Archive for the ‘rehab’ Category

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School supplies

November 12, 2010

 

One of my former students returned this week. Bart was in my class in 2008. I remember him getting close to taking his GED right before taking off. Everyone likes Bart. Barely out of his twenties, he makes eccentricity seem cool right down to his blond mohawk that turns into a long pony tail. Since I last saw him Bart has been working on expanding the holes pierced in his ears. Yesterday he walked in with two AA batteries in each lobe.  “Have a look in your junk drawer, Ms. P, ” he said. He wanted me to find him something else to put in the holes now stretched to nearly an inch in diameter.  “Inside I used chess pieces,” he said of his time in prison. “Queens because the kings were too big.”

I try to withhold even the simplest supply request lest word get out in the community that I am soft and can be milked for goods. I never let parolees use my office phone or borrow money, not even a quarter. If you give an inmate a paper clip in prison you can lose your job. It’s a matter of safety and security. Here are some items I did give out this week: pencils to do math problems, an envelope to send for official GED transcripts, a rubber band to hold together a student’s dreadlocks so they don’t fall in his eyes during computer work.

Stuffing your ears with batteries can’t be good. So I found a dried-out orange highlighter in my desk and gave it to Bart. The next day he came in to class with the highlighter’s plastic orange barrel neatly cut into fat, hollow pegs that he proudly wore in each earlobe. Then he watched a skateboard video on Microsoft Encarta. I saw it was too late to ask for my highlighter back.

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Unusual fare

October 6, 2010

The females are required to eat lunch together as part of their recovery and bonding. Today Z asked if I would join them for my half-hour lunch break instead of my usual retreat to my classroom to read the newspaper online. No sooner had we sat down than trays appeared with sandwiches. “Who had the idea to make a BLT on cinnamon toast?” one of the women said, laughing. “It’s marble rye, ” I told them, “a real treat, something you might get in a New York Deli.” Then Z said Grace. The women were giddy over the unusual fare. Z somehow ended up with triple bacon. I also enjoyed some chicken soup and iced tea.

It’s very communal in our cafeteria. A handsome young Latina woman just out of prison with a shaved head got seconds and cut her sandwich in half with a spoon, giving half to her friend. I even gave my hot pepper away to my neighbor. Yet I felt conspicuous eating in front of my students. Z must have sensed that and smiled at me, saying, “You picked a good day to sit with us Ms. P — great sandwiches.”

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Drunk on anger

July 29, 2010

It isn’t often that I write about the dark side of my students though they tumble into my school with long unspoken histories. Most of them have been arrested more than fifteen times and that’s only counting when they got caught. When students get kicked out of the residential rehab it is often for drug use but sometimes it’s because they’ve become angry, even violent. Christopher left yesterday. I ran into him on my way in to work and he said he was leaving to go to another program. “I pushed someone,” he said. Christopher has a mohawk and small curled goat horns tattooed above his hairline on each side of his head. I heard he pushed an older guy on the stairs during a scuffle.

Christopher would come in to my school drunk on anger. If he got frustrated with a math problem he would storm out rather than ask for help. I worked with him to practice multiplication on paper. He was making slow progress in his arithmetic, but had no patience for the learning process. Standing beside his packed bags, Christopher expressed sadness in not being able to finish his math studies. I didn’t buy it but I tried to be supportive.

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Last ten feet

July 23, 2010

In the week I have not written, Sequoia relapsed on heroin, Winton started drinking and Ricky took his first paycheck and smoked it up on crack. Here’s the good news. My student Z is finally enrolled to take the GED in August. It’s her third and last time at the rehab and getting her GED could be life changing. She has a mind for social studies and math and she writes well, really loves learning.  Her self-esteem goes up by increments and then plummets pretty quickly. She went swimming the other day and told me how she barely got through a whole lap. She struggled the last ten feet because of severe obesity and general lack of exercise. But I give her credit for getting in the pool. I told her, “This is like the GED. After you have tackled three hours of math and writing, they will hit you with science, reading, and social studies. It will feel like the last ten feet in the pool. But you can do it. Put the pencil down every 50 minutes and stretch you hands, close your eyes and take a breath, then pick up the pencil and start fresh. Don’t be a tired tester, don’t leave half the test section for the last ten minutes allotted.” I added, “You’re ready this time.”

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Handcuffs to cufflinks

July 7, 2010

Every day I go to work I feel blessed because I love my job. I don’t keep my job –  it keeps me happy. Finding work is hard enough with an advanced degree and a decent resume, imagine trying to pound the pavement looking for a job with over fifteen felonies,  visible tattoos, and no employment history. It’s no wonder my students end up in telemarketing or, worse, back taking rather than making money. So it’s always a good thing to see a student get a job.

