Christmas ’14, Part 1 – A Wonderful Life?

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

What am I thinking about? Good question, at least that’s what I tell myself. It hit me, like most revelations I encounter, at the end of a 10K run. It was a cool, crisp fall Saturday, perfect running weather and I managed the twenty-two laps around the hard gravel track with little problem. I was in the zone, fluid, smooth, constant stride propelling me forward. I wouldn’t have noticed the six guys lifting weights until I was asked the time on lap sixteen. I didn’t even miss a breath; I switched from “lap mode” to “time” with a finger push on the Ironman watch and announced, “1:22.” The laps rolled: 2:05 pace; 7:50 miles; it was a perfect run.

The entire time out there I’m singing tunes in my mind’s eye. I’m running through “Let It Be” and “Rambling Man” and “Son of a Son of a Sailor.” There’s a whole playlist in my head and I hear it and summon it on these runs. The words are etched in my mind from years of conjuring them up when I needed just “that song, just those words” to make sense of so much senselessness in my life. I sang and I told God between mind tracks I was doing well; and, I ran. I finished, shirtless and pouring sweat even with forty-five degrees, and drank water. I began to cool down and chill quite soon. Hat and sweatshirt took care of that. Then, the thought.

“A Wonderful Life.” My favorite Jimmy Stewart movie; my favorite Christmas movie, my saving hope during that first ugly holiday away. That was all before … before the filing and the decree, before the letter telling me “I’ve met someone,” before the college graduation, the wedding, the proms, cross-country races, law school, graduation, and finally before the remarriage. “A Wonderful Life.” I mattered to her and our two boys. I mattered to family and friends. This was a short chapter in my life’s book, I told myself. And, I had hope. No matter what would happen out there, eventually it would all work out.

The run ended, the cool down lap walked, and the thoughts began. Everyone was better off since my fall. A wonderful life my ass! She was remarried, happy and in love. The boys – those two amazing lives I held seconds after entry into the world, these two breathing, flesh and blood creations who I whispered “Forever Young” to over nine years apart as they let out their first exhales – they had done remarkably without me. The older, he graduated with honors from a prestigious liberal arts college. He’d gone to law school, married his college sweetheart; there’s been law review, awards at graduation, a clerkship. The younger had become an athlete – triathlons, teaching swimming, considering Navy Seals after high school. His girlfriend was gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed athletic. He spent his senior high school year already in college. I had left a slightly pudgy, round-faced little eleven year-old. He had grown in my absence into a man.

The new husband, the new me, he’d taken my place with “the guys,” our collection of husbands from the small band of couples who socialized. “He’s not as funny as you,” one of my buddies who dared stay in touch told me. Still, he was me – or playing me, living in “my” house, using “my” Viking gas grill, sleeping in “my” room with “my” wife … except it wasn’t … mine … anymore. None of it: the house, the beautiful – though complex – soulmate, the sons, the social club. It was all gone and it was as if it never was mine. Everything, everyone had moved past me and I had faded; not slowly over time, no, I had been wiped clear of all their lives in rapid succession. The image overwhelmed my brain. Every breath, every thought as I stood there alone on the track with the last droplets of run sweat fading on my skin, “They are all better off.”

I showered and tried to drown out the words with music. I settled on the Beatles and began to lose myself in tune after tune until “Let it Be” began. I froze. The words from Sir Paul metastasized in my cortex. “Let it be … there will be an answer … let it be … whisper words of wisdom …” Where was my Mother Mary? Where were my words of wisdom? Everything I loved, everything I had ever truly wanted, ever truly valued, was gone. And there was no regret, no comparable loss from those out there. I thought maybe that’s better, maybe that’s good, they are whole, healthy, living. In the back of my mind I heard the whispers, “You’re fooling yourself. Too easy. You never mattered, you weren’t even needed …”

            “It’s a Wonderful Life.” George Bailey delayed everything he dreamt of, everything he wanted, to stay in tiny Bedford Falls. Then the bank examiner, and forgetful Uncle Billy, and criminal charges facing him. George is on the bridge. All is lost. Even God, the Being he prayed to and said “I’m not a real spiritual man, but show me the way …” had – it seemed – abandoned him. He looked at the water below, life insurance contract in hand, and knew he was worth more dead than alive.

