This morning my bunkie found out that his mom died of cancer. There was no pretense of concern by this institution. He was paged over the loudspeaker to a secretary’s office. The secretary told him his mom had died earlier that morning. I wasn’t around when he was notified, but I would imagine the information was presented in a prison sort of way, much like the way my step-mother’s passing was. . . matter of factly, as if I had no emotions. It is a secretary’s job to tell my bunkie of the news, much like the how it is the guard’s job to yell out our names during mail call or a food service worker slopping a hamburger and rice casserole onto our tray with an ice cream scoop. It’s a job, and they do it and it’s done. There are no follow-up questions indicating concern or empathy. You are told, then excused.
Earlier this week, my friend learned that both his dad and his grandmother had heart attacks. While his dad appears to be fine, he is concerned that his grandmother will not make it. Fortunately my friend discovered this by talking to his family (as I had about my step mom) and not through the prison information network.
When I learned that my step mom’s cancer had returned not too long ago, and that the doctor’s did no think she would live much longer, I knew that I probably would not see my step mom again. Now, my bunkie is facing the same emotions. Like my friend wondering if he will see his grandmother again, all of us have the same feeling of helplessness. I wrote earlier about the worry list. This is similar, but different. We know we could not do anything even it on the outside, but the helplessness that comes with the lack of closure is different. We can’t do anything to provide comfort for those hurting. We can’t say goodbye, or thanks for everything. Our being here probably adds to the pain our loved ones felt, and that only adds to some sort of guilt that our transgression may have caused this. Still, there is nothing we can do, and that is the hardest part about prison.
I have two grandmothers that are still alive. Since my indictment over three years ago I have not talked to either of them. It occurred to me this week (the holidays also make one think a lot about family) that I may not see either of them again. However, for some reason or other, I have withheld my love from them. Maybe it’s pride that constrains me, maybe fear. I don’t know yet, but I do know that in prison I don’t have the opportunity to visit them, hug them, or have dinner with them. I may have missed my opportunity to show Christ’s love to my own family.
I could go on by saying we can pray and trust God. In fact, that is true, but it doesn’t always console people here, or on the outside to say that. No, what I want to say is take advantage of the opportunities you do have to console or help someone who is hurting. There is no lack of hurting people looking for someone to unconditionally love them. My guess is that there is someone who is 100 yards away from you that is hurting; maybe even someone in your own family. Now that the holidays are here, take the time to connect with them and tell them that you are thinking about them or that you love them. Like me, you may not get another chance.
Jeff
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Worry List (#29)
As I’ve said in other blogs, one of the most frustrating aspects of prison is the sense of helplessness you feel when things happen to your family and you can’t do anything. I struggle with anxiety about the future. How will I provide for my family, how is my oldest son, Connor, going to adjust to a new school, it my wife getting enough rest as a single mom with two young kids. The list goes on and on. I believe the verse Matt. 6:34 is where Jesus talks about not worrying about tomorrow because tomorrow will worry about itself. That’s a tricky one for me to apply, because what does that mean for today, that I have to take care of the trouble or that each day brings its own troubles, so best not to worry about any of it, etc.
I understand that the main point is to pursue and seek the things of God, and to not get caught up in the worries of the world. But, I still worry about my family, my kids, my wife, and so on. How do I stop? This is where I struggle. I still worry about my son’s change in schools, even though it is still 8 months away. These things pop into my head whether I seemingly want them to or not. I can’t stop thinking about the future. I can’t simply say, “God, find me a job that will take care of the huge debt I have” and then expect God to do that. I believe God will provide what I need, but I also need to be a good steward of my time. How do we reconcile this dilemma of not worrying, trusting and not wasting time. I think my friend, Doug Gamble, another prisoner here, had a great idea about this.
Doug has a lot going on at his home. He lives in Oregon so he’s physically quite distant from his family. He doesn’t have a whole lot of money to call his wife or other people. He’s a lot like everyone here. He can’t help his loved one when things go wrong. He told me yesterday after two tough weeks that he had been worried about thing happening at home and frustrated that he couldn’t help. Then he shared an idea with me. Each day he was going to make a list or add to an existing list of all the things going on at home. After praying about each one, he would create a new list every day of the things that he could do from Taft to help. His first realization was the most interesting. There were many things on his list that he could not control or with which he could provide help because he is in Taft. Most of it would not be relevant until he got out of prison anyway. He was surprise to see how many things he worried about that he couldn’t do anything about anyway. I think this is where Doug’s faith plays a huge roll. He tells me to let God worry about that stuff, and he just prays and tells God that he can’t worry about and to let God figure it out.
As he would go through his list of worries, he would also create a list of things he could do that day to help any of the situations. For example, if he was worried about his wife not knowing how to handle a financial matter, he would write on his list, “call wife and explain how to take care of financial matter.” If he didn’t have enough money to make a phone call, then that wouldn’t be something he could do that day. He might write instead, “write a letter to wife about financial issue.” In this way he was a good steward of his worries and time. He was doing what he could today about the issues, and not worrying about thing over which he could not control. His frustration and anxiety decreased. Rather than wandering around the track worrying all day, he was busy doing what he could from his list, praying over the other stuff, and moving on with his life.
