For men in prison doing hard time, they [usually] have their family and friends on the outside, with maybe one or two individuals -- typically women relatives -- staying the course as regular support through the arduous procession of years. These people represent hope; these people are an umbilical to the reality which exists outside of the sub-society which is prison in America.
But to actually SURVIVE prison, these same men must look to those around them, the imprisoned others, the rank and file CDC numbered enduring the same drudgery and hardships. We've all heard and seen the stories about racially-divided gangs. And, that is the commonly accepted path for a majority of these men. But there are smaller groups, often guys who fall on the periphery of the status quo (yes, it exists even within prison), who must scramble to make it across the mine fields of chow time, shower time, yard time, long, long, lo-o-ng time. Some get through as loners with reputations, constantly looking over their own shoulders as a solo act, while others align with fellow inmates exhibiting similar outlooks -- they create often unusual alliances in order to see the sun rise on yet another stretch of twenty-four hours.
Gary holds onto a tight handful of brothers from the inside who have his back . . . and he's had theirs a time or two . . . or hundred. As with siblings growing up in the unique environment of their parental household, these men also exist in a singular environment. They share experiences which forge intense bonds that can never be duplicated with people on the outside, not even close blood family and friends. It is something very akin to those who risk their lives on the front lines of war for one another. Only those in the group, caught up in those moments, can fully comprehend the accompanying agonies, humiliations, and losses which are attached to such extreme living.
One man stands out in this limited band of brothers -- we'll call him 'T.' He probably knows our family, our small circle of immediate siblings and the children, as well as many: countless days and nights spent in a 10 x 12 cell with Gary, falling asleep amidst the angry sounds of desperate men in desperate circumstances, swapping stories to remove themselves for a time from their setting. Over the years, my mother and I have sent 'T' all manner of holiday cards and short greetings. In turn, 'T' has penned grateful handmade cards and short messages, thanking us for remembering him in the great big world and encouraging us where Gary's life was concerned.
Last year, I made a personal decision to accept 'T' as a friend and not just as an acquaintance, to trust this California State Prison inmate whom I have never met in person,after receiving a surprisingly lengthy and revealing letter in which he outlined a personal and puzzling encounter with the Lord while in solitary confinement. We've exchanged several very good letters since then, and I continue to field contact between him and Gary as they are unable to write directly. (This is a policy which is at once clearly understandable and painfully inadequate as many of prisoners literally end up without close contacts outside of the friendships they form while inside; not all of these alliances are forged out of necessity and criminal leanings.) At some point in all of this, I will introduce you to 'T' once I receive his permission to share bits and pieces of him.
Today, as the promised snow actually begins to fall with force outside my kitchen windows, as I contemplate a hearty Greek lunch with my husband who stayed home from the workplace (though not from work, itself) and hope for snow angels and hot chocolate tomorrow morning, 'T' and Gary, each in their respective institutions, battle for a foothold in yet another day on the front lines of their lives. Yes, they are incarcerated to repay a debt to society for their crimes, but trust me when I say that they have repaid with outrageous interest -- a number which would astound even the financial institutions and governments of today. We should be outraged at that! I've joined their ranks and feel the tether I've willingly accepted, connecting me to each of them.
Earlier this month, 'T' wrote to Gary of our expanded writing friendship, exclaiming in bold print, "Your sister is PUNK ROCK, dude!" That tickled me to pieces. I interpret this as a positive spin on my character and personality as my hair is not pink and green and though I once shaved my head, I never sported a mohawk; nothing outside of my ears is pierced; I listen to Mozart, movie soundtracks, and Michael Jackson, NOT the Maniacs, Minor Threat, and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones; and my wardrobe would not draw attention anywhere. In short, though I surprise many, I shock NO ONE! Gary's reply, a letter to be mailed out to 'T' on the morrow, is below in excerpts which sum it all up. Say hello, Gary . . .
Wednesday -- January 10, 2010
What's up dawg?! Lemme tell ya' what happened the other day: I get this fat letter from sis, all psyched, I open it & it's a copy of her letter to you! You straight bumped me fool!
Look, God did a miracle in my life homeboy, for real. So I'm keeping it real, by giving the life He gave me back to Him. I'm still me. Always will be . . . I'll be doing something new, actively working on a better future. I actually have hope homeboy.
Sis loves you already, so you're really in the family now, fool. That means accountability, too. Plus, Glor can use some positive support in her life too, ya know? It's not easy to be the supporter all the time.
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