            I choke up every time I see Jimmy Stewart on that bridge. I choke up because I know what’s coming. Clarence, George Bailey’s guardian angel appears, and soon it all becomes clear that George’s life mattered. He meant something to more people than he ever knew. I choke up because I know – at least in Hollywood – dramatic arcs come to conclusions and there are restorations, reconciliations, happy endings. Not this day, not the way I feel. There aren’t any happy endings …

            Happy. That’s a word we throw around so nonchalantly. “I want to be happy.” What does that mean? I think of my happiest days – the day I married her; hearing heartbeats on the ultrasounds; holding healthy baby boys. Yeah, happy days … and yet distant memories. All of it replaced; all of it set aside; all of it lost. This isn’t a movie. There’s no brother “Harry,” no “Mr. Martini” coming to my aid. And, “Mary” – she’s gone. Billy Wilder, you bastard! You made me believe I matter …

            “Unto us a Son is given;

            And the government will be upon His shoulder.

            And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace …”

            It’s the next morning, still dark, and I’ve had a lousy night. It’s Advent, expectation and preparation – “God with us.” I went to sleep trying to pray, trying to be hopeful, trying to …

            And the verse from Isaiah is there before me. There is clarity in those words; they make sense. And, the voice quiets. You know, it was a good life … it still is a good life. There are expectations for the future, a good future. And I realize. I was wrong. My watch alarm goes off – chimes – and I never have it on chimes. I think of the movie and little “ZuZu” telling her father, “teacher says every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.” She might just be right.

 

Transitions

Nothing remains constant in here, least of all the population. It didn’t used to be that way. Years earlier, you went to a prison and you stayed there for years. You knew who was living around you. Every week just two or three would leave and two or three would take their place. Now, it’s a whole new world of corrections – which is odd because the Virginia state budget is such a mess, you would think they’d quit locking people up for stupid, short sentence stuff and then moving them from low custody facility to low custody facility. Transitions are part of life; in here you move, things change, just for the hell of it.

So last week, “Randy” left, He was supposed to have gone in February but he’s a “civil commitment” guy. You know, his sex crime was so severe, so abnormal, that he has to be civilly committed. Here’s the funny thing – he spent his entire time in low custody. I’ve met violent predatory sex offenders who have been at high security levels worked their way down here, who aren’t civilly committed. Meanwhile, this guy “Randy” spends his eight years here (that’s right, 8 years for sick child porn) then goes through a due process hearing for the last 6 months before heading to the “behavioral science” center.

Early in the morning last week (before 6:00 am count) they woke him up. “Get all your stuff. They’re coming for you at 6:30.” And that was it. Randy will be held in sex detention for a year. Then, they’ll be another hearing to determine if he’s “cured.” Can you ever be “cured” of aberrant sexual feelings?”

Transitions. They moved a gay guy into the building the other day. Change that. We’ve had gay guys in the building before. We’ve never had a guy who sits to urinate, plucks his eyebrows, and calls all the officers “sugar.” I’ve seen all this before, the flamboyance and exaggeration. Is it real? I’m not sure, but prison is a mass of guys wanting people to think you are something/someone other than who you really are. Guys aren’t just gay in prison, they’re “Bird Cage” over the top gay.

The whole building environment changed when he swished his way in. There’s an air of uncomfortableness. A few closeted fellows feel emboldened and become more gay; others more homophobic. The building is tense. Meanwhile, he sings show tunes in the shower.

Football season kicked off last weekend and with it, gambling tickets flew around the compound. One of our college guys runs back and is pretty good on his lines. Just on Saturday he took in over $500 in tickets. I watched him sweat out a few “10 pick” tickets late Saturday – they could have hurt him; instead, it was a profitable weekend; very profitable. 

Fall is always a transition time in here. Football keeps things moving. Forget New Years; the first Thursday night catches almost everyone’s attention. With football season you know fall lockdown is coming. After that, Thanksgiving and Christmas. So stamps thousands of them – change hands with tickets: 5 picks, 8 picks, parlays; gambling is back with a vengeance.

Every week, twenty to thirty new guys show up and the same number leave. DOC spends millions each year “transporting” – i.e. moving 3 or 4 guys at a time on old school busses to various prisons around the state. It’s a stupid system which makes perfect sense in a money wasting backward operation which is DOC. And yet, the “new” guys coming in aren’t new. So many are back for round “3” or “4.” The “system” hasn’t worked; it hasn’t rehabilitated them. They grease the wheels of the system; they keep DOC in business.

And the guys showing up are uneducated and ignorant; many are plain dumb. They have little – if any – hope of success outside. Prison time becomes just another season for them. They cycle in and out. They “remember” on their last bid that “chicken on the bone” was served every week. “They don’t feed us like they use to,” they moan. Maybe, you should stay out, you think.