After a while, Doug noticed that his list of things he was worrying about was getting shorter, as he pared down what he couldn’t control, and took care of what he could, he realized that two things were happening. He was trusting God more and praying rather than worrying. He figured that perhaps one day he would simply be in prayer over anything that seemed to be causing him to worry rather than worrying about it long enough to even make a list. I guess that is the goal. To offer things to God before they fester into worry. I think Doug is on his way, and I like the model for my own life.
Jeff
I understand that the main point is to pursue and seek the things of God, and to not get caught up in the worries of the world. But, I still worry about my family, my kids, my wife, and so on. How do I stop? This is where I struggle. I still worry about my son’s change in schools, even though it is still 8 months away. These things pop into my head whether I seemingly want them to or not. I can’t stop thinking about the future. I can’t simply say, “God, find me a job that will take care of the huge debt I have” and then expect God to do that. I believe God will provide what I need, but I also need to be a good steward of my time. How do we reconcile this dilemma of not worrying, trusting and not wasting time. I think my friend, Doug Gamble, another prisoner here, had a great idea about this.
Doug has a lot going on at his home. He lives in Oregon so he’s physically quite distant from his family. He doesn’t have a whole lot of money to call his wife or other people. He’s a lot like everyone here. He can’t help his loved one when things go wrong. He told me yesterday after two tough weeks that he had been worried about thing happening at home and frustrated that he couldn’t help. Then he shared an idea with me. Each day he was going to make a list or add to an existing list of all the things going on at home. After praying about each one, he would create a new list every day of the things that he could do from Taft to help. His first realization was the most interesting. There were many things on his list that he could not control or with which he could provide help because he is in Taft. Most of it would not be relevant until he got out of prison anyway. He was surprise to see how many things he worried about that he couldn’t do anything about anyway. I think this is where Doug’s faith plays a huge roll. He tells me to let God worry about that stuff, and he just prays and tells God that he can’t worry about and to let God figure it out.
As he would go through his list of worries, he would also create a list of things he could do that day to help any of the situations. For example, if he was worried about his wife not knowing how to handle a financial matter, he would write on his list, “call wife and explain how to take care of financial matter.” If he didn’t have enough money to make a phone call, then that wouldn’t be something he could do that day. He might write instead, “write a letter to wife about financial issue.” In this way he was a good steward of his worries and time. He was doing what he could today about the issues, and not worrying about thing over which he could not control. His frustration and anxiety decreased. Rather than wandering around the track worrying all day, he was busy doing what he could from his list, praying over the other stuff, and moving on with his life.
After a while, Doug noticed that his list of things he was worrying about was getting shorter, as he pared down what he couldn’t control, and took care of what he could, he realized that two things were happening. He was trusting God more and praying rather than worrying. He figured that perhaps one day he would simply be in prayer over anything that seemed to be causing him to worry rather than worrying about it long enough to even make a list. I guess that is the goal. To offer things to God before they fester into worry. I think Doug is on his way, and I like the model for my own life.
Jeff
Monday, December 10, 2007
The TV Room (#28)
A few weeks ago I was voted into the "white" TV room. To refresh your memory, there are four TV rooms in my dorm, the white, the African American, the Hispanic, and the multi-use room. The white TV room is called such because the inmates do not watch BET, Univision, or Tedmundo in that room. There are non-whites in the white TV room, but there are no whites in the "black" or "Hispanic" TV rooms. I'm not sure why this is other than to quote a common axiom we have in prison that is, "try to remember you are in prison."
Prior to my prestigious election to the TV room, I had to sit with the peons and short-timers in the multi-use TV room. (The short-timers are ostracized because their sentences are so short that no one talks to them - not because they are rude or unfriendly, but it is hard to find someone that you like, and then they leave shortly thereafter, so the inmates figure better not to get to know them. But I digress) The multi-use room is also where dominoes is played. For some reason, and I can attribute this only to prison, but when playing dominoes, it is apparently essential to yell at your opponent while slamming down tiles. Actually, you can yell while not slamming down a tile, or slam down a tile and not yell, but most inmates prefer the double whammy, if you will. At any rate, the slamming of tiles and yelling occurs while other inmates are watching TV. One can probably guess that all the noise is a cause of friction for the inmates.
One should be aware that in order to watch TV in prison is quite different from just plopping oneself down on the couch and turning the television on. It is really quite different from a college dorm lounge as well. First, you need to have a radio to tune to the TV station's frequency to get sound. Second, you need headphones (otherwise, you might as well have it on mute). Unfortunately, the headphones don't help at all. Third, you are competing against noise from people who do not care if they are rude, and fourth, the guards do not care if there is confrontation about who is being too noise, so long as no fights break out. So, my "election" to the white TV room was a real boost to my prison experience.
