  He’d had no success in school or with tutors during his bid.  Reading and math were at third grade levels.  Yet, he is an amazing artist.  He uses a pencil in both hands writing words and math problems with both simultaneously.

In one of those weird things that only can happen in a place like this, we hit it off.  He started improving, gradually at first.  Last week’s placement test results confirmed what I’d been seeing:  he was high school grad material.

Guys in here occasionally ask me why I work so hard and smile so much.  All I needed to keep motivated was the look on Hayward’s face when he realized he succeeded.