It’s a mind-numbing process. Like a hamster on a wheel, you move at break neck speed hoping to outrun this time. You try to ignore the predilections and violence of so many around you. You try to find humanity in your surroundings. You try and block out the guy who lies about his military status as he seeks to con a free education. You think “I can do this; I can get through this.” Like Andy Dufresne in “Shawshank Redemption” you try and hold on to beauty and joy and hope so you don’t transition into just another DOC number.

Transition may be the wrong word. It’s a conveyor belt in here. And for far too many, the belt runs into a wall. You have to be better than that.

Christmas Day 2010

Christmas in prison is always an interesting experience. This is my third Christmas behind bars. I deal better with it than I imagined that very first year.



Up early – 4:00 am. I did yoga and read the Bible. I’ve started a “tradition” of sorts on Christmas. I read Jeremiah 29 (“For I know the plans I have for you.”) and 1 John 5 (“God is love”). I worked on a short story and waited for breakfast.


After breakfast Big S and I went outside to workout. I ran my sprints on the frozen track humming Christmas carols to myself. It began to flurry. We were walking and I told Big S about my first married Christmas. She and I were both in school. We didn’t have much and were living in a one bedroom apartment. We had a little tree and just a few ornaments. We strung the tree with popcorn. I loved that tree. I loved that woman.


Besides the occasional guy shouting out “Merry F---in Christmas”, most guys just chilled out. E’s aunt and uncle came for a visit so he missed our huge Christmas lunch which was delicious. Huge slabs of roast turkey and pork ham, mashed potatoes, greens, dressing, gravy, cranberry sauce, rolls, cake and pie.


The COs were all in a pleasant mood. Many wished guys “Merry Christmas”. Big S called home and spoke to his little girl. She’s eight and excitedly told him all about her gifts. Only two more Christmases and he’ll be heading home.


I thought about my ex - it’s so tough to call her that – and my sons. I wondered how they were doing. Was their Christmas good? I wondered if they thought about me, about how our family was before my arrest. They were going to a friend’s home for Christmas dinner. We always did that. The three couples doing Thanksgiving, Christmas, July 4th together. Our kids all together. Now, the husbands – my two closest friends – visit me and urge me not to give up. Their wives, my ex’s best friends – listen to her talk of her difficulties and loneliness, and sadness. I wonder: Will anyone mention me? Will my friends dare to say “he still loves you”?


I received a copy of a minister’s recent sermon about the joy of Christmas. Ironically, it was a message I discovered on my own two years ago.


Christmas, he concluded, was about the deep seeded joy you feel knowing God loves you. It’s real love, not based on some conditions such as “I’ll love you if . . . .” It’s just God saying “I love you because you are mine.” It is a joy that broke through the dark and fear as shepherds sat on a cold hillside 2000 years ago.


And it is a joy that pierced the walls of a jail cell as a 49 year-old former lawyer contemplated sentencing, prison and divorce.


Happiness – that concept we all seem to strive for – is fleeting. It’s that feeling you get when you think you have everything. Happiness never lasts.


Joy does. Joy survives arrests and imprisonment. Joy survives divorce. Joy endures.


Big S and I were drinking coffee a little while ago. We both agreed today was OK. We’d both rather be somewhere else, but we both have so much to be thankful for.


It’s the joy I feel that keeps me going, keeps me believing things will change. Someone once said you should “be joyful, even though you considered all the facts.”


Christmas is about God’s gift of joy. It doesn’t deny the sorrow and loneliness I feel, but it sustains me through it. There will be a day when I’m free; there may be a day when I’m reconciled to those I love. There will always be the Joy of Christmas.

Christmas in Prison

I’ve been thinking a great deal about Christmas. John Prine, a truly gifted songwriter and storyteller, has a deeply moving song called “Christmas in Prison”. It never meant a great deal to me until I actually found myself behind the fence.



For so many in here, Christmas is the saddest of all days, a painful reminder of what has been lost. 2008, I suffered terribly as I spent Christmas alone at the Henrico jail. The meal was terrible; I was depressed, disoriented, and feeling without hope. It was the worst Christmas I ever experienced and I found it hard to believe that there were any “tidings of great joy” in store for me.