How did I get elected? Well, I can only guess. I did participate in an emergency meeting of the white room TV guys at one point. The purpose of the meeting, from what I could tell, was to determine which shows would be played during the week. The weekends are reserved for the movies (more on that later). At that meeting, they group also voted two new guys into the room. From what I can tell, a guy who was leaving referred me to the leader of the white TV room. Then my name was passed around tot he other 10 guys. The purpose was to see if there were any strong objections. I guess there weren't. So, I was invited in. I did not realize there was a leader of the TV room, but shortly after the meeting he told me that I was "in." I said, "in what?" He said, "the TV room." He said I would be in the front, right under the TV. So, that was that.
I was now a member of the elite group of TV watchers. I do not think I have ever been voted into anything exclusive before. It was a bit of a thrill, to be honest. I must say, I have enjoyed the movies much more despite the fact that my neck gets a little crick in it.
One thing the TV room experience has shown me is that people are watching me and scrutinizing my attitude. The guys in the TV room do not want rude, selfish, and confrontational attitudes. They want to watch TV without disturbances. It is an organized way to keep the inmates happy over what to me seems to be a highly volatile issue of what people want to watch on TV. One thing I have tried to do is live in a way in which my actions would reflect who I am. I failed miserably at this many times and in many areas of my life. I'm hoping that demonstrating humility, respect, friendliness, and acceptance makes it obvious to the men around me that I'm a Christian. I want my lifestyle to be that of Christ. I hope that being voted into the TV room reflects, if only in a small way, that God is changing me to that end.
Jeff
Prior to my prestigious election to the TV room, I had to sit with the peons and short-timers in the multi-use TV room. (The short-timers are ostracized because their sentences are so short that no one talks to them - not because they are rude or unfriendly, but it is hard to find someone that you like, and then they leave shortly thereafter, so the inmates figure better not to get to know them. But I digress) The multi-use room is also where dominoes is played. For some reason, and I can attribute this only to prison, but when playing dominoes, it is apparently essential to yell at your opponent while slamming down tiles. Actually, you can yell while not slamming down a tile, or slam down a tile and not yell, but most inmates prefer the double whammy, if you will. At any rate, the slamming of tiles and yelling occurs while other inmates are watching TV. One can probably guess that all the noise is a cause of friction for the inmates.
One should be aware that in order to watch TV in prison is quite different from just plopping oneself down on the couch and turning the television on. It is really quite different from a college dorm lounge as well. First, you need to have a radio to tune to the TV station's frequency to get sound. Second, you need headphones (otherwise, you might as well have it on mute). Unfortunately, the headphones don't help at all. Third, you are competing against noise from people who do not care if they are rude, and fourth, the guards do not care if there is confrontation about who is being too noise, so long as no fights break out. So, my "election" to the white TV room was a real boost to my prison experience.
How did I get elected? Well, I can only guess. I did participate in an emergency meeting of the white room TV guys at one point. The purpose of the meeting, from what I could tell, was to determine which shows would be played during the week. The weekends are reserved for the movies (more on that later). At that meeting, they group also voted two new guys into the room. From what I can tell, a guy who was leaving referred me to the leader of the white TV room. Then my name was passed around tot he other 10 guys. The purpose was to see if there were any strong objections. I guess there weren't. So, I was invited in. I did not realize there was a leader of the TV room, but shortly after the meeting he told me that I was "in." I said, "in what?" He said, "the TV room." He said I would be in the front, right under the TV. So, that was that.
I was now a member of the elite group of TV watchers. I do not think I have ever been voted into anything exclusive before. It was a bit of a thrill, to be honest. I must say, I have enjoyed the movies much more despite the fact that my neck gets a little crick in it.
One thing the TV room experience has shown me is that people are watching me and scrutinizing my attitude. The guys in the TV room do not want rude, selfish, and confrontational attitudes. They want to watch TV without disturbances. It is an organized way to keep the inmates happy over what to me seems to be a highly volatile issue of what people want to watch on TV. One thing I have tried to do is live in a way in which my actions would reflect who I am. I failed miserably at this many times and in many areas of my life. I'm hoping that demonstrating humility, respect, friendliness, and acceptance makes it obvious to the men around me that I'm a Christian. I want my lifestyle to be that of Christ. I hope that being voted into the TV room reflects, if only in a small way, that God is changing me to that end.
Jeff
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Community (#27)
Community
The author of a book that I read before I entered the prison camp wrote that you can never really have friends in prison. You may have many acquaintances, but not true friends. I believe his reason for making this assertion is that people in prison tend not to open up or be real or vulnerable with other inmates. In fact, I would be surprised if half of the details of the stories I hear are true. If people are not going to share about themselves honestly, then I would agree with that author, an inmate will never develop any true friendships. That, however, is true in prison and outside as well.
I have been asking myself if a person can be in “community” without having friends in that “community”? I suppose that could exist, but would it be a community in which you would want to belong? I think the prison community in which I am incarcerated suffers from this very issue. While I am fortunate to say I do have a couple of people in the church whom I would call friends, I think our community faces difficulty in reaching out to other inmates because we lack close friendships. After all, Jesus wants to be in relationship with people, and my church community here is not able to show what that looks like because we cannot even be in close relationship with each other. Granted, there are men in the church who do have friends, but the church as a whole seems to be bereft of the honest and authentic friendship that is required for spiritual growth.
