ROLE MODELS

When the special education teacher visits my classroom the youngsters, the little boys trapped in men’s bodies, vie for her attention.

“Where do you teach?” one youngster asks.

Her home base is what most of my colleagues refer to as “The Punk Prison.” She answers in a polite way, using the official slang prison name. “I’m from the Thumb,” she says.

“I’m trying to get there,” another youngster says, “because our teacher don’t do shit. He don’t know how to teach.”

I ignore his statement. I’m busy writing CSJ-363’s, otherwise known as student work evaluations.

The special education teacher explains how adult education works, how each student studies independently based on their grade level equivalencies.

Two more youngsters add their input, something about not having anything to do in the classroom, something about their teacher, i.e. “me,” not giving them assignments to do.

Again, I ignore them.

The special education teacher feels the need to defend me, and if she could she’d probably tell them that I’ve been teaching in prison since before they were soiling their diapers, but she can’t get a word in edgewise.

I intervene. I say to her, “I do owe them an apology.” Now they’re settling down. It’s not often that a prison employee apologizes to an inmate (the first time I apologized to an inmate I wrote about it in Glass Fire Magazine: “This One’s for the Birds”).

The class grows quiet. I stop what I’m doing. I address the youngsters. “I’m sorry,” I say to them “truly truly sorry,” then I sigh, my way of displaying sincerity. “I’m sorry for not providing you guys with coloring books and crayons. As soon as there’s money in the school coffers I’ll order you some.”

The old-timers and special education teacher laugh. I go back to writing my evaluations.