Perspectives have a way of changing. Last Christmas wasn’t quite as bad. A minister friend sent me a fold out nativity scene. I unfolded it and displayed it through the holiday season. Each day, I saw that cut out with the gold banner above the manger that said “for God so loved the world”. It didn’t matter to me that my wife had divorced me, that my sons had broken off communication with me, that most of my friends had abandoned me, or that I had been treated harshly by the courts. I felt a sense of hope just by looking at that small, cardboard manger.


I put my nativity scene up the other week. Since then, guys – a few dozen – have stopped and looked at it. “That’s beautiful man.” “He lives brother.” “Thanks for reminding me we gonna be alright.” I smile.


I’ve really thought a great deal about the meaning of Christmas. I used to love Christmas. I’d buy dozens of gifts for my wife and kids; I’d buy gifts for all my employees. We’d entertain, have dinners out, enjoy the season with family and friends. Every holiday season I’d watch my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. I’d choke up and get teary-eyed, as I’d watch Jimmy Stewart contemplate taking his own life rather than face criminal prosecution and bankruptcy. The movie always had a happy ending. Jimmy Stewart’s wife, knowing the kind of man he was, rallied to support him. Friends and neighbors poured into his home and helped him. At the end, his “guardian angel” left him a simple written message: “No man is unsuccessful who has friends.”


Movies are wonderful, that movie especially. Unfortunately, movies don’t mirror life. My wife certainly didn’t play Donna Reed (of course, she’d tell you I’m no Jimmy Stewart). The number of my friends who stood by me dwindled from my arrest to my conviction. Today, even some of those few stalwart friends from early in my incarceration have also fallen away. Unlike Mr. Stewart’s guardian angel, mine left me a message that said “suck rocks loser!”


Still, I’m looking forward to Christmas this year because I’ve had an epiphany. That may not be the correct word. I didn’t suddenly discover some exciting truth. Rather, for the past few weeks I’ve come to a few profound (in my mind anyway) conclusions.


The first thing I realized is that sometimes we get so hung up and worried about what’s going on that we forget the good circumstances right before us. I read an interesting piece the other day that used the story of Moses being told by God to return to Egypt and lead His people to the promise land, initially reacted with fear and trepidation.


“Look at what is in your hand.” God told Moses and at that his shepherd’s staff turned into a snake. The point was we fear moving forward, doing what is right (notice I didn’t say doing what we want or what’s expedient) because of our worry and fear of the future and our regret about the past. Yet God tells us “Trust me. You have everything you need to get through today.” And don’t forget Moses had fled Egypt years earlier after killing a man.


It is difficult to let go of regret over past failures, past hurts, and heartbreak. But, each day I now remind myself no matter how bad things seem, I’m not alone. I’ve figured out, by fits and tears and so much heartache, I have a purpose in being here. No matter what happened “BA” (before arrest); no matter the pain over the divorce and my sons, and my continuing court struggle, I know what is in my hand.


The second thing I’ve learned these past few months is “shalom”, peace. The whole world seems to be going crazy with war, rumors of war, economic upheaval, turmoil in the lives of individuals, and communities and nations. Somehow, I meditate each morning and sleep soundly each night.


Guys ask me almost daily how I can seem so content, so easy going and relaxed in this environment. “Man, you’ve lost more than any guy I ever met yet you’re always smiling.” There’s a wonderful story about the Apostle Peter, on the verge of being executed, he was in a prison cell fast asleep. “An angel of the Lord” sent to break him out had to first wake him.


I’ve found a sense of inner peace amidst the storms and chaos of my incarceration and divorce. It’s bizarre really, but like Lt. Dan confronting God during the hurricane scene in “Forrest Gump”, I had my argument with God. I told him exactly how I felt about all the crap and obstacles I’d faced growing up, all the desires I had to be loved that were ignored, all my dreams I had put aside for others (I’ve written a short story about a guy having this argument with God though I’m not quite ready to share it with my “editors”) and at the end of all the yelling, all the “why did this have to happen”, I experienced a sense of peace I had never known.


Things might not be as I want, but I have faith, in the end, all will turn out right.


And finally, I realized Christmas really is “for God so loved” us. I always equated God as a super-Santa: “He knows when you’re sleeping; He knows when you’re awake . . . so be good for goodness sake.” I heard a young minister recently say “we think God thinks about us the way we think about us.” In other words, when we’re having a good day, God’s happy with us. And when we lie, steal, decide to end our marriage, He’s upset with us. I realized nothing was further from the truth. God loves us, period, no matter what.


More than that, I now understand that on my worst days, when I stole and then came home and lay beside my sleeping wife in tears knowing my entire life was falling apart, at that precise moment God had compassion for me. He loved me, He loves me, unconditionally.


