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Burn this

April 21, 2010

I love the quirks of my job. For instance there are many things that happen here that simply wouldn’t happen in a regular adult education classroom. I used to teach in a more traditional setting inside of a parole office and there was always a sense of tightened security. It got to the point where my students were occasionally searched and scrutinized without warning. German Shepherd dogs were brought in to sniff for dope. Instead of drug-sniffing dogs, we are likely to be visited by Anthony, a resident here who gives shoulder massages to my students who have been working hard at the computer all day.

Several of my female students wrote letters yesterday that target a painful memory. They told me they were going to read them and burn them the following day as a way to release the pain. All this is part of the process of recovery here. I wonder if they may also be writing about the painful memories they caused others?

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Can do?

April 19, 2010

My students get test jitters just like everyone else, but for them the fear is exponential — success is terrifying and failure or even outright avoidance is the norm. Therefore I wasn’t surprised when I returned last Thursday to find Damien had walked out of the rehab, split the program. I had written Damien a letter of recommendation to get his GED funded. Like Wanda, he only needed to retake and pass the math section of the GED. The ink on the check was still wet when he ran. He didn’t take the check, he left without it. After all, this is a man who quietly cleaned my room every day for months. When I asked him, “What figure in history do you consider successful?” he answered, “Jesus.”

Wanda took the math section of the GED Saturday. I’ve been helping her prep for several months now. I handed her an envelope when I left on Friday. I wrote Good Luck on it and put a brand new sharpened pencil inside, pure cedar with a pink pearl eraser. We should have the results in a couple weeks. As for Damien, his leaving probably had nothing to do with taking the test but man he came close.

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Three dots (flashback)

April 15, 2010

Frankie came in today after his first tattoo removal treatment. He is having his La Vida Loca dots, three dots in a triangle configuration, removed from below his left eye; the small 69 from below his lower lip; and his mother’s name, Rosa Maria — this being the most important of the three — removed from his neck. He thought his mother would be happy when he got her name inked on his neck. I think he said she fainted instead. She is very happy Frankie is having this done now, and to get it done for free for doing community service is especially cool. Otherwise it would have cost him $5,000. Frankie is a tattoo artist himself. He does permanent eyeliner on people, he wants to study cosmetology. He has a real chance of succeeding.

– from a 2002 journal entry

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In the trenches

April 13, 2010

While driving home from work today I noticed that the two lines between my eyebrows are becoming trenches. They are often called frown lines because they come along with concentration or worry. My friend told me about Frownies. Frownies are basically ways of taping your face to smooth out face wrinkles while you sleep. As I sit typing this, I have two small adhesive Band-Aids above my eyebrows as an experiment in decreasing the signs of aging. My students often look either much older than their chronological age due to drug use and a hard life, or curiously younger. I think this might be due to the effect of being locked up without exposure to sun, with an absolute regimented routine of daily sleep and nutrition. I hope I’m not going off the deep end here with this theory. Anyway, I think my students would approve of the use of Band-Aids as homemade Frownies.

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Z and the GED

April 8, 2010

Z is a longtime student. She is back in rehab and back in my school for the third time. The first time she relapsed after having fully graduated the program. The second time she was picked up for not showing up to see her probation officer and spent several months in jail. This is probably her last run at the rehab and I can’t imagine not having her in class. I am trying several strategies to get her to take the GED. She is smart and ready but terrified and reminds me often that she is bipolar. “You’re wonderful and magnificent,” I say, “bipolar!”  I talked with her bunkie  (roommate) today. Z’s bunkie Wanda is retaking the math section of the GED next week and I suggested they study together. Wanda convinced Z to let me write a letter to get her exam funded. Z starts shaking at the thought of taking the GED, it’s that scary for her. “I’m not interested in achievement, Ms. P.,” she says. “Family and love, that’s what matters to me.” I tell her, “We’re here for you, Z.”