Before I arrived at Taft, I explained to my wife what my goals would be during my time here (the book I read and other resources emphasized having goals for the time). My wife said that I should spend time with the men, be their friends, and show them the love of Christ. How does one do that in a place where showing hurt or fear is considered weak?
Maybe some of you go to churches and desire real fellowship and friendships, maybe you do not attend church, but want the same thing out of your relationships. I know finding a friend was my primary prayer request when I first arrived. I wanted to have someone to whom I could tell that I was sad, that I missed my family, to cry with about missing out on birthdays, holidays, and the little things that I took for granted. To me, sharing, praying, encouraging, supporting, and keeping me accountable are things that I expect friends to do and I want that. I asked a guy to pray with me every week in search of this. I did this on the outside as well, and it worked. I met with the guy for a couple of months. It did resolve some of my hopes and sharing and accountability, but I don’t think we have developed a friendship. I still pray with the guy and I know God is teaching me through this. But, I still wanted more. I wanted to laugh and talk about things we have in common. This was not working with my prayer partner. Something was missing.
About three or four months ago, a guy from the low level prison moved down to the camp. His name is Lalo. I started talking to him and we would walk around the track and chat. He asked me if I would help him with some classes he was taking. Over the course of a few weeks, we began talking regularly. The breakthrough in our becoming friends occurred when Lalo asked me one day to “be in his car.” This is one of those phrases unique to prison life (and perhaps I have explained this, but I’ll explain it again) that means you want to share a meal with someone. Although, it’s not just sitting and eating in the cafeteria (the give us 15 minutes to eat, so you don’t talk a lot), but being in someone’s car means that you prepare the meal together and eat together, outside of the cafeteria. This particular time, Lalo wanted me to join his “pasta car” and I did. Usually the driver of the car (the guy making the meal) dictates who is in the car, but if you know someone, it is okay to ask to be in the car.
I mention this because preparing and eating a meal with Lalo, and the conversation during this time was the reason we became friends. At that first meal, he showed me pictures of his family and friends. Pictures are about as personal as you get here, other than allowing someone to read your letters. I haven’t seen that happen yet (reading letters that is). I felt honored to be able to share in Lalo’s life like this. I have since shown Lalo pictures of my family as well, in fact, Lalo met my family during a visit once. Lalo works as the camp photographer. He takes pictures of inmates and their families during visits. It was during one of my family’s visits that I introduced my family to Lalo.
Lalo is not involved in our church. Yet Lalo is probably one of the 2 or 3 guys here about whom I could describe as a friend. We have since shared several cars and Lalo is showing me how to cook. Lalo does come to church sometimes with me. I’m hoping that through my friendship, a friendship that started through a meal, he will come to know Jesus as his Lord and Savior.
Jeff
The author of a book that I read before I entered the prison camp wrote that you can never really have friends in prison. You may have many acquaintances, but not true friends. I believe his reason for making this assertion is that people in prison tend not to open up or be real or vulnerable with other inmates. In fact, I would be surprised if half of the details of the stories I hear are true. If people are not going to share about themselves honestly, then I would agree with that author, an inmate will never develop any true friendships. That, however, is true in prison and outside as well.
I have been asking myself if a person can be in “community” without having friends in that “community”? I suppose that could exist, but would it be a community in which you would want to belong? I think the prison community in which I am incarcerated suffers from this very issue. While I am fortunate to say I do have a couple of people in the church whom I would call friends, I think our community faces difficulty in reaching out to other inmates because we lack close friendships. After all, Jesus wants to be in relationship with people, and my church community here is not able to show what that looks like because we cannot even be in close relationship with each other. Granted, there are men in the church who do have friends, but the church as a whole seems to be bereft of the honest and authentic friendship that is required for spiritual growth.
Before I arrived at Taft, I explained to my wife what my goals would be during my time here (the book I read and other resources emphasized having goals for the time). My wife said that I should spend time with the men, be their friends, and show them the love of Christ. How does one do that in a place where showing hurt or fear is considered weak?
Maybe some of you go to churches and desire real fellowship and friendships, maybe you do not attend church, but want the same thing out of your relationships. I know finding a friend was my primary prayer request when I first arrived. I wanted to have someone to whom I could tell that I was sad, that I missed my family, to cry with about missing out on birthdays, holidays, and the little things that I took for granted. To me, sharing, praying, encouraging, supporting, and keeping me accountable are things that I expect friends to do and I want that. I asked a guy to pray with me every week in search of this. I did this on the outside as well, and it worked. I met with the guy for a couple of months. It did resolve some of my hopes and sharing and accountability, but I don’t think we have developed a friendship. I still pray with the guy and I know God is teaching me through this. But, I still wanted more. I wanted to laugh and talk about things we have in common. This was not working with my prayer partner. Something was missing.
