Father's Day in Prison is Difficult to Celebrate

It's Father's Day morning, and as I'm working out on small yard, I notice that a phone is open. It strikes me how strange it is to see a phone open at all, but especially on a holiday. How sad is it that on Mother's Day one must wait almost two hours for a phone, but on Father's Day there are open phones. That says a lot about the lack of influence dads have had on so many prisoners. It also says a lot about the broken relationships (or complete lack of relationship) many prisoners have with their kids. 

My dad died a couple of months ago, and although we were not close, I acutely feel the loss of hope for a better relationship with him. Still, I know my dad loved me, and I miss him a lot. But my dad isn't the only father-figure I've lost this year. It's been a tough year for the dads in my life. 

My former father-in-law also died this year, as did a very good friend who was much like a father to me. And every July I remember and honor Don who was, perhaps, the best father figure I ever had. I miss each of these men tremendously. 

I suppose losing people we care about is a natural part of growing older, but it's not easy. It's especially not easy in prison where one must mourn without those who also knew the person who died. But growing older also means my role is shifting. 

I have been immensely blessed to have several men who have been fathers to me. Not many prisoners can say that. Most prisoners either never knew their fathers or have never had a relationship with them. Of course, there are exceptions. I'm so grateful that I am one of those exceptions. I am deeply grateful for the men who poured into my life. And now, I find myself more and more in that role. In prison, they call those "old heads," even though I'm only 44 years old and clearly NOT old. 

Sometimes old heads "father" the younger prisoners into prison etiquette and unwritten rules. But I find my role to be more of an encourager, which I guess fits my personality. It's very fulfilling to talk with younger guys as they try to figure out their lives, so I look for organic opportunities to do so. 

Ever since one young prisoner started calling me "dad" (we look somewhat alike), I feel both pride and shame every time he calls out to me. It's been more than twelve years since I've been called "dad," and it feels amazing to be called that, even jokingly. But it also stirs up shame at my terrible failures as a father.

Despite the handful of amazing men who poured into my life, I still made some epically stupid decisions. I remember that as I talk to younger guys and then see them go and make stupid decisions anyway. It must have broken the hearts of the men who cared about me when I did the same. They deserved better from me. But my children especially deserved better. 

Today, as I commit myself to living a transformed life, I do so both because it's the right thing to do. I also do so because I want to honor the men who poured into my life and to honor my children who deserved better. 

Here's to my children, and to Don, Duane, Dad, and Marion. My life is better because of each one of you. 

New Prison Yard Schedules Make No Sense

 We prisoners have a saying that goes something like, "If it makes sense, that's why the prison doesn't do it." In other words, pretty much most of what is done to run prisons is counterintuitive. Logical thinking is apparently not required to run a prison. 

Still, it's hard not to wonder (and speculate about) why some decisions are made. Clearly, we prisoners do not have all the information that goes into making decisions, and I concede that some decisions that appear illogical might have a reason that at least seems legitimate. But in the face of constant stupidity, it's no wonder some conspiracies arise. 

This past week the administration at MTU decided to institute a new yard schedule. Already, because of Covid restrictions, we do not get our normal yard times, but now we get even less. Instead of doing what they've been doing for months, now only half a unit can be allowed out on small yard at a time. That means we get half the yard time we had before, which was already shortened because of lengthy chow times, and general staff apathy. The reason administration gives is "social distancing," despite the fact that over 80% of the prison population has been vaccinated and even more have had Covid-19. 

We have had no positive cases among prisoners for weeks, and the "positives" for weeks before that had no symptoms, likely meaning they were false positives. Staff members have tested positive recently because they have largely refused the vaccine, but prisoners are the ones being punished. Officers don't social distance, but they are at the highest risk of getting the virus. 

With such illogical decision making, it's hard not to wonder what else is driving these decisions. Perhaps it is the increase in violence on the compound, driven by a growing frustration and declining mental health among prisoners, as well as fights over debts owed for illegal substances. Since this prison has been dealing with staff shortages for months, "social distancing" is a good excuse to use for management troubles.

But another possibilty exists. Perhaps decisions to drag out the covid restrictions, and even tighten them when the worst has long passed, is driven by money. States (including state prisons) have been receiving federal dollars to help with the covid crisis, so it's possible that in order to continue qualifying for this money the state must continue to have a "crisis," even if a crisis no longer exists. 

It's difficult to know where, exactly, the problem lies. That's the beauty of bureaucracy, I guess. There's always someone higher up to blame. Some officers and staff love the tighter restrictions, because it punishes us prisoners. But not all of them do. Some officers are so frustrated by the administrative ineptitude that they are quitting. This only exacerbates the staffing shortages. Sadly, it's not the officers who hate prisoners who quit either. It's the good ones. The ones who care and who treat prisoners like human beings.

Unfortunately, we prisoners don't have the luxury of quitting. Instead, we take it on the chin. Some write useless grievances (the process lacks basic Constitutional protections), some catch insolence tickets for expressing their frustrations, and the rest of us suffer in silence. 

