March 19, 2010
Samuel is doing better. His mother came and dropped off his I.D. and this time she visited with him. He is working very hard on his multiplication with carry-over. He takes homework with him to practice after dinner. One of my students asked me what the BMI was today so I showed her how to figure her Body Mass Index by setting it up as an algebra equation. Her BMI is 48.6, considered dangerously high. I recommended that she start a support group at the rehab for those wanting to lose weight. “How about a little healthy competition with team support,”I said, “like that TV show The Biggest Loser.” Parole housing or reality TV show, you decide.
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March 17, 2010
My students are big on emoting. After working for about an hour on reading comprehension, Linda said, “I’m sprung.” “Is it the coffee?” I asked. Being “sprung” is not uncommon for addicts, especially crack and meth users. It’s a feeling of not being able to stay in your seat, a kind of restless mind-body syndrome, along with some anxiety. “Can I clean the classroom?” Linda asked. “Okay,” I tell her, “here are some antibacterial wipes, go ahead and clean some of the computer keyboards.” Students have told me more than once that being in my school gave them the space they needed to stay in recovery. I wish I could get a little sprung (on coffee), it might help me clean my house.
Whoops, I was confusing being sprung with being spun. Being spun is that constant restlessness I see in addicts. Being sprung is a state of intense desire and obsession for someone. Coffee in general will not get you sprung. I think my student was saying she was very horny, so it’s a little strange that I had her clean my keyboards.
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March 16, 2010
I have one student who drives me crazy. He’s my Diogenes. He tells other students not to sign up for my school because “she will hold you hostage.” He says it with a smile. He has only put in seven hours since enrolling, seems like 70. He tries to be my friend but only ends up taking my time and focus off my work. Who’s being held hostage here? I offered him an optional drop (that he can leave with no penalty) which really doesn’t exist in our program. Some students need a class that is “teacher driven” — working independently on a computer is not the answer.
No matter how many pencils I put out at the beginning of the school day, I never end up with as many at day’s end. I write in black Sharpie marker on each pencil “Do Not Remove” and the date. A student recently brought me a handful of my pencils all marked “Do Not Remove” that he found in his roommate’s drawer who had left the rehab. Another student joked saying he had a dozen pencils marked “Do Not Remove,” to sell me. I tell them, “Please return my pencils. They don’t grow on trees…Well actually they do.”
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March 12, 2010
Samuel is my newest student. He told me he was living in a car with his mom but his parole agent would not accept that as a primary residence. So he is at our residential rehab for an address, not for drug addiction. Sam told me his mom, who still lives in the car, is an alcoholic. He also told me he is a hopeless kleptomaniac. He especially loves high-end markets. A gourmet selection of goodies increases his chance of offending. For Sam, stealing itself is a high — very addictive and almost impossible to stop. His “jacket,” a list of his criminal convictions, is riddled with petty theft. Sam is tall and handsome with a long brunette ponytail. He looks like the boy next door who surfs. He told me he can’t read, which is not entirely true. He has a third-grade reading level. Hopefully he will stick around long enough to get some help in my school. Half the battle will be raising his self-esteem. Sam seems quite depressed. I’ve yet to see him smile. He eagerly awaited his mother’s arrival yesterday while he worked on the classroom computer. She was coming to drop off some of his clothes. I asked him, “Don’t you want to wait outside so you won’t miss her?” “No,” he said, “she will ask for me.” Sam checked with the front desk to see if his mother had come by. She had made a delivery but did not ask for him. Sam came back to school and signed out for the day. He was pretty upset.
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March 8, 2010
Damien helps clean the classroom everyday at 3:45 and he does a damn good job. I can’t read his emotions at all. I know he was in a real long time and I know he was in for murder. He doesn’t talk much, but he often murmurs to himself, “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” in a descending scale. He has a certain innocence, a naiveté. “Miss P.,” Damien asked me, “do you think I could get $10 for this half a twenty if I take it to the bank?” I walked over to see he was holding half a twenty-dollar bill torn along the face of Andrew Jackson. “Not sure, ” I said. I looked on the Internet and learned you need to be able to read both serial numbers and at least 75% of the bill. “Maybe I should save it for good luck,” Damien said. “Or save it because maybe someday you’ll find the person who has the other half,” I said. He laughed. “That’s a one in a million chance, Miss P!”