About three or four months ago, a guy from the low level prison moved down to the camp. His name is Lalo. I started talking to him and we would walk around the track and chat. He asked me if I would help him with some classes he was taking. Over the course of a few weeks, we began talking regularly. The breakthrough in our becoming friends occurred when Lalo asked me one day to “be in his car.” This is one of those phrases unique to prison life (and perhaps I have explained this, but I’ll explain it again) that means you want to share a meal with someone. Although, it’s not just sitting and eating in the cafeteria (the give us 15 minutes to eat, so you don’t talk a lot), but being in someone’s car means that you prepare the meal together and eat together, outside of the cafeteria. This particular time, Lalo wanted me to join his “pasta car” and I did. Usually the driver of the car (the guy making the meal) dictates who is in the car, but if you know someone, it is okay to ask to be in the car.
I mention this because preparing and eating a meal with Lalo, and the conversation during this time was the reason we became friends. At that first meal, he showed me pictures of his family and friends. Pictures are about as personal as you get here, other than allowing someone to read your letters. I haven’t seen that happen yet (reading letters that is). I felt honored to be able to share in Lalo’s life like this. I have since shown Lalo pictures of my family as well, in fact, Lalo met my family during a visit once. Lalo works as the camp photographer. He takes pictures of inmates and their families during visits. It was during one of my family’s visits that I introduced my family to Lalo.
Lalo is not involved in our church. Yet Lalo is probably one of the 2 or 3 guys here about whom I could describe as a friend. We have since shared several cars and Lalo is showing me how to cook. Lalo does come to church sometimes with me. I’m hoping that through my friendship, a friendship that started through a meal, he will come to know Jesus as his Lord and Savior.
Jeff
Monday, November 26, 2007
Nicknames (#26)
Sorry I haven't posted a blog entry for Jeff in almost a month. November has been a busy month, and Jeff has been preoccupied doing projects for his kids and wife. We traveled to CA for Thanksgiving, and the week was difficult because of the passing of my step-mother. I consider myself close to my step-brother Todd, who is similar to my age, and of course my dad. My heart was sad for them. It was a hard week for my whole family.
I don't know how many blogs Jeff will write over the course of the next month. This one is from about 3 weeks ago, and I have not received anything new from him recently. On to the blog.
I have a prison nickname. I am called Beckham by most of the inmates. In fact, few of them know my real name. Beckham is the name of an English soccer player who know plays for the LA Galaxy (US) and gets paid about $50 million per year to do so. He’s also married to Posh Spice. How did I get this nickname? It started about a month after I arrived in the Camp. I noticed some guys playing soccer, but I didn't play when I first arrived because I didn't have any shoes. It would be hard to play soccer with blue canvas shoes or steel toed boots. So, I finally got some tennis shoes around late May and as I was walking the track with a baseball cap on, I saw a guy from my dorm who was playing soccer. I asked him if I could play. So, there I was, the only white guy among 20 Latino guys. They were just about to pick teams, just like elementary school with 3 captains picking teams. Predictably I, with my baseball cap on and my glasses (so I can see) donned, was picked last.
Around this time, I weighted about 175 pounds. Not exactly fit, but better than when I arrived. Still, for soccer standards, I was out of shape. But, I played pretty well that first day. Because the guys with whom I was playing didn't know my name, they started calling me Beckham. After all, he is the only white soccer player they know. The nickname stuck and transcended to my dorm and other classes. In many respects I’m lucky because most of the nicknames given are not complimentary.
Most of the nicknames given here come from sports. How good (or bad) one is at a particular sport generally dictates the nickname, coupled with some physical attribute. One of the first guys I met is nicknamed “slow motion.” I didn't quite get that until I saw him play. He’s not very fast. It’s that obvious. Another older guy who plays soccer is nicknamed “pops.” I actually find myself calling him that too. My friend, Doug, got his nickname from his various features and activities. One should understand a little bit about Doug. He, like most guys who arrive, is a little overweight. He’s also an elder at the church here and a nice guy in general. He plays softball here, and the guys out there gave him the ironic nickname of “family guy.” This is from the television show, and the guy is irreverent is sarcastic. Doug is not.
Some other nicknames are gang names. I don’t know much about this culture or how they got these names. I asked a guy once how he got the nickname “gizmo” and he said he’s always had it, as if his parents called him that since birth because his birth name was too long or something. At the time, I didn't realize that this was a gang given name. I don’t know for sure, but I think these are some other gang names that I have come across: “weasel,” “bones,” and “rascal.” I can’t always tell a gang name from a regular nickname. There’s another guy they call “parrot.” I asked him how he got that name (I asked a lot of dumb questions when I first got here, and I guess the new guys can get away with it for a while). He told me he used to have a parrot. I have no idea what to make of that.
One of the better names is “machine gun.” This guy is a retired fire chief. Our media makes these guys look like heroes (which many of them are). However, our judicial system could care less. This guy is in for having an unregistered machine gun. So much for the 2nd amendment. This is strange because while a state may infringe on this right, this guy is in a Federal prison camp, so he must have violated federal law. I can’t figure out how, since the 2nd amendment applies to federal laws, and states that the right to bear arms will not be infringed. I digress, but it would appear that our government has a different copy of the Constitution than “machine gun” has. Anyway, his nickname is great.