Prison was never meant to be fun, but it ought to at least be operated with some common sense. Is that too much to ask?

Making Prison a Place of Higher Learning

 Ending up in prison is nothing to be proud of, so I feel a bit conflicted right now. I never finished earning a college degree before coming to prison because I married into an instant family, had a demanding job running my own business, and was (too) involved in my church and community. In short, I didn't have time for college. So, when I had an opportunity to earn a college degree while incarcerated, I jumped at the chance. 

After five years of reading hundreds of books and writing hundreds of pages of papers, this week I finally completed my degree requirements through the Calvin Prison Initiative. I feel very proud of my accomplishment, mainly because I was able to do something worthwhile with my time in prison. Not too many prisoners can say that (often at no particular fault of their own). 

Because of Covid restrictions in prison, I will not have a graduation ceremony until (hopefully) this fall, but my cohort of 16 other students and I completed a bachelor's degree in Faith and Community Leadership with a minor in social work. Calvin University honored us graduates during their formal graduation ceremony at LMCU ballpark on May 22, showing each of our pictures on the jumbotron in lieu of our actual presence. 

Our formal education may be complete, but many of us will continue to dedicate ourselves to lifelong learning. We will also use our education while in prison to mentor other prisoners, and outside of prison to contribute in healthy ways to our communities. Most of us view our incredible opportunity to earn a college degree as a trust--it comes with greater responsibility towards our communities, in prison and out. 

I'm incredibly grateful to Calvin University (Calvin University--www.calvin.edu/prison-initiative), the many wonderful professors we've had, and the CPI staff for their commitment to "remembering the prisoners as if chained with them" (Hebrews 13:3). While it's true that leaving prison with a college degree will make me more employable, I didn't pursue this degree for that reason. I dedicated myself to this education for the mental and spiritual transformation that I anticipated I would experience (which I have). But I also dedicated my education to my children who deserved better from me. I'm proud to graduate with distinction, not because it says anything about my abilities but because it demonstrates my commitment to do my best. Yet, I'll always regret not having applied that same commitment to what really mattered in my life prior to prison. 

The day I officially completed my requirements for a college degree, I encountered another prisoner who had just earned his G.E.D. His excitment and pride in himself was palpable. Even though I had never met him before, I embraced him and congratulated him, reveling in his joy. Maybe some might shrug off earning a G.E.D., but for many who are chronic failures it's a huge accomplishment. 

Whether it's earning a G.E.D. or a college degree, prison doesn't have to be a complete waste of one's life. It can be a time to refocus priorities and develop disciplines that will bear fruit. At least it has been for me.

You Better Lock That Bladder Down!

 Lockdowns are fairly common in prison. They involve prisoners being sent back to their cells and all movement stopping. Some lockdowns relegate prisoners to their housing units (in-house movement only), but most send prisoners to their cells. Some lockdowns are short (to deal with a fight, for example), and others are long (like for planned massive cell shakedowns).

Some cells, especially in higher security levels, have toilets in the cells, so a lockdown, while frustrating, is not the end of the world. Others, like the prison I'm housed in, have no toilets in the cell. When we are locked down, the number one complaint is that prisoners need to use the bathroom, but they are locked in their cells. 

Prison policy is vague in what prison staff are required to allow. Policy states that prisoners are to be allowed to use the bathroom after a "reasonable amount of time." A recent nine hour lockdown we experienced, for massive shakedowns, left us in our rooms for four to five hours between bathroom breaks. Nobody would say that is "reasonable," except perhaps prison administrators, like the Warden, who directed corrections staff to deprive us of reasonably spaced bathroom breaks. 

Being sent to prison is punishment for committing crimes, but prison is the punishment itself. The US Constitution prohibits cruel and unusual punishment. Preventing hundreds of prisoners from using the bathroom for 4-5 hours at a time is just plain cruel. The last time this happened the Warden promised it wouldn't happen again, but it did. Clearly, protecting prisoners from cruel and unusual punishments is not a priority. 

What makes matters worse is that while prisoners were not allowed to use the bathroom for hours at a time, officers took the dogs that some prisoners train out to use the bathroom several times. As we prisoners see it, the animals are treated with more respect than we are. 

Shakedowns and lockdowns are an inevitable part of prison life. Getting locked for hours at a time in a 6' x 9' cell is unpleasant. But it's much more tolerable when you are allowed to use the bathroom in reasonable intervals. No prisoner, especially those who are double bunked like we are, should have to piss in a bag and throw it out the window because we are not allowed reasonably spaced bathroom breaks. That's inhumane.

Lockdowns provide an opportunity for quiet reading, studying, sleeping, writing letters, watching TV, or working on creative projects. But it's nearly impossible to focus on anything but the frustration of being deprived of one's fundamental dignity when we are treated in this way. 

Prison is not supposed to be a "fun" place, but it's also not supposed to be a place where administrators thumb their noses at Constitutional protections. It's not supposed to be a place where people are routinely treated with indignities. If free people could see how prisons are really run, how prisoners are sometimes treated, they'd be ashamed to know their own tax dollars support such indignities.