Don, my roommate at Taft Camp, participated in a community service program today. He has been incarcerated for four years and he is scheduled to serve about six more years for convictions related to selling drugs. He’s not quite 30, married with young children. The smile on Don’s face showed his happiness when he returned from the trip into town, but it also reminded me of how prison has conditioned me.
Don joined 10 other prisoners for the community service project. He said that a supervisor drove the group into the center of Taft and then gave each volunteer an orange vest and a plastic bag. The man picked up debris from the road, and the highlight of the seven hours he spent away from the Taft prison camp was a meal at McDonald’s. He looked forward to the next opportunity on the community service project and he urged me to sign up.
As I watched Don’s enthusiasm as he described his trip to Taft, I thought about how our values differed. Don barely passed his GED, and he hasn’t done enough to further his education. I’m certain that he will face significant hurdles when he leaves prison and tries to find sustainable employment that will allow him to provide for his family. He has six more years of prison ahead of him and if he could muster the discipline, Don could earn a few vocational degrees that would ease his transition into society. Instead, he’s content to walk the streets with a garbage bag in hand for the privilege of a McDonald’s hamburger. I don’t understand the logic.
Since my prison term began, thoughts about the challenges that will accompany my release have haunted me. All I’ve been able to contemplate revolved around what steps I could take to triumph over those obstacles that awaited me. Rather than dreaming about walking out of prison, I’m always thinking about how I can use my time to ensure I’ll have the clearest path to success when my prison term ends. If an activity will not contribute to the career I want to build, or advance the plans I’ve set for my future, then I don’t want any part of it. Don doesn’t understand why I’d rather stay in prison writing, reading or preparing in other ways when I could wear an orange vest and eat a hamburger in exchange for picking up litter. We value our time differently.
While Don was walking the streets of Taft on his community service project, I wrote a lengthy letter to Carol, a friend and mentor of mine in Washington. She assists with the editing of my new manuscript and I learn from her. I ran 10 miles in the morning and followed my run with 350 pushups. My running tally now stands at 2,901 miles over the past 325 days. Exercise and commitment to physical fitness is part of my preparation for release.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
PDF 