One of the oddest jobs my students have ever done is count cars. A few of them were hired to sit on certain corners and observe automobile traffic. They loved it. Others are such skilled tattoo artists they are snapped up by tattoo shop owners as soon as they are free. We’ve also had semi-pro athletes at the rehab who fell from grace; no going back there. Many of my students have made more money in an hour dealing drugs than they could make at a tax-paying job in a month. The majority have never held a real job for more than six months. When I see one of my students get all dressed up and go out for a job interview, it gives me a surge of pride. They’ve gone from handcuffs to cufflinks.

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No time off

July 1, 2010

Six kittens! The calico mother cat has moved her litter to a high place in the shed accessible only by ladder. Today I climbed up and saw the kittens for the first time since I got her to begin taking care of them. I even snuck a quick picture. The guys set up a nice bed for them and have been cleaning out the kittens’ eyes and feeding the mother cat.

Meanwhile some of my other students are getting caught with cell phones, smoking pot in the dormitory and planning their exit out of the rehab. It’s a typical day with over a hundred residents on site. I am planning my own escape to a three-day weekend, one spent reading and writing — perchance to paint? Watercolors not my house, I’m not that ambitious. As for the new mother cat, she will not be getting any time off.

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Tired of running

June 24, 2010

Franklin has been cleaning my classroom. Chatty fellow, always has a smile. He told me his father was born in 1903 in Mississippi, a sharecropper. Franklin’s in his sixties but looks about 20 years younger. He comes from a big family and has a sister who is 81. Today he said he’d bring in a photo of his parents to show me. It’s hard to imagine Franklin committing a crime or spending his days smoking crack.  He seems so at peace with himself  at this point in his life.

A parole agent once told me that men reach a certain age and their testosterone decreases and they no longer have the energy or stamina to run the streets. Essentially, biology itself reduces recidivism. When a twenty-something guy comes in and tells me he’s tired of running, this may be true, but hormones have a drive and momentum of their own.

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Direct instruction

June 14, 2010

There is a workout room at the rehab, it looks more like a dirty garage filled with old iron barbells and antiquated equipment with torn padding. It’s the opposite of what most people think of when they imagine a gym. Sometimes I see my students working out when they are supposed to be in my class and I tell them, “When you’re done with your workout, come and exercise your brain.”

The other day I came by the weight room and found a resident sitting on one of the exercise benches feeding a newborn kitten with a tiny baby bottle. There are already three generations of cats who roam the property. The guys were hiding the latest litter of newborn kittens here in the gym, and back in the dorms had taken shifts all night feeding them by hand every two hours to keep them alive. A calico had given birth to the kittens the day before and ran off.  She is a kitten herself, only 7 months old. She reminds me of how some of my students have struggled with their responsibilities as parents. When the mother cat came back the next day the guys made several attempts to get her to be with her babies and let them suckle, but she wouldn’t. I went and picked her up, very gently, and put her nose near the kittens. She immediately took them by the scruff of their necks and carried them under the storage shed. One by one, I got her to take all five newborn kittens under the shed. Like my students at times, the mother cat needed some old-school direct instruction.

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Disposable cameras

June 4, 2010

My students love photographs. They still shoot with disposable cameras and get pictures developed. I always ask to see their photos — they tell me so much about who is in or not in their lives. Students show me snapshots of children they haven’t seen in years and long-dead parents. Herve asked me for a scissors today so he could trim the tattered edges off the picture he carries of his girlfriend. These photos are not sequestered in albums or frames. Some were literally posted on prison-cell walls with toothpaste for an adhesive. They are treasured touchstones to the outside world, the family as an imagined unit, the lover, the beloved auntie or the grandparents who raised them. I always appreciate what students share with me, even if  it’s not necessarily how it is.

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Let the games begin

May 25, 2010

Our local rehab, recovery and treatment centers recently competed in Olympic-style games. In my opinion, the methamphetamine addicts clearly have an edge over the heroin users, but the crack team is definitely in the running. The guy who smoked too much PCP — he’s off fishing, hates this kind of thing. My student Yvonne brought home the gold in track and field. I thought she was going to run from the community today, she was so wired from the games. I heard we also took some kind of medal in chess. Yes, the recovery games also feature chess.  Some of my students spent time in prison playing chess and they are very good players. Most of my students just went to hang out. One remarked they ran into someone they haven’t seen in many years, also back in treatment.

Several of my students are complaining to me about how messy their roommates are. They have to cohabitate in very small dorm rooms. Why not make cleaning a competition? Who will take the gold in running the vacuum? Or how about a triathlon of vacuuming, dusting and cleaning windows?

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