Bring Me Your Torch--It's Time to Go

Every Wednesday night I check out of prison for a little bit and join the competitors on the television show Survivor. I've been watching Survivor for most of the 40 seasons, and I still love watching the physical battles, social scheming, and mental exhaustion. Inevitably, my favorite player changes two or three times every season, especially when he or she is voted off the island. Even still, I keep on watching. 

One of the highlights for the players occurs somewhere around two-thirds of the way through each season. It's called "Family Day." The players that are still left in the game are "surprised" by visits from one of their loved ones, and the emotions from players and their loved ones are truly moving. In all but the current season, the players then must compete for an opportunity for an extended visit with their loved one (this season it was families and everyone got extended visits). Those who lose say "goodbye" and sadly leave their loved ones again until after the season is over. 

This week as I watched "Family Day," it occurred to me that the Survivor players have visceral reactions to reuniting with their loved ones after only a month or two away from each other. Granted, for many people that long away from people you love is torture. Yet, they willingly leave their loved ones for an opportunity at a large cash prize. One of the reasons these family visits are so important is because in the game of Survivor you can't trust anyone. Even allies and friendship are shadowed by mistrust and toxic competitiveness. Who's lying and who's planning blindsides? It's hard to tell, and that's why loved ones, people you can trust implicitly, are so important. 

You've probably figured out by now that I see a parallel between Survivor and prison. There are major differences, of course. At the end of Survivor, a winner goes home with a big check. At the end of a prison sentence, you go home with basically nothing. Also, in Survivor the other players are only metaphorically trying to stab you in the back. In prison, well, the shanking has a little more "steel" to it. But I digress. Back to Family Day. 

When prisoners get visits from loved ones, there are usually hugs, and sometimes a tear or two. The emotive expressions might be more muted, but the inner joy and sense of safety are just as real. There are no tropical beach locations and a catered meal to share with loved ones like in Survivor, but even crowded visiting rooms and vending machine food can't steal the joy of a prison visit. That little bit of time away from the reality of prison re-energizes and re-focuses many prisoners.

During this coronavirus quarantine, prisoners are stuck on the "island" without "Family Day." Honestly, it sucks. We don't know how long this will last, but we know it'll eventually end. We'll get our Family Day again. There might be a few more tears than normal, and the hugs will probably last a bit longer. It'll be nice to step away from the "game" for a little while, but what we'd all like to do, especially now while the coronavirus threatens to harm our families and sweep through prisons, is leave the island altogether.