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March 5, 2010
Aryan brothers, I could live without them in my classroom. The first time I saw the number 23 tattooed on a guy I asked him, why 23? He told me W is the 23rd letter of the alphabet, W for white power. I’ll never forget the time I saw a guy sitting outside my classroom with no less than five swastikas tattooed on his face and shaved head. I wondered to myself, “I hope he hasn’t been referred to my school.” He was just too extreme and frankly a bit scary. I’ve been trained not to talk about my religious affiliation so when a ‘brother’ asks me if I’m Jewish, I have to practice an almost ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy but sometimes I will say, ” yes, I’m Jewish.” I don’t sport a ’10’ on my forearm, you won’t find Moses holding the tablets on my back. I’ve had skin allergies my whole life and worry I would be allergic to the ink and then there is the history of so many Jews who were forcibly given tattoos during the Shoah. A student of mine once returned from being back in prison with a cross on his forearm. I saw the words, ‘God Bless’ and said, “you found religion?!” Upon further inspection I saw the words surrounding the cross said, “God Bless the Haters.”
Posted in gangs, parolees, prison, tattoos | 1 Comment »
March 2, 2010
Today I helped my student Carey fill out a request to claim his father’s last paycheck through a state Treasury office. Carey had his father’s original death certificate. I couldn’t help but notice that the reason listed for his father’s death was carcinoma of the lung. I told Carey his dad died of lung cancer at 56. He said he knew his dad died of cancer but never knew which kind. I asked, “Did your father smoke?” “Pall Mall Reds,” said Carey. My students usually go on a ten-minute smoke break once in the morning and another in the afternoon. Just before Carey went to smoke, I reminded him that he was holding his father’s death certificate in his hand and that smoking could have been a contributing factor. (It’s the Adult Health Educator in me. ) “Thanks,” Carey said, “I’m going to be thinking about that all day.”
And then he left to go smoke.
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February 27, 2010
Today is Friday and it feels like the week has already left the room. Most of my students are at a handball/basketball tournament, playing against another rehab. It’s the last day of the week in this month and somehow I feel entitled to just relax. On my way to the dining hall to warm up last night’s leftovers for lunch (stuffed red pepper), I saw William sitting on the ground. He was surrounded by at least five staff. One went into the kitchen to get a cold towel for his forehead. I just walked by, didn’t say a thing or ask how he was, like the car accidents on the highway I often ignore. Now I feel bad. Maybe William noticed me breezing by without out a care to his fall. They took him away to have his head examined. I’m sure he will be fine, at least I hope so.
I called Victoria to ask how William was. She said, “When the paramedics came, they assumed the 911 call was for Jensen.” The paramedics had come so many times to rescue Jensen. They were expecting to take him to the hospital again.
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February 24, 2010
Yesterday the community went quiet. The entire rehab was called to the big dining hall for an announcement. A long-time resident who’d been in the hospital died of a heart attack. He’d become a fixture in our community, funny and beloved. He had relapsed and re-entered the program, was just about to finish and go back out into the larger community. Though his mom and girlfriend showed up for the gathering, it seems this place was also his family. For close to two hours, fellow residents stood and sang, told their favorite memories, and gave prayers. One of his friends asked everyone to point to the sky. “That’s where Jensen is, ” he said, “in heaven.” Jensen was never my student so I didn’t know him very well. I did appreciate the complete shift when we gathered, the quiet, and the open grief.
Today, when I came into work, I noticed someone had put Jensen’s name on the completion board. Students get their names on this board when they graduate and leave the program, move on to the greater community.
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February 23, 2010
I didn’t always teach adults who dropped out of high school. There was a time when I taught K-12 and specialized in secondary school Art. I taught watercolor painting and beginning art history and aesthetics. But I was also required to teach subjects I had no training in, like science and physical education. I still have materials from when I taught Middle School, extra-curricular worksheets in basic art techniques like shading and perspective. Now, sometimes when my adult students are studying geometry on our classroom computers, I hand out a worksheet on shading the basic geometric shapes. One worksheet shows a cartoonish mad scientist in his laboratory. It instructs the students to pick one light source in the picture and, using a pencil, shade the lab. I passed out a few of these sheets at the rehab. “Why are you asking us to shade a meth lab?” my students asked. “It’s not a meth lab,” I said, “the scientist could be inventing a cure for cancer.” I quickly took back all the sheets. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble here.” Including myself.
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