Last week at my jail class only 2 of ten students had the assignment completed. Not so different from public school teaching after all, I thought. But then I let them have it: why should I battle traffic for 45 minutes in rush hour to come here just so they could have some time off the cell block? Then I said, "Not for nothing, but what in the hell else you gotta do all week?"
"True dat," one guy said. "I feel ya, Jen."
Does he? Did he? He did not. He couldn't possibly as he showed up tonight without his homework AGAIN! Oh my god my life IS "Groundhog Day"!!! All day with the teenagers and then on Thursday nights with the incarcerated men who act like teenagers!
If you're wondering if the guys did their homework tonight, the majority did not. And one guy was so scared to come to class because he DIDN'T do the work that he stayed in his cell. Ok then.
The one guy who did do something was one that I prejudged. For two weeks he sat next to me with a scowl on his face and attitude exuding from his every pore. He said at one class, "I just take what [the time] they give me." Sad. He didn't trust me (yet), nor I him. I thought tonight would be the same. And yet, he surprised me. Shocked me, really.
Mac (and that's only one of his nicknames; the other being too identifiable) was the only one to have completed the assignment. (In the guys' defense, they thought I was going to be a no-show tonight because my supervisor was supposed to be on vacation, hence the no homework...) I asked if Mac would read his essay to the group. He demurred. But then he relented, but only if I read it. And read it I did. All four handwritten pages.
And it was good.
No, it was really good.
From the guy who barely spoke in the past two weeks I read a complete five-paragraph essay (shout out to the teachers!!!), well formatted, organized and laden with awesome vocabulary. And this is from the guy who said he hated English in high school. Hmmm...
The guys in class loved it. So did I. They said it was "good." I told them to reach beyond that adjective, and they did. And then D read his piece: a long verse poem about his struggles inside and "inside." Holy sh...
And from there the discussion came. One of the guys made mention of the level of intelligence in the class - an exact echo of my thoughts: what are these guys doing in the box?
There was so much more that I took from our discussion, but for now, suffice it to say that there ARE inmates looking to "do their time" well, instead of having their "time do them." That is why I go every week and wait, sometimes an hour or more, in the "reception area" to be escorted to the gym where our class is.
Mac pulled me aside after class tonight. "Jen, I knew you didn't think I was serious about being here. I had to prove to you that I was that's why I wrote what I did."
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