A ten-minute read unless you use your finger!
Through my work with CLiF, the Children’s Literacy Foundation, I have made a few visits to New Hampshire prisons. Most of these have been for Family Day when the inmates get to hang out with their families. There are activities, special foods (ice-pops, and cotton candy - which I admit I am assuming are not regular food items in prison) and CLiF gives the incarcerated men or women books to give to their kids. Other visits are presentations with the inmates alone, helping them learn about choosing books for their kids, biological or not, teh importance of reading and how, through books, very important connections can be made with their children. Some of these people are giving books to grandchildren, nephews, nieces, younger siblings, cousins even. It’s not easy work. Some of these men and women are there because of one mistake. Sometimes that mistake lasts for the rest of their lives. I have even been to visit with the men who are kept in solitary most of the time - together in one room with my back close to the door and guards. Having said that, I have never felt safer - once the ice was broken! These powerful-looking men are covered in tattoos. One had a very large word tattooed on his forearm, half hidden with other words and images, and of course I had to ask what it meant. He told me. It was something so viscous, and nasty, I blocked it out of my mind. After he told me this, and the men saw the look on my face, I shared my cute little fox tattoo, and that made the laughter of the men louder, breaking the ice.
My first visit for a Family Day was a man sitting at a table on his own. All the other men at their own tables had family around them, chatting, laughing, hugging. I went to join the solo inmate and we talked. After I asked if he minded if I joined him, and him agreeing, he told me that his family were usually late, as his 15-year-old daughter had a hard time visiting with him. He told me he was trying to make sure that his children (he had a son and another daughter) did not follow in his footsteps and follow what had been the family business. He told me his father and his father’s father had been in same ‘business’ but he was done. He wanted out, big time, and he wanted his children to have a better life.
It struck me how lonely these folks are, behind bars, and how hard it must be for children visiting their incarcerated family. It has to be utterly heartbreaking for everyone.
A few weeks ago, I went to do one of these presentations for male inmates with CLiF founder Duncan McDougal. Some of these men recognized me from previous visits, most knew Duncan, who has been going to these places regularly for 20 years. We sat and talked with the men, helped them choose books, chatted. A couple of the men, once I had started talking and my English voice gave me away, came over to say how much they had enjoyed what I did for the family day visits. It was good to hear, and I sat down with them and gave them some storytelling tips. But that’s not important. What’s important is that these inmates, the women or the men, connect with their children, or the children of their partners on the outside. By being able to talk about the books they send is a starting place for a conversation. Being able to tell each other what they thought about the books, or even something in the book that might have been a shared experience for the inmate and their family before they became incarcerated. Books are invaluable for these people to have a relationship outside of prison. And this helps them when they have done their time and they are out. These relationships help them succeed and contribute, positively, to the community they end up living in. This visit was on a Monday.
That Friday, four days later, I was gallivanting in a completely different part of New England to tell stories at an elementary school. As one group of kids came in, a young lad called out to me. “Hey! I’ve seen you in prison!” Not something one normally hears coming from a fourth-grade kid’s mouth! It took a nanosecond for the penny to drop, and I waved him over and we had a chat. I remembered his dad’s name, and face, and told the boy that I had seen him on Monday. It was a little moment, like a birthday, a surprise party, Christmas morning an unexpected, welcomed family member showing up for Kwanza or Hanukkah. And it became something the boy can connect over when he next speaks with his dad. If he remembers!
Back to Monday. I was talking with a few of the men, and was talking about one of my all-time favourite authors - Jason Reynolds. He wrote the Track series - Ghost, Patina, Sunny and Lu. He also wrote As Brave As You (absolutely brilliant book), and Miles Morales: Spiderman (one of my all-time fave superhero books). He also wrote A Long Way Down. I get the privilege of sometimes being able to grab some of the CLiF books if they are not taken, to take home and read myself, so I can talk knowledgeably to kids when giving the books away. I read the graphic novel A Long Way Down, and then the novel itself. Both are incredible books. And not at all easy reads. Brief synopsis - spoiler alert - a boy’s brother is murdered, shot to death. The street motto - no tears, no snitching, revenge. So the younger brother finds the older brother’s gun in their high-rise apartment, and gets in the elevator to go down to kill the kid who killed his sibling. At each and every floor, the elevator stops and in steps someone; someone he realizes he knows; someone who was shot to death. One of these people was shot accidentally, the rest mostly revenge killings. At the bottom of the long ride down, the young boy has to make a decision: Will he go and shoot the kid who killed his brother, or not? I was talking about this book to one of the inmates. That’s my story, he said.
Let’s take a moment to pause there. Let that sink in. That’s my story.
After a moment we talked about the book, the story it told, what it meant to him, what it might mean to the child he might send it to. Would it help them understand their father better, or would it make things worse? These moments I stumble on, sink deep beneath the skin and into my heart. One bad decision. A good person, who does one bad thing and their life, and the lives of all those around changes in a moment. A good job, a family, prospects, and then prison.
And all these other thoughts come to mind - my privilege, my luck, my own choices (and not all have been good, some far from good). And here I sit. I can call my family when I want and get to talk to them (when they actually pick up)! I can visit them when I like (or when I can afford to - flights to the UK are not cheap). We can video chat and send each other books and magazines, photos and the like.
Someone recently asked me what my joy was. Or is. Children’s unadulterated, pure, belly-filled laughter, was and is my reply. And my family. All of it. My wife and kids. My brothers, sister, cousins, nephews, and nieces; few remaining aunts and uncles; my outlaws, my wife’s nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles; our parents. Of course. And friends. Some of my friends give me a great deal of joy.
My joy is telling stories, and to see kids and their care-providers/parents laughing in a world, that for some, has little joy - and my family. My great, big, crazy family. So, while we gather at this time of year, be grateful that you have people in your life that you can call on, talk to, be with, laugh and cry with. And give away books, lots and lots of books.
Have a great Holiday and even Better New Year!
Simon
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