Then there are nicknames that are sarcastic. They appear like a compliment but are not and are jokes about the person. There is a guy who was a mayor of a city. He condescends to just about everyone and acts as though he is above the whole system. I don’t think he realizes how he is viewed. Everyone calls him “mayor.” He probably thinks it’s a compliment, but it’s not.
Another guy here likes to tell people how they should work out. He thinks he’s totally built and he likes to flex his muscles in mirrors and anything that will provide a reflection (really, I’m not making this stuff up). He is called the “professor” and it’s not because he’s smart. He’s the professor of working out, but no one respects his help.
Older guys seem to get bad names. One guy would wander around and kill flies. He’s about 80 years old. We started calling him “death.” One reason for that was he killed a lot of flies, but also when he wears his dark jacket, he looks like the grim reaper. Another older guy is called “papa smurf.” I guess he doesn't mind so much, but he does look like papa smurf. It’s part of the culture.
For me, I hope that my nickname is positive aspect that allows me to relate cross culturally to the men here. I want to be able talk to these guys and be trusted by them, and I hope that my soccer skills will help. I always hoped that soccer would open doors for me to evangelize, but it didn't really turn out that way over the years. I hope that my nickname reflects an acceptance in the little soccer community here that allows me to be a witness to these men who I otherwise probably wouldn't know.
Jeff
I don't know how many blogs Jeff will write over the course of the next month. This one is from about 3 weeks ago, and I have not received anything new from him recently. On to the blog.
I have a prison nickname. I am called Beckham by most of the inmates. In fact, few of them know my real name. Beckham is the name of an English soccer player who know plays for the LA Galaxy (US) and gets paid about $50 million per year to do so. He’s also married to Posh Spice. How did I get this nickname? It started about a month after I arrived in the Camp. I noticed some guys playing soccer, but I didn't play when I first arrived because I didn't have any shoes. It would be hard to play soccer with blue canvas shoes or steel toed boots. So, I finally got some tennis shoes around late May and as I was walking the track with a baseball cap on, I saw a guy from my dorm who was playing soccer. I asked him if I could play. So, there I was, the only white guy among 20 Latino guys. They were just about to pick teams, just like elementary school with 3 captains picking teams. Predictably I, with my baseball cap on and my glasses (so I can see) donned, was picked last.
Around this time, I weighted about 175 pounds. Not exactly fit, but better than when I arrived. Still, for soccer standards, I was out of shape. But, I played pretty well that first day. Because the guys with whom I was playing didn't know my name, they started calling me Beckham. After all, he is the only white soccer player they know. The nickname stuck and transcended to my dorm and other classes. In many respects I’m lucky because most of the nicknames given are not complimentary.
Most of the nicknames given here come from sports. How good (or bad) one is at a particular sport generally dictates the nickname, coupled with some physical attribute. One of the first guys I met is nicknamed “slow motion.” I didn't quite get that until I saw him play. He’s not very fast. It’s that obvious. Another older guy who plays soccer is nicknamed “pops.” I actually find myself calling him that too. My friend, Doug, got his nickname from his various features and activities. One should understand a little bit about Doug. He, like most guys who arrive, is a little overweight. He’s also an elder at the church here and a nice guy in general. He plays softball here, and the guys out there gave him the ironic nickname of “family guy.” This is from the television show, and the guy is irreverent is sarcastic. Doug is not.
Some other nicknames are gang names. I don’t know much about this culture or how they got these names. I asked a guy once how he got the nickname “gizmo” and he said he’s always had it, as if his parents called him that since birth because his birth name was too long or something. At the time, I didn't realize that this was a gang given name. I don’t know for sure, but I think these are some other gang names that I have come across: “weasel,” “bones,” and “rascal.” I can’t always tell a gang name from a regular nickname. There’s another guy they call “parrot.” I asked him how he got that name (I asked a lot of dumb questions when I first got here, and I guess the new guys can get away with it for a while). He told me he used to have a parrot. I have no idea what to make of that.
One of the better names is “machine gun.” This guy is a retired fire chief. Our media makes these guys look like heroes (which many of them are). However, our judicial system could care less. This guy is in for having an unregistered machine gun. So much for the 2nd amendment. This is strange because while a state may infringe on this right, this guy is in a Federal prison camp, so he must have violated federal law. I can’t figure out how, since the 2nd amendment applies to federal laws, and states that the right to bear arms will not be infringed. I digress, but it would appear that our government has a different copy of the Constitution than “machine gun” has. Anyway, his nickname is great.
Then there are nicknames that are sarcastic. They appear like a compliment but are not and are jokes about the person. There is a guy who was a mayor of a city. He condescends to just about everyone and acts as though he is above the whole system. I don’t think he realizes how he is viewed. Everyone calls him “mayor.” He probably thinks it’s a compliment, but it’s not.
Another guy here likes to tell people how they should work out. He thinks he’s totally built and he likes to flex his muscles in mirrors and anything that will provide a reflection (really, I’m not making this stuff up). He is called the “professor” and it’s not because he’s smart. He’s the professor of working out, but no one respects his help.
