yellow and white letter day
Today is one of those rare days for an inmate in my position. My cellie has been moved and I have precious hours by myself to enjoy the silence. It's heavenly to say the least. I don't even feel like listening to my radio...I got your letters and latest money order. It's like a little Christmas every time I get one....speaking of Christmas, this guy Peterson I know whipping up cell-made (instead of homemade) cashew clusters gave me a kookie idea. I figured for holidays I'm going to make (maybe even sell) prison buckeyes (a special candy his aunt makes only at Christmas). Our sink spigot gets so hot you can use the sink as a double boiler to melt Hershey Bars. I call it "correctional confections" :-)
He ends the letter with this: My clothing exchange went well. Actually it was a boot exchange, but I took my Ken Doll shirts in anyway. I got bitched out at first, then she asked me size. I said they were x-large. "What?" she says. "Is that some kinda joke?" So I let her have a look at the tags. Then she grumbled something about "What were they thinking?" and that she wasn't letting me go back to the block with button down spandex. Now I have new boots and shirts. That is my small way of getting over on the D.O.C. (Department of Corrections).
Here are some bits from the other letter, as we have discussed the nuts and bolts of incarceration (this man is in his thirties): One prisoner's enlightenment may come quickly, another's may take years, and the majority of prisoners may never get enlightened at all. They seems stuck in a self-destructive spiral of violence, drug us, racism and mayhem. I think family has alot to do with it, in which case your son has a distinct advantage over his state-raised neighbors. You must bear in mind that the person he is now is not the person he will be when he gets out. The things he may say now, may make zero sense to him over the years as he matures. I wouldn't pay too much attention to the kicking & screaming childish side of him because in all likelihood it's about to be crushed out of his psyche. Mine has, to the point where I look at letters of things I wrote during my lst two years and I'm shocked because I don't recognize myself in those words. I entered a fast-track maturity after remaining a mental adolescent until my arrest.
I'm grateful that my son is still himself, seeing humor in prison life and trying hard to make the best of it. I look forward to the process that was described in the other letter happening to him, as though I'm able to see "now and then" in one fell swoop. I'm so grateful for another man's honesty that has helped me to have hope. God knows what we all need, and I trust Him to deal in everyone's life as He must. That process never ceases to amaze me when I pray and ask.