So, here’s something you may not know. In the Federal prison system, everyone must have a job. Even if it’s just on paper (sounds like Chicago!), unless you have some severe medical condition, you’re going to have a work assignment.
You’ll never catch me pretending to be smart, but I have two things going for me. I am a repository of useless information, and I finished high school. This was enough, when I first entered the prison system back in 2008, to land me a gig as a GED tutor. If any of you are not familiar with it, GED is basically a high school equivalency certification
Now pre-prison, my employment consisted of many years working as a professional addict, with brief stints as a machinist, tow-truck driver, security guard and general laborer. Never saw myself as any kind of educator, yet there I was, given the task of teaching high schoolish caliber science, social studies, language arts and math.
The strategy that got me through high school the first time was pretty simple. If I couldn’t get whatever girl I was dating to do my homework for me, I would blow it off. My four years of high school flew by in an alcoholic haze, but my saving grace was that I was always a quick reader and an above average test taker. Truth be told, I was a good test taker when drunk. Case in point, the 26 I scored on my ACT. I was hammered. Probably had a blood alcohol content of 0.26.
I was enlisted to teach 4 four classes a day, 5 days a week. I can’t say there was much in the way of training, because no one really expected me to do anything. I mean, for the 12 cents an hour they were going to pay me, did they have a right to expect much? And just how do you get a guy doing two life sentences to care about conjugating verbs and word problems?
Unfortunately, most of the guys in my classes either gave up on themselves or were given up on by the system before they ever had a chance. But I was determined to figure it out and eventually I did. Turns out, I’m as good at teaching others as I am at failing myself.
In no time, I was the Bureau of Prison’s Tutor of the Year. I had created a buzz on the compound and because once I helped one, others came. When a 60-year-old man who is never going home tells you, with tears in his eyes, how proud he is to have graduated, how getting his GED is gonna help him be a good example for the grandson he’s never actually met, you forget what a bad place you’re in. And for a few seconds you realize what a positive thing you helped someone do.
And in a place where laughter can be in short supply, the classroom never failed to boost my mood when I needed it most. Case in point:
One morning, two of my students were arguing about what was farther away from the prison, Texas, where one of the guys was from, or the moon, where a lot of the other guys were from. We were studying earth science at the time, but what sparked this debate was that, that morning, walking to the chow hall just after sunrise, the moon was still visible. Prison’s an ugly place, but certain sunrises will cast beauty anywhere.
Inmate #1: Man, I’m telling you, I think the moon’s further from here than Texas.
Inmate #2: Naw, you’re stupid. That’s stupid. You see the moon this morning?
Inmate#1: Yes I did. And that’s how I know I’m right, dummy, you can’t see Texas from here!
Sometimes, wrong as itmight be, there’s just no argument against the obvious.
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