Older guys seem to get bad names. One guy would wander around and kill flies. He’s about 80 years old. We started calling him “death.” One reason for that was he killed a lot of flies, but also when he wears his dark jacket, he looks like the grim reaper. Another older guy is called “papa smurf.” I guess he doesn't mind so much, but he does look like papa smurf. It’s part of the culture.
For me, I hope that my nickname is positive aspect that allows me to relate cross culturally to the men here. I want to be able talk to these guys and be trusted by them, and I hope that my soccer skills will help. I always hoped that soccer would open doors for me to evangelize, but it didn't really turn out that way over the years. I hope that my nickname reflects an acceptance in the little soccer community here that allows me to be a witness to these men who I otherwise probably wouldn't know.
Jeff
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Comments (#25)
Jeff has asked what kind of blogs his friends find the most interesting. If you could leave comments on this blog about which blogs you enjoyed most, or what you would like to read about Jeff in forthcoming blogs, he would appreciate it. He is not even sure who is reading. I'm not either, to be honest. I just post them.
I will copy the comments and send them to Jeff in a letter next week. Also, if you haven't written Jeff in a while, I would ask that you do. This will be his first Thanksgiving and Christmas away from his wife and kids. He could use all the letters, prayers, and encouragement he can get.
Thanks,
Scott
I will copy the comments and send them to Jeff in a letter next week. Also, if you haven't written Jeff in a while, I would ask that you do. This will be his first Thanksgiving and Christmas away from his wife and kids. He could use all the letters, prayers, and encouragement he can get.
Thanks,
Scott
Quarterly Update (#24)
Quarterly Update
October 13th marked my 6 month milestone at the Taft Federal Prison Camp. I will say that the last three months went by more quickly and more easily than the first three months. The first three months I would have say were highlighted by the soccer league and the exercise class of which I was a part. I lost about 20 pounds during the first three months.
Soccer ended in the middle of August and I re-injured my ankle in the last game. I had injured my ankle around Father’s Day, and then let it heal a bit before playing about 6 more games before injuring it again. At least it was the last game and I was able to rest. I wasn’t too concerned since the next league doesn’t start until mid-November. I’m not 100% yet, but I should be able to play when the league starts. That’s a nice distraction from the tedium of life here.
I started another 12 week exercise class in mid-September. This class has helped me lose another 5 pounds. I’m also able to do sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups at a rate I’ve never been able to do before. The class is very difficult. I actually puked after one class. Perhaps that will give you an idea of how this classes pushes our bodies to the limit. I would never challenge myself to this degree if working out on my own. The leader of the class is an ex-special forces guy. He designs cards (a piece of cardboard) with various exercises on them. He also names the cards. One card is named “Death.” It isn’t fun. A few other card names are “Hell,” “Pain,” and “Dirt Diver.” The objective of dirt diver is to leave the participant face down in the dirt after the workout. You know that you have arrived when you dip for a push-up and you can’t get back up. Just as an aside, I’m not the first or the last person to have lost their previous meal during one of these workouts.
The benefit to all of this working out is that I can now run 3 miles in about 22 minutes. I haven’t done that in years. I hope to get to a fitness point to what I was doing in college. That would be 4 miles in 30 minutes. I also hope to lose another 5 – 10 pounds and add more muscle.
With the onset of Fall, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by a better selection and the new Fall television shows. Each weekend we have 6 movies, 2 each night from Friday to Sunday. Friday night is usually the best movie and a new release. I did not watch many movies in the late Spring and Summer because not much comes out on DVD from late May through August. Finally, in Sept. we started seeing some better movies come to Taft. A good movie can really help your disposition. The new TV shows have provided a minor distraction during the week. I watch a show called “Chuck” on Monday nights. It makes me laugh. Laughs are not easy to find here. College and pro football have made it easier to get through Sat. and Sun. So, all in all, the days go by much more quickly than they used to during my first three months here. Of course, I still miss my family very much.
I started my marketing and advertising courses through Ohio U. in the past quarter. I probably started them right around the beginning of my second quarter here, in mid-July. The classes have helped fill time, but more importantly, have helped me prepare for my release. Most of what I will need to learn to be successful upon release I will have to learn and pay for on my own like these Ohio U. classes. As a side note, I have not taken a class at Taft that was taught by a staff person. So far, all of the classes offered here have been taught by other inmates. The slogan for the company that manages our camp is “Preparing offenders for reentry.” I find this ironic since the staff here hasn’t done one thing to prepare me for anything. Well, I should clarify, they have forced me to make my bed every morning by 8 am, so that is something that I can use upon release.
The other nice change these last 3 months has been the arrival of a good friend named Doug. We hit it off quickly. He’s a Christian guy who is doing a lot in the church here. It’s helpful to have someone with whom you can laugh or pray. We walk the track together a few nights a week and just share what’s on our minds. It’s nice to be able to trust someone here, and he has been an answer to prayer.