That realization has allowed me to look at the men in here, and folks outside, in an entirely new way. God doesn’t prioritize sins. He doesn’t say “stealing is level 15, murder level 55”, and anger at our spouse, “level 3”. We all sin, we all screw up, we all hurt each other and ourselves. Even Mother Teresa admitted in an interview “I’m far from perfect”.


Yet, God loves us. He loves us no matter what. I think that is what Christmas is really all about. From the beginning of our existence here on this orb we’ve been screwing up. And for years, our Creator watched it all and got upset because His children were wayward. Then He did something inconceivable, and illogical, and irrational. He loved us, in spite of ourselves, He just loved us.


My favorite Bible story is the parable of the prodigal son. There’s one particular verse that stands out. The son has lost everything. His life is over. He decides to return home and beg for forgiveness. “And while he was still a long way away the father saw him and ran to him and kissed him.” The father didn’t need an apology. He didn’t need to pile on and refuse to forgive his son. He just kissed him and loved him.


That story sees me through every day. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done, God still loves me. He loves all of us. There is always hope, always tomorrow. Christmas really is an amazing day, even in prison.

Advent Story

I had a pretty good week. One of the guys here in 3A – “J” – has been working closely with me to get his GED. He passed two parts last week. To thank me, he got me a set of “thermals” – long johns. Buying a set cost $20.00, but “yard workers” get them for free. J goes all over the compound and knows guys everywhere. He got me a set from the laundry.



Then “Ray”, who I helped with his college lit class (he read Hemmingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea”, an amazing story) delivered me a new set of sheets and two new towels and washcloths to thank me.


Another guy made sure I had enough “good” typing paper for my legal work. He was thanking me for helping him handle an insurance claim. The paper they sell on commissary is a cheap, low grade paper. The 200 plus sheets he “found” and gave me are high grade.


Big S, E and I found our way into two more large bags of chocolate chip/cranberry cookie dough. Every night for the last week I’ve fixed, in my plastic bowl, a thick, bubbly, gooey cookie. My whole bed area smells like Christmas!


I have a small, fold out nativity scene sent to me last year by a friend, an Episcopal rector. I set it up on my book shelf as my “Christmas decorations”.


It was a good week. My advanced writing class began a group writing project – a three act play. We sat around a few tables pushed together, sketching out a really remarkable story about a group of down on their luck losers who win a chance to interview for an employment opportunity with the “job God”.


Big S and I were talking. He had his daily devotion book out. Big S isn’t a “church guy”. A couple of months ago he noticed me watching a church program early Sunday morning. Since that week he watches. Afterwards, we’ll get a cup of coffee and discuss what we’ve heard.


Big S read a devotion from Genesis. The writer’s point was God made everything and everyone. All are unique and distinct and in God’s eyes valuable and worthy. Big S asked me if I thought that meant in God’s eyes, a child molester was as good as he was. “You know, Larry, I have a real hard time with that. I just don’t get how God can love “W” knowing what he did (he sexually abused his own daughter).”


Tough question. But, the answer is even tougher. God loves all of us: even child molesters, even embezzlers, even wives who divorce their husbands because they are “a good person”. We are all sinners and all fall short of the mark. In God’s perfect eyes a sin is a sin.


That is really a difficult idea to accept. I struggle with that in here. I’m around a good many people I would have preferred not to have contact with. As a matter of fact, I tended to live my life avoiding less desirable people. It was easy to spot the “good” people. I hung out with them. Oh, they may cheat on their spouses and their taxes. They may hold grudges, say hateful and hurtful things, but they weren’t criminals. They didn’t kill, they didn’t rape, they didn’t steal.


There comes a point in time when you are broken. When you realize you’ve made a terrible mess of things. You know you are a thief, you know you lied to your family; you betrayed your wife and kids. And all the goodness you thought you had was nothing but a lie. You do the last thing you have left. You cry out to God and admit how you really are.


So I told Big S God forgives every one of us if we sincerely ask. He does it for molesters and adulterers, embezzlers and arrogant, self righteous SOB’s.


The reason the Advent season is so special to me is I’m reminded in a world filled with anger, crime, broken relationships, and fear we all can have hope. God loves us, in spite of ourselves, He dearly loves us.


This season is a great time to remember that. It’s a great time to reconcile with someone you’re angry at or hurt by. It’s a great time to remember what love really means.


God sets a pretty tough example for us to follow. Then again, He was willing to give me another chance.