Class count this week 9. Plus-3 from last week, minus one who was in court. We hold class in center court of the gymnasium in a circle. (Why not a circle closer to where the molded plastic chairs are stored, I don't know). One difference that will never cease to amaze me is how many more guys I think there are in my class because they are so big compared to my 9th graders. And equally as mature at times.
Take for instance the two guys writing notes to each other across the circle. I can't remember what the notes said, but I can remember thinking and then uttering, "Really, guys? I do this all day long. How 'bout you cut me a break?"
Comments on my attire are also fair game. Last week I was wearing a pair of street sneakers with no laces - a purposeful fashion choice by the person who designed them. Without even saying hello, one guy said, "Jen, they took your laces, too?" They all laughed. I didn't quite get it immediately. Apparently upon entrance to the facility one's laces are taken for the first 30 days, presumably for safety. How they couldn't be used for harm on day 31, I have no idea.
Today's footwear was also cause for great hilarity. My footwear that is. Well, theirs too. I had on a plain black, slip on sneaker with a white sole. B said to me, "I see you have on your BCC shoes, Jen." I laughed out loud. Seriously. It was funny. I looked down at his feet and he had on the same type of shoe (though created by Bob Barker of the "Price is Right" fame. I guess when he wasn't dabbling in helping control the pet population he was designing prison footwear...). It's good to laugh before class starts.
So I laughed. You know, we always laugh. At least when it's appropriate. Lately, though, the class has become serious as it never has before. Serious in a good way. The men in my group are smart. They are articulate (and there's no judgement there, just awe as I am a horrible speaker). They are thinkers and they are listeners. And they are respectful of one another and encouraging. When I wrote to the warden to thank her again for the opportunity to teach at BCC as it made me a better high school teacher, I wasn't kidding.
One new guy even used the pronoun "whomever" properly. As a grammar weenie, I could barely contain my excitement. But after he spoke (commenting so beautifully on what his classmate had just read and providing insightful constructive criticism after only hearing the piece once), I just had to stop the group. I commented on their collective intelligence first and then said, "So it causes me to wonder, what in the heck are you all doing in here?"
'True dat' guy from last week said, "Jen, we may be smart guys, but we made bad choices." Ok then. We're working on that too.
Along with the laughter tonight came the first tears. Mine, of course. This week was emotional anyway as my day job and my volunteer job collided head-on in a real way, so perhaps the waterworks pump was already primed. But when David read his essay to the group, I just couldn't help it. And no, I had no tissues available. Son of a...
In a 4-page handwritten letter addressed to the powers that be (the focus of the class right now is to create pieces of writing to be sent to the state capitol to perhaps address some deficiencies in the correctional system), David wrote personally and from the heart how a program, specifically the class he's in with me, caused him to change his outlook. I'll let him tell you:
"[T]here was a course that started up named creative writing. It didn't cost BCC nothing because the lady volunteered to come in her own time. In this class we are taught to think with an open mind and to put the words on paper so they mean something to us and other people. We learn to express ourselves with the power of the pen."
He goes on, "I also can't tell you enough the feeling it can give you when you look forward to something that takes you away from life in [BCC] even for a moment. If something so simple as writing on a piece of paper can have this effect on someone than imagine the effects other programs or courses...could have on someone.""
Proper English? Not so much. From the heart. No doubt about it.
David said, "By just one letter that I wrote to someone who wanted to know about jail, something inside me became alive." David wrote 9 responses to anonymously posed questions by my high school students. (Yeah, that was one of the reasons for my suspension. Minors and all. Even though it was anonymous. Just questions on an index card, no names, anonymous. Whatever. I'm glad to be back.)
David now volunteers to talk to at-risk high school students and to students in criminal justice programs.
David, your letter made me cry (and not just because of the spelling! Ha!) because of the change you made in yourself. You keep on, David. When you get out, you'll have spell check. And a new outlook.
See you next week.
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