During the past three months I have missed my oldest son, Connor’s, birthday. That was more difficult than I thought it would be. I try to stay connected with him by including a drawing, activity sheet, or magazine picture for him with every letter I write home (that’s 3 a week). I think it works to some extent, but he told me during a visit after his birthday that he didn’t want anymore birthdays until I come home. That broke my heart. If also goes well, I should be able to be at home just in time for his 7th birthday.
I also missed my 7-year anniversary. I am thankful that I have an anniversary to miss. My wife is so supportive and dedicated to me. I’m lucky to have her and God has truly blessed me with Laura. It’s difficult to show love to your family in prison. One of the few ways is simply writing her. I do that as much as I can. I look forward to actually writing her because I know in a small way we are connecting and that our love and friendship is growing even during this separation.
The next three months will probably be the most difficult 3 months I will spend here. Please pray for me and my family as we go through the Holidays apart.
Jeff
October 13th marked my 6 month milestone at the Taft Federal Prison Camp. I will say that the last three months went by more quickly and more easily than the first three months. The first three months I would have say were highlighted by the soccer league and the exercise class of which I was a part. I lost about 20 pounds during the first three months.
Soccer ended in the middle of August and I re-injured my ankle in the last game. I had injured my ankle around Father’s Day, and then let it heal a bit before playing about 6 more games before injuring it again. At least it was the last game and I was able to rest. I wasn’t too concerned since the next league doesn’t start until mid-November. I’m not 100% yet, but I should be able to play when the league starts. That’s a nice distraction from the tedium of life here.
I started another 12 week exercise class in mid-September. This class has helped me lose another 5 pounds. I’m also able to do sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups at a rate I’ve never been able to do before. The class is very difficult. I actually puked after one class. Perhaps that will give you an idea of how this classes pushes our bodies to the limit. I would never challenge myself to this degree if working out on my own. The leader of the class is an ex-special forces guy. He designs cards (a piece of cardboard) with various exercises on them. He also names the cards. One card is named “Death.” It isn’t fun. A few other card names are “Hell,” “Pain,” and “Dirt Diver.” The objective of dirt diver is to leave the participant face down in the dirt after the workout. You know that you have arrived when you dip for a push-up and you can’t get back up. Just as an aside, I’m not the first or the last person to have lost their previous meal during one of these workouts.
The benefit to all of this working out is that I can now run 3 miles in about 22 minutes. I haven’t done that in years. I hope to get to a fitness point to what I was doing in college. That would be 4 miles in 30 minutes. I also hope to lose another 5 – 10 pounds and add more muscle.
With the onset of Fall, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by a better selection and the new Fall television shows. Each weekend we have 6 movies, 2 each night from Friday to Sunday. Friday night is usually the best movie and a new release. I did not watch many movies in the late Spring and Summer because not much comes out on DVD from late May through August. Finally, in Sept. we started seeing some better movies come to Taft. A good movie can really help your disposition. The new TV shows have provided a minor distraction during the week. I watch a show called “Chuck” on Monday nights. It makes me laugh. Laughs are not easy to find here. College and pro football have made it easier to get through Sat. and Sun. So, all in all, the days go by much more quickly than they used to during my first three months here. Of course, I still miss my family very much.
I started my marketing and advertising courses through Ohio U. in the past quarter. I probably started them right around the beginning of my second quarter here, in mid-July. The classes have helped fill time, but more importantly, have helped me prepare for my release. Most of what I will need to learn to be successful upon release I will have to learn and pay for on my own like these Ohio U. classes. As a side note, I have not taken a class at Taft that was taught by a staff person. So far, all of the classes offered here have been taught by other inmates. The slogan for the company that manages our camp is “Preparing offenders for reentry.” I find this ironic since the staff here hasn’t done one thing to prepare me for anything. Well, I should clarify, they have forced me to make my bed every morning by 8 am, so that is something that I can use upon release.
The other nice change these last 3 months has been the arrival of a good friend named Doug. We hit it off quickly. He’s a Christian guy who is doing a lot in the church here. It’s helpful to have someone with whom you can laugh or pray. We walk the track together a few nights a week and just share what’s on our minds. It’s nice to be able to trust someone here, and he has been an answer to prayer.
During the past three months I have missed my oldest son, Connor’s, birthday. That was more difficult than I thought it would be. I try to stay connected with him by including a drawing, activity sheet, or magazine picture for him with every letter I write home (that’s 3 a week). I think it works to some extent, but he told me during a visit after his birthday that he didn’t want anymore birthdays until I come home. That broke my heart. If also goes well, I should be able to be at home just in time for his 7th birthday.
I also missed my 7-year anniversary. I am thankful that I have an anniversary to miss. My wife is so supportive and dedicated to me. I’m lucky to have her and God has truly blessed me with Laura. It’s difficult to show love to your family in prison. One of the few ways is simply writing her. I do that as much as I can. I look forward to actually writing her because I know in a small way we are connecting and that our love and friendship is growing even during this separation.
The next three months will probably be the most difficult 3 months I will spend here. Please pray for me and my family as we go through the Holidays apart.
Jeff
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