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Smoking area

April 7, 2010

Fire drill. Fire drill at the rehab, evacuate the school. “Everyone out to the smoking area,” I repeat a couple of times.  Mario who is on crutches moves very slowly, all the time saying he won’t let me burn up. The fire alarm sounds relentlessly, like a child having a tantrum. Everyone exits out the gate and stands in the street, in the cul-de-sac. The area where residents smoke, a dirt lot with chairs and a white tented canopy is just across the way. A staff member announces that the building where the residents live was constructed in the 1920s and no one is to smoke in their room. “The building would go up like a tinderbox,” he says. I wonder if we have any guys/gals with arson on their record? It’s time to go back to work. As I walk the winding paths back to my class I notice a handmade flier taped to the wall. It announces they are having a ping-pong tournament coming up and first prize is several bags of Bugler Rolling Tobacco. I miss playing ping-pong and the occasional smoke. Smoking is just so 20th Century.

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Dis functional family (flashback)

April 5, 2010

We have all heard of homie, meaning from the same neighborhood but it goes deeper than that. Cellie is the guy or gal you shared your cell with. Crimie, that’s the person who was your partner in you guessed it, crime.  Very often a parolee will come in and recognize a former crimie or even more exciting an old cellie.  It’s like a reunion with lost family. Many of these guys have spent more time in their lives with their cellies than with their own family.

At work, two of the most unlikely students recognize each other, Edgar and Jeff.  Both know one-armed Paul and one-legged Charlie from their time inside. They sit and reminisce for a bit about their stolen Harleys and one-armed Paul and one-legged Charlie. They sound like pirates, and it makes me laugh.

— from a 2004 journal entry

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The classics

March 31, 2010

I’m about to order ten sets of books for my class. I can’t believe the list I get to choose from, it’s like I’m ordering for middle school in the 1920s. Count of Monte Cristo, oh my. I call one of my students over who I trust to help me.

“Anita, what do you think of Oliver Twist? It has pickpockets. Or Robin Hood? He stole from the rich and gave to the poor.” I read down the list on the web site. There’s Mark Twain, lots of truancy, or my favorite, Treasure Island, the glorification of all things pirate. “How about this one, Anita? The Scarlet Letter. You think my crew would like a book about adultery?”

“Maybe, Ms. P.”

I’d love my students to read these books and clearly the themes would resonate for them, but they wouldn’t get past the first page  —  the antiquated language, the formal English. When some of my students are reading books like Thugs and the Women Who Love Them and Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul, dare I order Silas Marner?

Posted in adult education, parolees, storytelling, teacher | Leave a Comment »

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Duck and cover

March 25, 2010

I like to read to my students. Because most of them come and go, I try to choose books with short, self-contained chapters, vignettes that can be repeated — books like The House on Mango Street or Who Moved My Cheese? Storytelling is contagious. Suddenly someone else’s story becomes my own and I start adding to the narrative. Like today when I told my students I used to teach in the boys’ camps outside Juvenile Hall. On my first day, in Biology class, a boy threw a chair at me right over my desk. I ducked and calmly proceeded to introduce myself. Of course, I got a little respect after that, because I didn’t leave like the other summer subs.

Posted in education, Juvenile Hall, storytelling, teacher, The House on Mango Street, Who Moved My Cheese? | Leave a Comment »

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Snake, skin (flashback)

March 23, 2010

(Trying something new here, what I’m calling a flashback. Going back to my journals for stories from my earlier days as a parolee educator.)

A student of mine is convinced that if I eat snake, all my skin problems will go away. Back when Ramiro was in prison, out in the desert, he was assigned to Level 1 where they let you work outside the prison doing maintenance and gardening. His cellmate had a serious skin condition and was putting up with a great deal of embarrassment. One day Ramiro was working outside the perimeter of the prison and killed a desert snake. “You have to kill the snake before you get it mad or it’s no good,” Ramiro tells me, making a swift motion with his hand, showing how he killed the snake quickly and quietly while it slept. He threw the dead snake over the prison gate and later took it to his dormitory where they were allowed a hot plate and pan to cook with. Like a good friend, Ramiro cooked the snake and served it to his cellmate. He says that after only one or two times of consuming snake, his friend’s skin condition cleared up completely.  “Snake will heal your skin, Miss P.,” Ramiro says, urging me to try it. “It cleans the blood.”

— from a 2002 journal entry

Posted in parolees, prison, students, teacher | Leave a Comment »

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