Yesterday marked one year since I started Parole Call. My goal was 100 posts; counting this one I wrote 77. Anniversaries are funny things in my line of work. Mostly everything my students — all felons on parole — recognize as a milestone is followed by the statement, on the outside. “This is the first birthday/Christmas/Thanksgiving I’ve spent on the outside in X many years.” I’ve never heard anyone say, “This is the first anniversary of my not stealing.” Maybe we should honor the passage of time from iniquity as well.
So this is my first anniversary of blogging. I have learned a lot about my work through this process of written reflection. I realize I spend all day helping people see their potential, celebrate small victories, and recognize incremental growth in themselves. But I also see humanity in turmoil, locked into destructive patterns, unable to break away from drugs, poverty, and the grip of mental illness. My work environment is never boring. On any given day when I walk into the greater rehab, there is likely someone yelling, getting yelled at, crying, laughing, ready to walk, steaming mad, or heartbroken. I see people in survival mode, working the system for food and shelter. Some students leave without completing the program and come back years later, fresh out of prison all over again. I might see a former student sitting on the couch near the intake desk, black-eyed, thin and homeless. “Welcome back,” I say. “I hope you will come back to school, we missed you.” It’s about a thimble of hope.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . P A R O L E . C A L L 